On Father’s Day: Holding Space After the Loss of Your Father.

It’s Father’s Day as I sit here writing this.  Two years after losing my dad, and I still want to swing by his apartment and bring him a card and a gift and tell him how much I love him.  Still want him to see my kids and listen to him tease my son about how tall he is getting. 

Oh God how much I wish I could do that….especially now. My son was still shorter than my dad, who when he passed was only 5’6″…..this boy of mine is now almost 6’3″.  I can only imagine what my dad would say if he could see him now.

Damn it. Why is this so hard?  I just want the grief to go away.  I just want to have happy memories. Not this overwhelming sadness.  Maybe it’s all harder because he was my rock.  I could do no wrong in his eyes. 

He was always the first to wish me a happy birthday. Always ready to encourage me and tell me how proud he was of me. Always full of love and grace. I guess I never realized how much I needed all of that until it was gone. 

I don’t have another parent to step in and be what he was to me or to my kids.  My mom is just not able to…never has been. So the loss is great.  Maybe it will always feel that way. Maybe I need to learn to embrace and live with it. 

I suppose you can learn to move on when a piece of your heart goes missing, but I haven’t quite figured out how to do that yet.

I still remember the sound of his voice, his accent, and the way he would sit on my sofa and play with my dog who he loved so much. I remember how he would always give me a wink and a thumbs up as if to say everything would be ok. It’s the last thing I remember him doing, the last day I saw him alive.

He never wanted me to worry about anything….he knew I was a worrier.

I remember how his eyes welled up with tears when I told him I was getting divorced, because he didn’t want me to be lonely.  I felt terrible that I may have disappointed him….but I know all he ever wanted was for me to be happy.

Once I moved into my little house post-divorce he walked in and was so proud that I had set up everything within 24 hours and had put together my kitchen table and chairs by myself with just a screwdriver.  He told me I was strong like his mama had been. He always used to say that.

I know he would have loved my boyfriend and I wish he could’ve met him. Two amazing men, both with brilliant blue eyes, who took a leap of faith, left their countries and ended up in the City of Angels to start from the ground up.

It makes me smile through the tears to think about how he would have regaled him with European history and English history in particular as my partner hails from across the pond.  He would’ve bashfully told him that we are related to Queen Elizabeth by marriage.  That had he accepted Lord Rothermere’s invitation he would have ended up living in the UK.  Then he would have launched into what Los Angeles was like when he first got here and stepped off the train at Union Station in 1956.

I wish my dad could’ve watched my daughter graduate from elementary school this past week….so that he could’ve seen her march with such grace to the podium.  His royal blood so evident in this little true American princess.

My heart……but how I can see him in both of my kids.  Gone, but always present. His legacy lives on.

He is in a better place now, but I am selfish.

I want him here. With me.  I want to hear his stories again, just one more time. I want one of his bear hugs.  I want to get one of his funny emails he’d send from work out of the blue. Always joking no matter how he felt or what he was going through. 

I want him to be here for special occasions and mundane ones.  I see everyone on social media celebrating their fathers and it makes me so happy for them, but leaves me empty and sad.  So many things we will never experience together again.  

He’ll never read this blog, although he gave me his gift of storytelling. If I choose to remarry, he won’t be by my side. His seat at the dinner table will remain empty every holiday. How does anyone ever become numb to this?

I want him to play chess again with my son, and to teach my daughter how to count in Hungarian. One more time. One more.

I have so much left to share with him. Too much.

I think I’ll get up now, wipe away my tears, and keep busy the rest of the day.  Ride out this proverbial wave of grief once more.  Just wish I was steadier on my board.

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