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Father’s Day Without My Father

“I don’t have a dad anymore.”

Those very words popped into my head in the seconds after I found out my father had died.

It took me a while to realize how terribly wrong I was.

Some days even now, there is still an unlearning that takes place, a reminding of myself that I have to do when I forget.

My dad is indeed gone, but he didn’t leave of his own accord. He didn’t abandon me.

I am orphaned only by his crossing the paper-thin line that separates here from hereafter, and by the will of God in however that works.

There is an unsolvable mystery in what he received in exchange for his last breath, but there is no mystery in how he lived in the 70 years until that very moment. 

My father adored being a dad, perhaps more than anything. It was his calling, his inherent gift. He reveled in it all.

Being his son was one of the greatest blessings of my life.

I always knew how fortunate I was to be born into his care. He was silly and compassionate, wise and emotional, frustrating and flawed—and he was and is my hero.  

And the truest thing as another Father’s Day approaches, is that I am still my father’s son.

While I deeply grieve our separation, I can and do celebrate our connection because it is the far greater force.

It is an unbreakable tether fashioned from a million hugs and smiles and shouting matches and quiet reassurances.

It was a bond forged in thousands of spontaneous phone calls and countless trips to the store and multitudes of meals; made from the unvarnished ordinary that has now become polished diamond. 

It is the shape of my hands and the wrinkles around my eyes and the words that only I know to laugh at.

It is the way I hold my children and the warmth I great strangers with and the impatience I feel in traffic and the bad jokes I make. 

I have lost a lot, but I haven’t lost.

This is a difficult truth to hold onto but it is true nonetheless: Death doesn’t win.

Yes, it is a relentless and cruel and worth adversary but it is not unbeatable. It could never be strong enough to steal the life still within me that my father placed there within the center of my heart.

As I breathe, he does. As I love, he still loves me. I feel that as surely as I did when he lived.

For all of those mourning the physical absence of their dads this Father’s Day; take great joy in the truth that there is a far stronger presence that remains, one that testifies to your ever secure bond.

You are not orphans. You are cherished children, now as much as ever.

I have a Dad.

He is still teaching me, still encouraging me, still giving me footsteps worth walking in.

Along with the tears that will surely come this weekend, I will greatly rejoice over what still is, what I still have, and who I still am.

I am my father’s son.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

 

 

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