Happy Father's Day

I've been struggling this year with Father's Day. It's my first Father's Day where I don't talk to my Dad because he's not there. That hurts. There is a dull ache for me when I consider that and I find myself often, for survival, shaking it off (Denial? Repression? Maybe.).

This week, while getting some things for our booth at the town's celebration of its historic and current businesses and shops, I noticed a display at Waldenbooks. I don't know what I was thinking, but I picked up a book about fathers and daughters. The book mentioned that there's something special about that relationship. There truly is.

And then I flipped open to a random page. On it there was a quote from a daughter about her Dad that said something about how she noticed her Dad's first gray hair and how it struck her with sudden sadness to consider that someday he would be gone. That was it. My eyes stung, I blinked rapidly, and put the book back on the shelf, immediately distracting myself with the original purpose of my visit to the bookstore. I didn't really mention this to Mark until yesterday.

See, yesterday, while at said town celebration, Mark was talking with a man we know whose scalloped wooden fence we admire, asking where he got it. The man explained that he did it himself using a certain kind of saw. Mark, relaying this to me, said, "So we can do the same because we have a saber saw. It's one of the many tools your dad gave me." I kept looking at him as if I was listening but I was trying desperately to not let my face contort into that look people get right before they cry. I felt my facial muscles tightening, the stinging in my eyes. Mark noticed right away. "Are you okay?"

That was it. I started to cry. Right there on Main Street. That's what happens when you repress things for so long that it bubbles right under the surface like that. The littlest thing sets you off. I couldn't speak. No, I'm not okay. I miss my Dad. I miss him so much that it aches. I miss feeling so tangibly and emotionally looked out for by my Daddy--sometimes it almost feels scary to not have that in my life anymore. I could *always* count on a "That's great, Bibi. I love you." from my Dad. And now, I can't call him today and hear those words. I can't hear his sweet broken English and endearing accent asking me, "How's the kids? Oh, they a' so cute." How can he not be here to enjoy them? How can our kids have only what they've known so far and their memories of him as a Vavo role model for them? It's not fair. I miss him. They miss him. They've never doubted his love for them. Never. He's always made a point of talking with them, helping provide for them, sending money to encourage their pizza and other food habits, visiting them, and letting them know he loves them. Over the years he's (somewhat out of character for him) chosen gifts like books and things specifically for them. He's always been a loving grandfather just like he's always been a loving father to me. My Dad's always been full of love, help, acceptance, trust, and kind advice for us. And I miss him desperately.

Vavo and K playing checkers

My Dad with K and M

Vavo with Baby Kate--My Dad loves this picture and even cut it out and framed it for the kids to enjoy in their room :P

Helping Install more cupboards

Vavo with M

Vavo playing checkers with K

Vavo and Vavo Reading stories

My brother and I had a nice talk on the phone this morning--I wished him a Happy Father's Day and he said same to Mark, lots of laughing and sharing stories, neither of us really wanting to mention the obvious. After some chit chat, my brother brought it up first. "First Father's Day without Dad."

"I know. It sucks," I said trying to play it cool and not cry.

"Yeah it does."

And then we did the normal things grieving people do--shared a bit of anger at all the medicines he was on and things not tried to help him live longer and more fully. A normal reaction when you feel cheated. Probably a defense mechanism, too. Don't talk bout the good stuff. You might cry.

My brother and I have had very different relationships with my Dad. My brother is 13 years older than I am and got Dad in his younger, stricter, not-always-easy days. I got the older, more laid back, more serene father. I'm a Daddy's girl through and through. Sometimes I think of how my brother got 13 more years with my Dad than I got, but I'm not angry or even jealous. Those weren't easy years for anyone. I really think I got the best of my Dad. Maybe, in some ways, more than anyone else in the immediate family. I guess I've always felt a special connection with him that way and the pain is that much more when I think of how he's not here. There's never been a negative anything between us. Ever. I don't remember ever ever ever feeling angry or anything like that with my Dad. I miss that. I miss him. He has always been a person in my life who has always loved me regardless of anything and who has always looked out for me. As I look through pictures, I can see him looking older and sicker over the years in such an obvious way. I can see it now. I didn't see it then. I didn't want to, I suppose. I know I didn't want to.

Vavo watching with the kids

Vavo enjoying one of his favorite foods with his grandson

Playing Play-doh

Day Out with Thomas

Teaching M to ride a tricycle

Teaching K to ride without training wheels

My Mom and Dad with K and M at "Day Out with Thomas"

I think back on friends and family who have lost parents and I think it was always more of a factual knowledge for me (especially since death and grieving are among least favorite topics)--"Kara's mother died when she was younger," "Emily's mother died several years ago," "Jeff's father died while he was on his mission," my mother-in-law's experience, my mom's (who is both an orphan and a widow) experience. I didn't allow myself to dwell on it more than that--factual. For my own sanity. It's too painful to consider. And I didn't understand. No one understands unless they've been through it themselves.

