This day is always a rough one for me–Father’s Day. My mind is a mess, a terrible mess, on this day. I am constantly flooded with so many ‘things’. The images that flood social media with outpourings of love, devotion, appreciation–the wedding pictures of friends dancing with their daddies–the baby pictures, the whole gamut of adoration and emotion. I’m a weepy mess. It’s all so beautiful. And it makes that hole I have feel like a chasm–my entire body feels like an empty space.
I try not to go there. I try not to give myself any pity. I try to focus on my boys and their incredibly daddy. We are busy all weekend making gifts, planning his day, and up early to start his brunch feast. I have a step dad I am beginning to know and appreciate. We show him our love and give him gifts and cards. We are busy finding birthday and Father’s Day gifts for Marty’s dad (Jerry’s birthday is on flag day, so his always get combined–lucky guy) and showing him our appreciation. I cook, bake, and clean–and cook and bake and clean some more. I stay busy. I stay very busy. I count my blessings. I count all of my unbelievable blessings.
Yet sometimes, sometimes…
My mind goes there. To that place of ‘what in the world would it be like to have a dad?’. I find myself even jealous of those women who have loved and lost. At least they have those beautiful memories. That ache in their heart is one of missing someone who filled it with good things and not dark things. They have treasures stored. I find myself wishing I had had nothing instead of all this pain. I find myself wishing so many things.
I can’t even bring my self to use the ‘d’ word with the man who is biologically responsible for me being present. He doesn’t deserve it. It literally makes me feel like vomiting. I have no good memories of this person. Zero. But I have plenty of memories that wake me up sweating — the nightmares — or the horrible panic attacks I get when I think I see him somewhere in public. I often wonder if those will ever go away. I am thankful that over the years and years of therapy, they have lessened.
I can only imagine what it would be like to have someone to call that word. Someone that supported you, was proud of you, was remotely good to you. Would I have been a different person, a better person? What kind of woman would I have been? Not so messy, not so sad, not so broken. Maybe.
I am finally coming to somewhat of a place of peace in all of this. Rocky peace, but I’m not tripping over giant boulders any more — or not as often. What happened, all those years upon years of what happened, is done. I have to remind myself of that. Even in my nightmares. I have to remind myself that this is MY life, this is MY house, this is MY family, and I have choice — regardless of how many voices try to tell me otherwise (there are so many people who try to take advantage of broken because they don’t realize how truly strong broken is).
And my God reminds me that I am His. That I do have a Father. A most perfect father — who has been with me all along. Through all of those tears, in all of those spaces of helplessness, chaos, and utter loneliness — He was (and IS) always there. He was that voice telling me to hold on, to not give up, to keep going no matter what — and that someday — oh yes, sweet child — someday — things would get better. I know God exists because I am still here, because I am still breathing, and because my family is a miracle — those I call my children and husband — and even more so, those I call my mother, sisters and brother. I know God exists because of all of this. He is, I am.
And one day, we will be reunited — in a place as perfect as He is. And it is there I can thank Him being to being. I can thank Him for all that He brought me through. I can thank Him for always believing in me. I can thank Him for never forsaking me, for being my teacher, my rock, my friend. I can tell Him that He has always been the most important part of my life. I can tell Him how much joy He has given me and how I appreciate all of His incredible gifts, blessings and miracles. I can praise Him. For now, I have constant communication with Him through prayer and meditation. We talk a lot. He never gets tired of our conversations.
So my heart hurts today. And it hurts for all of those others that may be hurting. Take this hurt, and turn it into something good. I know I never want anyone to ever feel the way I felt or feel on those bad days. I want to be there to listen to those that have gone through experiences like or worse than I have. I want them to know they are not alone, and life is still meant to be lived and breathed by you. You are not taking up too much space or other people’s oxygen — you are adding light. So much light. Your life has purpose. You were chosen, you were created, you were thought up and formed for something amazing — and there really is so much amazing (‘amazing’ is one of my sister, Jen’s, favorite words — and I’d have to agree with her — so much amazing!).
Hugs and love to all of you that are a little, or a lot, lost on this day. We can be found in Him. We are all precious. So divinely precious.
And as my boys grow, all too fast, I am thankful for the wonderful daddy they have in my husband. Yes, we struggle. I think that’s the real of life — but my boys never doubt for a second that their mommy and daddy love them, that their God loves them, and that no matter what — in good times or bad — this love is always enough. And that, just that, is the biggest miracle of all to this mommy. Nothing can break or shake that or threaten that — EVER. And part of that forever and always eternal love equation is their daddy. Watching this happen has been such a blessing.
So, I’ll take my broken pieces and be ever so proud of them — as I let the light of the love I know shine through them. Because that’s what my Father taught me — and He loves me just the way I am.
Much love to you all, and Happy Father’s Day to all of those daddies making this world a better place. Thank you.
Shine on, dear ones, shine on…