Father’s Day, like Mother’s Day, holds its own unique hardships for me. The day reminds me that I am not a mother, because I have no child-thus no father to such child. The day reminds me of all the men in my life who are fathers, including the ones that no longer speak to me, for a variety of painful reasons always guaranteed to make me cry.
The day reminds me of my own father, who passed away in 2013, and of the close relationship we were just beginning to have when he lost his battle to brain cancer.
I wish I could have one more phone conversation, one more squeez-y tight hug from him, one more “I love you honey” in his somewhat garbled speech, a side effect from years of cancer treatments.
It reminds me though also, of my Pop-o who has been there since I was four, without fail, and has taught me countless lessons. Though he prides me on my intelligence, he has taught me that it is better to be kind. To give to those who need it. When I have the funds or the supplies to give to those who need it, but lack the courage, he gives for me. He goes without complaint on numerous driving and library trips, and goes with me to Buddhism classes. He is without a doubt, one of the top five reasons I am still alive. Happy Father’s Day Pop-o. I love you mas y mas.
To any Fathers reading this, any daughters or sons, take the time to appreciate your children, your fathers, because the time that we think will last forever, simply doesn’t.
To any Fathers, give your children a hug, if possible, and Happy Father’s Day.