For Just One Day…

I don’t remember the last Fathers Day I spent with my dad, but I’m imagining it was great. He would have oohed and such at the silly things we’d made for him. He would have made a drink to celebrate the occasion, and by 3pm would’ve needed a nap. I can’t remember the name I gave him for writing in my blog, but his real name was Edward. To all he was Ed. That tall and lanky man with a beautiful laugh and snarky attitude. He never met a screwdriver he didn’t enjoy and he never met my two youngest children.

When I was very young Ed made me a swing set, and I remember him lining up nails, laid on their sides so that I could hammer on them with my favorite whittled stick.

Once, when my mother was away, Ed decided to make us a treehouse. Using just one nail for each piece of wood leading to the planks that were to be our fort, and my insistence on climbing up first – I got to the second board and slid/fell/smacked my way down. Scraped and bleeding Dad picked me up. Holding me close he ran inside and with mom not there to nurse my wounds, he tried to take the pain away. My brother sat in living room, watching as Ed gave me wet hand towels to dab the cuts, while he warmed up spaghetti-o’s. When that didn’t take the sting away dad gave me a Popsicle. A banana Popsicle. That is a tradition in our house nowadays. Cut cleaning and cold treats make for easy bandaid placement. 
Once when Ed took us camping it rained so hard that the military surplus tent collapsed from the weight, and we had to sleep in the old suburban. My brother and I, in our matching baseball jackets were just terrified by the darkness. Dad was our comfort, and gave us a flashlight and chewy watermelon candy to ease our fears. 

We use to visit old cemeteries with Ed. He loved the history, and reading old headstones, and pulling weeds away from a final resting place. One day I will do the same for him.

(I look up as I type this, and in our yard is a five point buck. He’s a beautiful specimen. I think to myself that perhaps Dad has sent him for me. The deer is staring at me. The dogs, for now, don’t smell him. I wonder if God sent the deer, reminding me that He’s never far, always with me.)

My memories of my Father Ed, though mostly faded, tattered by time and a life taken too soon by alcohol and depression, are with me here. They are in my heart, my mind. And though I try to focus on the good there is a very small part that feels that twinge of pain about all he missed, I missed, we missed as a family. 

I chose to share his name here, with you, my friends/family, because today I miss the speghetti-o’s, and I miss his smile. I wanted him to meet all my children and take them camping, build them a tree house, make them laugh. But really, I want him to call me Honey again. I want him here.

I love you Dad. Happy Fathers Day.

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19 thoughts on “For Just One Day…

  1. I love that you appreciate him so well! And thanks for liking my post about Irena’s cookbook – I would love it if you could share with your friends! It’s a good book – and she’s pretty poor:)

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  2. Thank you for reminding me by how you live that a relationship between parent and child is all about perspective. You encourage me to see my own father in a different light, and for that (and so many other, countless things), I’m grateful to you.

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  3. My relationship with my dad was complicated too. Now that he’s gone, I wish I’d focused on the good things sooner than I did. Regret sucks.
    Sorry your dad didn’t get the opportunity to meet your kids, and do all those grandfatherly things.
    These days…father’s day, birthdays, anniversaries all become different now that dad isn’t here.
    Hugs friend.

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    1. I have been thinking of you! This is your first Father’s Day without your dad too isn’t it. I know how painful that was for you as he lingered in the hospital. Keep those moments, when he knew you were there, and you knew he saw you try, close. He loves you so much friend! He knew you were there every dayπŸ’œ

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      1. Aw, thanks. I don’t really know how to comes to terms with it yet. Even though I was present and saw it all unfold, I’m still someh ok w functioning in the denial area.
        My dad also drank far too much. I totally understand trying to fund the good moments in the mix.
        We seem to have so many life circumstances that are similar. It is crazy! It’s nice to find someone to relate to. Although, a bit sad too, when we relate on the hard stuff. Sad someone else deals with these things.

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  4. I’m sorry he was taken too soon, and yes- it is amazing how over time memories begin to fade- I’m finding more and more of that as I get older. It seems as if these are cemented into your brain which is lovely! HUGS!

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    1. I hope that by writing them down I won’t lose them. A part of me is sorry he’s gone, but another part of me knows how sad and even more painful losing him all over again if he’d died drunk rather than in his brief sobriety. πŸ’œ

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    1. This is your first Father’s Day without your dad. I’ve been thinking of you this week. It is hard. The only saving grace I had that first year was knowing I have the very best of my father, and so do you! So much love going out to you todayπŸ’œ

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  5. Beautiful! I love how it is always the memories of moments that didn’t go just quite right that are the ones most treasured as we get older. Thank you for sharing your dad with us.

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