Father's Day Without You

It’s Father’s Day – or technically it was. It has been over for a few hours now. 
I am awake. Almost at the same time I was last night. I cried then too, thinking about you. Or rather, your absence.

I didn’t know what the day would bring. As it turned out, it brought exhaustion, routine, and preparation: groceries, and cleaning the house so it was ready for when your granddaughter’s dad arrived. For his Father’s Day.

When it was finally quiet, I did look over the 48 poems I have written since you died 19 months ago. I broke them into categories. I would like to share them, somehow. 

My brother did text me, to see how I was. I was fine then; too tired to feel much of anything. And even the poem exercise felt like a task, more than a ritual. Do the categories work? Or would it be better that I keep them as a chronology of my grief? Of the journey I have been on – getting closer to you, to my heart, and to myself?

But now…

Darkness surrounding me, crickets chirping, and nothing left to do, I read through them all. The poems that make me cry – finally – are the ones I wrote to you. They aren’t about the things I am learning, the opening, the insights, or the knowing. They aren’t the ones where I feel you, and know you are here. Like now – sitting next to me in your white t-shirt with that goofy smile. They are the ones where my heart hurts and I miss you.

Once I am crying, I turn on Adele’s song (Make You Feel My Love) the one I remember singing to you months ago, and how calming that was. Today, I hear it differently again; as a love song to me, from you. A reminder of all you can do now, and that you are still with me. That you see me, support me, and love me just the same – but better. And maybe the best part: that I belong to you.

It’s strange to be writing about connection and loss at the same time. But this past year and a half you have been closer to me that you ever were. Or perhaps my heart has been more open.

 And there it is again, that dichotomy of loss and gain. That when I think of not being able to put my arms around you, or hear your voice, I feel sadness. But when I consider that my outstretched arms and full heart are how I meet you now – there is joy.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.