Father's Day

It’s a privilege to have good parents. If you’re fortunate, you have parents that you love. It’s a familial, friendly love that’s consistent through life, much like the unconditional love they have for you as their children.  In most cases, it remains steady.  You love your parents, and it doesn’t change.

Except, it can.

I didn’t expect the love I have for my Dad to grow. Immensely, too. 

My Dad was (is) the more loving of my parents.  Don’t get me wrong, my Mom loved all of us fiercely, but when it came to being strict or enforcing punishment, my Mom was the one to lay down the law. My Dad, not so much.

My Dad has always been nurturing - always providing acts of service to my Mom and his daughters.   I've lost track of the number of years he spent waking up early before my Mom to make her coffee and bring it to her in bed before she got up for the day.  He would take my car out at night to fill the gas tank when it got too low.  He would wake up early with me to walk me outside at 4 AM to my car because I was scared of the dark woods that surrounded our house.  He was always giving, always doing for others.

Over the past two years, I watched him take on the role of caretaker for my Mom.

At the beginning of her diagnosis, she could still do a lot on her own. She could drive, prepare her food, and complete everyday tasks—all the things we take for granted. Towards the end, she was fully dependent on him, from meals to medicine times to leaning on him to walk or being carried to and from the bathroom.

My Dad never left her side. Stoic through it all, too. His only complaint when we had to swap out their mattress for a hospital bed was that he couldn't be close enough to her at night when they slept. (He was in a twin bed next to her, but still, it wasn't close enough).

I realized that my love for him had grown in the fall of last year. We were all sitting together in their bedroom, and I remember watching my Dad tenderly spoon-feed her yogurt. It was such a small, intimate moment but so special to witness.

My Dad did it all.   We all offered to get help. There were services available, but he wanted to do it himself. My Dad stayed true to his part of the vows — in sickness and in health. As heartbreaking as it was to watch, I'm comforted knowing my Mom was so deeply loved and cared for by him until the very end.

Here's what I wanted to put in a card for you today, but it took me up until now to find the words.

Dad,

I know this first Father’s Day feels weird. It's a year full of weird firsts. It feels lonely. Perhaps it feels like just another day. It's hard to be happy or want to celebrate when the other half of you is missing.  The other half that made you a Father - a parent. The person that makes you a whole in our family.

Still, you deserve recognition and thanks. So, thank you.  Thank you for being so loving, so kind, so nurturing. Thank you for becoming my new best friend.  For taking on the role of Mom, too. For setting the bar so very high on what a good man is (and somehow, I found a man who also wakes up before me to make me coffee in bed). Thank you for your small acts of service. For stopping by my house to feed my backyard birds when I'm away. For helping with Jackson. For all the phone calls during my long commutes to and from work. For being a shoulder to cry on as we mourn the loss of our favorite woman. For still being here.

I love you so much - Happy Father's Day.