In 2008, I lost my father, and in 2013, my marriage came to an end. For those who have experienced the loss of a parent followed closely by the dissolution of a marriage, the connection can feel profound. Each absence creates a void that the other cannot fill, leaving behind a complex tapestry of grief.
After much heartache and emotional labor, my children and I have found a semblance of balance in our lives. We manage to carry on with our daily routines without being overwhelmed by the sadness that once loomed over us—except when Father’s Day rolls around.
Father’s Day can be a challenging time when your dad is no longer here and the father of your children is living apart. It’s a day that feels less like a celebration and more like an endurance test. While many might dismiss these commercialized holidays, they hold genuine significance for my kids and me. We feel their weight acutely.
This past Mother’s Day, for instance, my children surprised me with breakfast in bed and a trip to the museum. I was genuinely touched. Similarly, a friend who shares a birthday with Valentine’s Day hosted his annual party, ensuring I wouldn’t spend the evening alone. Another thoughtful friend sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers after a tough breakup. Despite the commercialization of these occasions, they stem from heartfelt intentions. Why not take a day to express love for your mother? Or for a partner? Unfortunately, you need your father present for Father’s Day to convey that love, and that’s where the heartache lies.
I often say my dad was the best father one could have, not as a boast, but as my heartfelt truth. While I understand that many might share similar sentiments about their fathers, the emotional weight of my statement remains real. My dad was extraordinary, and I feel fortunate to have shared that bond. His infectious spirit drew my friends in, often leading them to abandon their own fathers to join in on our adventures—whether it was fishing trips, art projects, or movie outings where we indulged in films not meant for kids.
One particularly amusing memory I cherish is from a trip to Japan. My dad and I stumbled upon a festival mistakenly dubbed the “For Tea Lady Festival.” As we navigated the festivities, we were met with a parade of colorful paper-mâché penises. My dad, ever the good sport, humorously embraced the moment, purchasing balloons shaped like the very objects surrounding us. That was my dad—always turning an awkward situation into a joyous adventure.
Now, as Father’s Day approaches, I find myself reflecting on these memories and the absence of my dad. Last year was particularly tough, compounded by the distance from my children’s father. I can barely recall what we did that day, likely because I’ve tucked it away in my mind. Maybe we rode bikes—a fitting tribute to my father’s love of the outdoors.
This year, however, Father’s Day coincides with my daughter’s high school graduation. Her father is planning to visit, and there are whispers of him moving back East. While it’s too late for my daughter, who will head off to college soon, this change will mean the world to my 9-year-old son. Knowing he’ll have his dad close again fills me with relief and even a fresh perspective on Father’s Day. I’ll be on my bike, earbuds in with “Sounds of Silence,” feeling connected to my father once more.
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In conclusion, while the journey through loss and divorce is complex, moments of connection and hope can emerge, especially on days like Father’s Day.