I'm not in the mood for Father's Day

Father's Day is here. Ugh. I've never looked so forward to Monday morning.

Facebook and Shutterfly throwbacks are reminding me of what I was doing on Father's Days in years past. Smiles. Hugs. Kids sitting high atop broad shoulders. Father's Day used to be fun for us. We'd make daddy silly cards, we'd give him coupons for backrubs or for an hour of peace and quiet (yeah, basically our daddy got a lot of empty promises for Father's Day). We used to have fancy breakfasts after church or attend backyard grill outs or take our boat on the river to feel warm June breezes wash over us. My kids would play on the swings or run around the yard and their daddy would watch from the deck, maybe a drink in hand.

That was back when my kids still had a daddy. Their father has been gone a year and a half now. This will be their second Father’s Day without him. Their second Father’s Day bringing cards to a cemetery. There's something about seeing his name etched in stone there, that makes him forever here, "with" us. Now they make cards asking him about heaven or color pictures of him with angel wings that we'll set on his headstone where he rests next to his grandparents. 

I apologize if this seems bitter, but there are just some days in which the daddy-kid thing really gets to me. I'm usually able to hold it together when it comes to the feelings I have seeing children with their fathers. For example, a couple months ago at school drop-off, I looked in the rearview mirror as we pulled up to the school entrance and I saw a little girl in my daughter's class lean up and give her daddy a kiss before she got out. It took every ounce of tear-duct strength not to let the floodgates open while my kids were still in the car. But I held it together. It crushed me, but I kept my shit together. 

But as far as Father's Day goes, I just don't have it in me to hold anything back. I don’t want to spend the day crying either. So this year, it's going to be just another Sunday in June. I'm aiming to avoid seeing kids and their daddies together. I'm going to log off Facebook – with its "on this day" memories and happy family pictures of kids and dads. I'll call my dad back home in Indiana and tell him to enjoy lunch out with my mom. I'll send a card to my father-in-law, too. The kids and I are going to skip church, because they usually ask all the fathers to stand for a round of applause. Nope, can't see that today. 

We will take our cards to the cemetery. I'll probably bring Kleenex just in case, because I still can't shake the feeling that my kids' daddy shouldn't be in here. He shouldn't have to be underground amongst people who were born in the early 1900s. He wasn't old. This daddy wasn't ready to leave.

We're going to spend Father's Day in a dark movie theater instead. We’ll sit in reclining chairs and eat popcorn, candy and soda til we bust. We're going to close out the world around us, a world where dads are still alive and breathing, grilling, playing, loving and laughing. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad for the people who still have their fathers. I'm just in no mood to watch them revel in it today. 

See you all on Monday.

My daughter's picture of daddy's room at the very top of heaven. 


  1. Thanks for reaching out over the Widows with Children page on FB. I've just started following your blog, and it's so incredibly poignant. I, too, have "complete opposite" twin 6-year-old girls and a very sweet (but damn is he bull-headed!!) 9-year-old with Down Syndrome. Thank you for showing and sharing your journey in this way. This first summer without their dad is going to be so challenging... I am glad I am not alone.

    1. Thank you for finding me and reading along in my journey! Hugs to you friend xoxo


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