It’s Father’s Day. The almost end of Father’s Day and well, can you believe it’s been three years?
Three incredibly fast years?
Three incredible growing years?
Three incredible lonely years?
I realized tonight as I walked across the Williamsburg Bridge home that I hadn’t written my yearly Father’s Day card to you. I know a blog post doesn’t quite cut it, but it does allow me the chance to share this letter with my readers and with the world that I wish would communicate more in letter form.
Father’s Day has made me grumpy. A little sad, too. I get uber emotional and end up crying and curling up with your super large sweat shirt as I cry myself to sleep. It still kind of smells like you, too, which is why I try not to touch it too much. As long as it has your smell, you’ll be that much closer when I need your protection.
It’s funny how when you were alive, I’d call you and it didn’t seem like a bit deal, but now that you’re not here, it is a big deal. It’s a reminder that I lost you sooner that I’d like. I know it wasn’t my call to keep you here, but it would be nice if I could give you a hug, or call your phone and hear you pick up.
You know, sometimes I can hear you cough, or say my name in that strong authoritative voice you had. Speaking of which, when they turned off your phone, I recorded your voicemail message onto my computer so that I would always have that to listen to when I need that strength.
I know you’re here. In the light and the air around me. In the hawk that visited my window that week of my birthday and the week after. In my thoughts and in my heart. Yet, it isn’t the same. And it makes me sad for all of those who don’t know their father, or like me, don’t have a father to call and celebrate with on birthdays, holidays, and other celebratory events.
It’s amazing how much you pop into my mind, actually. Just a couple of weeks ago, I remember you teaching me how to parallel park after failing the manueverability part of my driving exam at 17.
My favorite memory though, is from when you and Mom took me to enroll at Monticello Middle School and you sat in the principal’s office and told him if anyone hurt me, you’d come in and hurt them. I remember it as clear as that day and it’s my favorite and saddest memory.
When you passed away, I told a friend, that I had lost the only man who would ever love me unconditionally and it’s true. I did. I may have gained strength and an important lesson in life, but I still lost one of the most important love relationships of my life. I don’t mean that as skeezy as some people may think, I just know that not every love lasts forever. The strongest loves are the love we receive from our parents. So while I do carry a piece of you with me, that love I know you had and that protected me and will never be reciprocated.
Sometimes that’s the only love I want, the kind that feels protective and can’t be reciprocated. While I try to give it to myself, it just isn’t the same.
I’m rambling now and I’m crying so much that I can’t quite see the screen anymore, but I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for being the best father you could be and thank you for being there even now, at a distance. I know you’re here, even when it doesn’t feel like it. As I get ready for the next few months of change, I hope you stay close; I’m going to need it.
Happy Father’s Day.
I love you,
Sawa (aka Sara)