In a few weeks’ time, thousands of daughters and sons will be celebrating father’s day.
It will be the 5th time that I will not celebrate fatherhood with the man who raised me.
Four years ago, the first fathers day after my dads death, I spent time with my husband’s family. Upon arrival there was an air of awkwardness as the in-laws shuffled around me not knowing what to say or do. There were hugs and then words.
‘Thanks for coming. It must be hard for you. Especially on a day like today’
I responded too promptly ‘Every day is hard’
‘Yes but it must be especially hard today’ came their swift reply.
Although well meant, their words were for their own sake and not mine. They were worried how to be around me on a day that was all about spending time with fathers. A day where I was not to see or spend time with mine. But it was only back in the comfort of my own home where I could momentarily reflect on the day, that I confirmed again to myself, it hadn’t been one of the hardest days.
I had watched my children playing with their cousins, basked in the midday heat of the sun, nibbled on food fresh from a barbeque and sat contentedly with my husband, who from time to time would slip his hand in mine.
It’s the other days that are the hardest, as I had pointed out to my in -laws upon my arrival. The minute details of a day that catch you unaware like slicing some stilton cheese and enjoying the intense salty flavour that my dad loved so much. It’s looking out of the window at a family of birds in a nearby bush emerging from their nest and tweeting their evening song and remembering my dads fascination with the natural world.
Music is hard to deal with and sometimes I will hear a song on the radio that is so familiar, it fills the room with an over bearing presence of my dad. The nostalgia the song evokes is thick and palpable, wavering uncomfortably between euphoria and yearning.
And of course watching my young son giggle and dance, chat and play and know that he was just a 6 month old fetus when my dad passed away and that he will never know his granddad. A man who was worldly, clever, curious, enjoyed food and drink, nature, music and laughter. All the things that make someone human and alive, so quickly evaporated. Never to be again. And then my symmetrical frustration, my dad will never meet his grandson who is also clever, curious and enjoys nature and music the way he did.
For it’s never about getting through one manufactured day without my dad, It’s about getting through all the days without him. With the never ending thoughts and feelings that sneak up and surprise me when I’m driving in the car alone and hear a song on the radio and I hear the words count for my own sake. Or I’m reading a story to my daughter and suddenly I realise it is a story about loss death and letting someone go and my voice catches on the last words so I have to swallow my tears.
These are the feelings that I carry day to day, minute to minute. The feelings that those around me, close friends, family and acquaintances are fearful to know. They are unpredictable feelings that are aroused at times that are not always convenient to me or others.
For grief isn’t convenient. It is raw, erratic, and ill- timed. It grasps you round the throat and constricts your vocal chords when you are sat in a meeting or as you gaze out the window at the sea views, taking in the strength of the waves and the vastness of the ocean. For you see reflected in that vastness your grief.
Time is strange thing and not always a straight forward healer. It is however a reminder that you exist without someone you knew so well and it brings hope that you can carry that grief through life and eventually find some way of existing alongside the enormity of it all.
This year, I am due to give birth to my third child, on fathers day! This will be the 2nd child that my father didn’t get to meet but his memory lives loud and proud in our house through music, toys he has built, endless photographs and of course the cheeky twinkle in the eye of my son. I am looking forward to meeting our next child and finding in him or her all the things I knew and loved in my father.
I couldn’t imagine a better gift to myself or my dad’s legacy.