Father's Day
Okay, so I basically cried all through church this morning because it was my first Father's Day without a father. Well, the earthly kind, anyway. It's been two months since Bill Reel entered heaven, but today the reality struck deep, and I used up all the tissues in my bag. Still, I absorbed a couple of points in the homily that are not high philosophy but reminded me why my dad was great. I thought I'd share them.
For fathers, LOVE should be spelled, or re-spelled, with these four letters: TIME.
Also, beware of talking about the difficulty or ease with which one "balances" work and fatherly duties. Balance indicates equality. A father's greatest job, always, is that as dad.
I am grateful to have had a father who embodied these two lessons for my entire 38 years with him. I am also grateful for my husband who is more than living up to my father's example.
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Jun '10
Re: Father's Day
Ursula--I can sympathize, as this is my first Father's Day since my dad passed away in November (just 2 days after my birthday). It hasn't been quite as hard for me today, since we've passed other milestones before this, such as Christmas and his birthday. What astonishes me (and probably shouldn't) is how the small things affect me and bring tears to my eyes. For example, when I left my parents' house to return home after the funeral, I had to borrow a snow brush from his garage. Every time I see that thing (still in my car long after snow season), I think of him. My husband off-handedly remarked that we could return it, and I said NO--I'll be keeping it forever. It's a shorthand way for me to remember and think of all the things he did for me. (Boy, did I think of him a lot this past winter!)
Re: Father's Day
KayBee, what a perfect example! I totally know what you mean. For me, those feelings come when I open my new, much larger closet. I recently discovered I dress I’d worn to Baseball Writers Association of America dinner in 1995 or 1996. My dad took me. I was only a part-time sports writer on the high school beat on Staten Island, but my father somehow wrangled tickets to this big-time dinner at a hotel in midtown Manhattan. It was a taste of the future for me, but I didn’t know it. I’d become a member of the Association less than 3 years later, an accomplishment that capped my reporting career. Next to it, by coincidence, is the black dress I bought for my dad’s funeral. It was a last minute pick-up at a boutique shop in New Hampshire. When your brother calls to say you’d better drive up now to see Dad, because he’s real sick, you don’t run to your closet to assess which black dress works best. You grab your pajamas and get in the car to drive and pray. Anyway, I totally relate to the small things that bring back big memories. Thanks for sharing that, KayBee!
Jun '10
Re: Father's Day
It was only after my dad passed away that I learned what a difficult childhood he really had. I knew he was raised by a single mother, but I didn't realize some of hardships and embarrassments he suffered. He didn't mention it. He never used it to make excuses for himself. So, even after he was dead, he taught me something important. Thank you Dad. I miss you.
Jun '10
Re: Father's Day
Ursula, I got that same phone call on my birthday the day before Thanksgiving. Of course I couldn't get a flight out that day and just threw everything I could think of (except the snow brush and funeral-appropriate clothes) in my car for the 12 hour drive from my house to his hospital room (a drive I had never made alone before). For 12 hours I selfishly prayed that he would still be alive when I got there and that he wouldn't (COULDN'T) die on my birthday. I thank God I made it there and was able to see him before he died. But shopping for a funeral dress the day after Thanksgiving among all the holiday shoppers was jarring. When I see those clothes in the closet, the thoughts and feelings are all right there gain.
May '10
Re: Father's Day
This year marks 8 Father's Days since we lost him, only three weeks after I moved away to college, which was also 9 days after 9/11. There is still an entire room of my dad's stuff at home in "the shop", that room in the basement full of shelves and a workbench with tools, and a wall covered in pegboard. Everything is still in its place. When I talk to my brothers we still refer to it as "dad's guns", "dad's tools".
"Is that your drill?" "No, it's dad's."
My "snow shovel" is a small pocketknife he got as some kind of award from the 7Up company, where he worked for most of my life. The knife comes in a small leather case with the old 7Up logo and three small emeralds on it. I use it to open my mail.