I dread Father’s Day. Not because I don’t like showering my amazing husband with love and attention and gifts (although I am by far the inferior gift-giver in our relationship). Celebrating him is the easy part. It’s the other father stuff that creeps in and makes it suck.
My father died seven years ago, but our relationship ended long before that. It had become a difficult one, marked by a final shouting match many years before his death in which I went low and he went lower. We hadn’t talked in a very long time due to those big emotions that often rule in relationships like ours, namely pride and anger. Pride kept him from accepting any apology I attempted, because how dare I say that thing to him. Anger came to my rescue because how could I not say it after what he said.
It wasn’t until I was sitting by his hospice bed, the bubbling of his breath the only indication that there was still life in him, that I realized all that anger was grief in disguise. The years I spent resenting him because he let me down. The time I wasted wondering what I ever did to make him not love me. The memories I swallowed because I didn’t understand why there weren’t more. I finally understood what they all meant. My father gave me what he could. He simply wasn’t capable of being what I wanted or needed or deserved. And while it wasn’t my fault, or maybe even his, it was the truth.
So in the hours before his rattling breath stopped, I put down some of that heavy baggage, took his hand, and told him I understood. In those moments alone with him, I turned away from anger and leaned into gratitude. I thanked him for being my dad and for giving me so many gifts:
My brothers and sisters who are some of my best friends;
My mom whose unconditional love more than made up for the absence of his; and
My life.
The tender bruise etched in my heart will always burst with fresh pain whenever I wonder what it might have been like if things were different and if he was different. But the lessons I learned from him, both the good and especially the bad, have helped make me the person and the parent I am today.
So thanks, Dad, for always having quarters so I could play Pacman. Thanks for taking me to get my driver’s license and teaching me about baseball, football, over-medium eggs, and French toast. And thanks for giving me life. Happy Father’s Day.