Father’s Day After Dad’s Gone: the Loss, the Recovery, and the Road Ahead
While I’m usually not one to dwell on the past, there are some things that we experience in life that will have long-lasting ramifications on us well into the future, no matter how many years may pass in between. Some are because the tragedy is just too strong to be forgotten, while others are because you’re confronted with constant reminders.
Father’s Day falls into the latter category for me.
The Day of Infamy
I won’t go into the grisly details, but suffice to say that I lost my father on September 6, 2013, at the way-too-young age of 48. It wouldn’t be until two days later, however, before I found out what had occurred.
I had no way of knowing that he would never hear my message — he was already gone.
This is one of the downsides no one tells you about living abroad: life moves on, for better or for worse, while you’re on the other side of the world. Considering the difficulty in getting in touch with you, and the desire to not give sensitive information over something as impersonal as email, it sometimes isn’t until days later when you learn that something bad has happened.
The last time I heard — and quite possibly will ever hear — my father’s voice was when I left a message on his voice mail, telling him that I was going to have dinner with my then-girlfriend (now wife’s) family. I had no way of knowing that he would never hear this message — he was already gone.
I only learned the news when I started calling other family members to tell them about my upcoming dinner my girlfriend’s family.
“… have you already heard the news, Jason?”
What news?
“You should probably sit down…”
The Dark Times
The following days, and even weeks, were “tough” to say the least.
First there’s the birthday that pops up in your calendar. Then there’s the auto-suggestion in Gmail asking if you’d like to cc him too. No, Google, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
And then, of course, there’s Father’s Day.
Unlike the other events where you can suffer in peace, Father’s Day advertising starts up pretty much the day Mother’s Day ends. You have a month of being confronted with posters, advertisements, and automated messages telling you to “remember to thank your dad!” or “make sure dad knows how much you appreciate him!”
My favorite is Facebook, which pops up an automated reminder on Father’s Day asking if I remembered to message him.
I wish I could. Oh, god, how I wish I could.
But, as they say, time marches on and the drummers keep on drumming.
While the intensity of the pain you feel never lessens, there are fewer painful times over the years.
As the years passed by, I slowly came to terms with the situation: you figure out what kinds of events are difficult for you to be around and what times of year bring the pain back to the surface. Instead, you learn to focus on the good times, on the memories that you did share together.
The Reclamation
My perception of Father’s Day changed rather abruptly when I had my own child. Now Father’s Day was no longer exclusively about the relationship between me and my father, but also carried with it the extra meaning of being a father to my daughter.
As June 16, 2019 — my second Father’s Day as a dad — looms close, I frankly have very mixed feelings about the day. On one hand, I still feel a pang every time I walk past the walls of “world’s best dad” cards and wish I could send one. I’m intimately aware of the fact that my father will never meet his granddaughter… the last he ever heard, I had a “semi-serious” girlfriend.
I feel a connection that spans both time and even life and death itself.
On the other hand, however, having my own child has helped me grow even closer to my dad even though he’s no longer with us.
I may not be able to talk to him about these moments, but as I sit on the sofa at 3 am with a stubborn toddler who refuses to go to bed, I can’t help but think about the many nights he undoubtedly spent doing the same with me. When my daughter buries her face into my pant leg (probably to wipe her nose) and yells out “DAGGY!!!” with a look of adoration on her face, I feel a connection with my father that spans both time and even life and death itself.
The Road Ahead
I don’t pretend to know what’s in store for me — no one does, and I’ve come to terms with that. But I do feel better equipped to confront the difficulties that lay ahead.
I need to earn my own “world’s best dad” coffee cup.
Perhaps more importantly, though, is how the concept of fatherhood has been redefined for me. Grammatically speaking, I am no longer the object of the sentence, but the subject. I’m now the father. I can’t simply dwell on the past anymore, but rather I need to think about the future. I need to earn my own “world’s best dad” coffee cup.
Even though I can never share these thoughts with my own father… somehow, someway, I think he understands.
Or perhaps I’ve finally come to understand him.
