As Father’s Day approaches, I feel a sense of loss. Even though my dad left this earth years ago, that feeling of dread creeps into my being every June without fail. Undoubtedly, many of you have experienced this.
It is a sense of heightened emotion and a tightness in my chest. I feel it as I write this post. In the first few years, I didn’t recognize what this feeling was; it was simply, grief. My body could feel it before my mind processed it. Then I realized what day was coming up: Father’s Day. It is natural to feel this way. Eventually, I learned to acknowledged and accept these feelings.
The rose is the official flower of Father’s Day; red if they are alive and white if they are deceased. I think the white rose is a beautiful and peaceful symbol.
My dad always encouraged me to do things to the best of my ability, never half-assed. He had high expectations and wanted me to set high standards for myself. He taught me to be humble, aware of the feelings of those around me, and to be proud of who I am. Dad taught me the importance of self-respect and that helped keep me on the right path, most of the time.
I still feel his presence in my life. Whether it is through things that are symbolic to me or the whisper of his presence in a quiet moment, he was my protector when I was little, and will always be my guardian angel.
No matter how old you are, it never seems like you spent enough moments with those closest to you when the end comes. When it is your loved one’s time to go, if you get the chance, you try everything to keep them with you longer. Sometimes though, if they are suffering, you have to be strong enough to tell them that it is ok to let go, that you will be alright. We try to hang on to them because we don’t want to face saying goodbye. At some point, we realize we are doing it more to protect ourselves than for them. That moment with my dad was very difficult.
Dad was hard-working, intelligent and had a great sense of humour. He loved visiting with family and friends, fishing and hunting, telling stories, playing solitaire and listening to his Johnny Cash record. He loved to drive around checking the crops and the cattle. He appreciated simple, home-cooked meals and baking.
When I picture him, he is strong and healthy. He is wearing a plain, long-sleeved work shirt. His teasing smile and the twinkle in his eye are forever locked in my memory.
He ensured we had what we needed, not everything we wanted. He worked the farm to provide for his family, often returning to the house late, dirty and exhausted. He wore a trucker-style hat, a give away from an agricultural company, pulled over his wavy brown hair. I imagine him sitting at the kitchen table, eating supper long after the rest of the family had finished.
Many different facets encompass a person’s life; no single role defines them. Dad was more than a father; he was a son, brother, uncle, devoted husband for 59 years, farmer, grandpa, friend and sportsman.
On days such as Father's Day, when you feel the sting of loss most, focus on the your cherished memories. I will remember holiday meals, watching TV together on Sunday nights, following him around on the farm, going for a drive or to the lake, playing cards and the cat pictures and games he drew on the kitchen chalkboard.
Happy Father’s Day!
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