That's a saying I don't always like or agree with--that you must experience something to understand it. I remember writing an essay about that in high school--is experience necessary for full understanding? I'd like to think that's not true, especially as a counselor. How can I possibly help/relate to my clients when I haven't experienced things they have? That's where non-judgment comes to play. And empathy. But with this, yes, I now understand more fully, more poignantly, and more fully. And maybe with some things you do understand more fully when you've experienced it yourself, not that you can't be a support and help to others, but you may not be able to fully relate and understand. Anyway, I understand more now that my father has died. It hurts in a way that's difficult to describe. And it makes you suddenly angry, sad, grateful, doubtful, happy, and upset all at once. And it makes you reconsider Kara, Emily, Jeff, Vivian, and my Mom. And it makes you understand more. And you feel like you might even have a sneak peek into their emotions, thoughts, and experiences and you share a common, painful bond.

Anyway, sorry to be a downer. It's just how it is for me at the moment. I've tried really hard for the past several weeks and months to have some sort of distraction/fun thing--I've tried to surprise Mark with a pretty special surprise (that has been postponed), we've tried to get my in-laws out here, and we've considered a weekend at the beach. Unfortunately, the stupid, scary gas prices have put the kabosh on all of those ideas.

But we're having a really nice day and focusing on making it a relaxing, enjoyable day for Mark, my sweet husband who is more concerned about me and my feelings than about having a good day for himself. See? He's simply that way. I've married a man who loves me unconditionally and who looks out for me. I've married my best friend, my soulmate, the only man who can properly love and care for my Daddy's little girl.

And in addition to being a wonderful husband, he is a phenomenal father. I am blessed to have him as my husband and partner and our kids are so blessed to have him as their father. He is SUCH a generation X dad. He makes a point of having work-life balance. He is super involved in everything we do. He is hard-working, funny, thoughtful, kind, smart, and generally amazing. He's always amazed me with what he accomplishes and he continually amazes me.

Mark with Baby Kate

Mark and M playing T-ball

Surprising Mark at work for his birthday

Snuggling

Welcome, K!

Welcome, M!

Mark with the little guy

Mark is the kind of guy that is simply a true partner. Everything we do together is seamless, egalitarian, true teamwork. I struggle during conversations with women whose husbands seem so clueless or duddy or uninvolved, husbands who are so hands-off with the kids and household stuff and sort of do their own thing. I don't want to make them feel bad or say anything stupid (as I'm apt to do as a nervous talker), but I can't relate. I'm married to a freaking superhero.

He does more dishes than I do, writes children's poetry, does homeschooling stuff and crafts with the kids, goes out of his way to get things for us that he's heard us mention or he knows we like, encourages me to do nice things for myself like sleep in, blog, enjoy a night out, read a good book, and generally go easy on myself. He honestly treats me like I'm the most amazing woman who has ever graced the earth. He's not at all condescending or patronizing in this--he doesn't put me on some proverbial golden pedestal. He's real with me. He respects and honors me by always supporting me being exactly who I am. He never pulls an "I'm the head of this household" ego trip. Never! Even trying to picture him doing that just doesn't happen in my brain because it's so completely not him. He and I are one. One in everything. We see eye-to-eye on big things like communication and finances and little things like what to have for dinner and creative ways to promote our business. We even like the same things! Sure, we have some differences in taste, but they're so minor and manageable that it's not even noticeable--we make it work for us. I often think he's the one who got the short end of the stick in our relationship and yet he doesn't feel that way at all.

Whoops, I was talking about him as a father and got totally sidetracked. I do that sometimes if you haven't noticed.

Mark helping with a school project

Mark and the kids at The Nutcracker

Mark and the kids kicking back on Thanksgiving 2006

He takes the kids outside to play in the snow. He teaches them to jump off the diving board. He helps them learn to ride without training wheels. He makes sure the kids often have their favorite meals. He goes on dates with the kids. He writes them stories. He reads them stories. He builds huge Lego projects with them. He plays house and restaurant. He knows how to parent well both sons and daughters. He schools the children in math, history, and general knowledge. He teaches them to think for themselves and be the best they can be. He helps them be open and not narrow-minded. He treats me with the utmost respect and realness always. He teaches them the value of sarcasm. He helps them learn how to use the self check-out at the grocery store. He surprises them with fun stuff. He makes sure they work hard and learn responsibility and service and respect. He teaches them manners and good will. He arranges his schedule to go on field trips with us. He cleans, he cooks, he does laundry. He does so much! There are so many things he does I don't dare mention on here because it would probably seem so over-the-top to some (and likely embarrass him), but suffice it to say that even majorly little things that help your day go smoothly are thought of and done. We are spoiled.

But I know that only good can come of the way he is as a husband and father. I know that our kids can always know they're loved and count on him and know him as a wonderful and loving Dad. He knows the deep love a father has for his children. I know he knows because of his sweet way with my own father, my sweet Daddy. I know he knows because of how he spoke to my father as my father lay dying. How he told him that he loves me. How he told him that he protects and cares for me and the children. I know because of how he expressed his deeply passionate and heartfelt promise to always care for my Daddy's little girl. He gave my Dad the gift of being able to die in peace and assurance knowing that I, his little girl, is supremely loved, protected, cared for and that his grandchildren have a wonderful father to love and guide them. And it's more than words. My Dad has always seen Mark live in a way true to his word--he always truly treats me and the kids the way a kind, loving husband and father does. Because he IS a kind, loving husband and father. An amazing father. Happy Father's Day, Sweetie!