Friday was one of the toughest days ever. On our way to Doggie Fun Land (the dog park in Ferrysburg) Sue got VERY excited in the car. Now Pal is a great car rider, he just lays down and takes a nap knowing that there will be excitement when we get where we are going. Sue on the other hand is always excited, and knows that we’d get there faster if I would just let her drive. But on this occasion Sue was beyond excited – she was nearly out of her mind.
As we turned the corner, I saw why she was in such a state. We pulled into traffic behind Dad’s old car and the folks who bought it from us. Sue had heard Dad’s car and KNEW that was where her Daddy was. Soon, they turned one way while we kept on another way. The keening sound that Sue made cut through me like a million sharp knives. I don’t think that anything has ever hurt me so badly as the sound that she made, knowing that she was in pain and wanted to be with her Daddy. I was so impacted that I had to pull over and gather myself before I could drive any further.
Of course, Sue being a dog, she lives in the moment. So by the time we got to Doggie Fun Land, she was ready to run and play. I wish I could have recovered as quickly.
Today, Father’s Day, was the toughest holiday since Dad passed. It was even tougher than Thanksgiving, Christmas, Dad’s birthday, or mine. Since my younger brother
John passed away in 2004, Father’s Day has been a special occasion for Dad, Sue, & I. This year, with just Sue, Pal, and I it seemed a very lonely day.
If you know me, then you know how dearly I loved, and still love, my father. If you don’t know me, then words can never tell you.
But I want to share these words anyway. In 2007 I was still working part time at WGHN– and of course I was working on Father’s Day. Before I left for work that morning, I placed a card and a pile of gifts on the dining room table. I also left him a note. The note is reproduced below, without any further comment.
I know that I’m doing more for Father’s Day this year than what we’ve traditionally done. Partially that’s because I’m so grateful for all that you’ve done for me, and partially because I’m a little guilty about how little I’ve done for you. Certainly some of it is a side effect of how scared I was about losing you in February. But mostly it is just because I love you.
You’ve always seemed superhuman to me. The strength of your character and the gentleness of your nature still inspire awe in me. And when I look back from the lofty heights of my 47 years (yes, you should read some sarcasm in that) at how much you had accomplished in life by age 47, and how little I have accomplished, I am humbled.
Probably the single greatest thing that you did for both John and I was that you allowed us the space to be children when we were children and that you allowed us even more space to be our own selves when we became adults. Recently I’ve thought a lot about that, and how I haven’t really given the same back to you. I’ve always expected perfection from you. And while you generally deliver on that score, I let myself become frustrated and even angry when those occasions arise when you are simply a human being. That isn’t fair, and it isn’t right. It has been a limiting factor in our tremendous friendship, and I am sorry for all the times that I’ve allowed my attitude to impact our relationship.
I know that you aren’t some comic book superhero who always does right. I know that you are simply a man who always tries to do right. And that is a far more precious and valuable thing. I know that you forgive me for this, you always do – and I appreciate your indulgence more than I’ll ever be able to say or even show. I will try harder to allow you the space to be your own self, and a human being. But there will always be a little corner of myself that enjoys pretending that you really are that comic book superhero.
I wrote this all down and stuck it in a card for you to read while I am at work so that we could avoid one of those awkward, mushy moments. But that doesn’t make it any less real. Thank you for being my father, I love you. Happy Father’s Day!