I'm writing this in my father's pajamas, eating honey bunches of oats —his favorite— with Kleenex by my side. This year marks my 10th Father’s Day …sans father. It's a less extravagant celebration for me than it used to be.
As far as I was aware, my daddy was so great that he could have been the one who hung the moon in the sky! I was lucky to have him, and be raised in a fun loving home. Once that was broken up by his death, I was distraught. Part of my happy died with dad, and I didn’t care much about being alive anymore. Life scared me because I learned that at any good moment it could all come to an abrupt stop and be taken away. Daily tasks like unloading the dishwasher frightened me because I’d see knives and imagine myself stabbed on the kitchen floor, bleeding out for mom to find me —but at least I’d get to be with dad again. That’s not an image I’d wish on any kid. I was 11 years old. I didn’t understand much about the cancer, or why my mom could so quickly remarry after he passed. It was hard to take it all in. People who knew dad would approach me and and tell me that they could feel his spirit, or that he came to them in a dream and reassured them that all would be ok. It wasn’t fair, he was my dad after all. Shouldn’t he first and foremost, be reassuring me and looking out for me, HIS KID? Bottom line: my hero stopped being there for me.
But of course things only start to make sense in retrospect and it was about a year ago when I started piecing together that my dad actually has been there all along. How? It was usually through you; you wonderful fathers —strangers or not, having known my familial background or not— who stepped in for him when he could not physically do so. NOT when you thought I needed it, but when I happened to need a dad to look out for me. In hindsight, after each of those times when a father came to my rescue, I immediately thereafter thought to myself, I wonder if dad sent him… because the timing of a father-figure coming out of nowhere to help me was always too perfect to be coincidental.
So without naming names, here’s a big thank you to the dads who I’ve really looked up to as if you were a piece of my own father:
- To the man in Paris who came out of NOWHERE the ONE TIME I was nearly scammed out of a bunch of money, and yelled at the scammer-guy to get away from me.
- To the dad who didn’t share my religious beliefs, but stood up for them anyway when another drunk man was shouting and cursing at me because he found out I was LDS.
- To the dad in my new church ward who was the only one to reach out to me every Sunday for the first six months of me living alone abroad.
- To the dad who wept after he gave me a requested priesthood blessing when I was sick, and told me he felt privileged to have laid his hands upon my head.
- To the [grand]dad who I was able to Skype to tell about my European adventures when I wanted nothing more than to call and tell my real dad.
- To the dads who told one of their dad-jokes to help cheer me up.
- To the dad who overnight shipped me cookies, regardless of my location in the world.
- To the dads who have made me breakfast to show they care.
- To the dad who brought me flowers and chocolate one night, after I had burst into tears in front of him.
- To the dads who invited me along on their otherwise family-only events, and always made me feel welcome in their homes.
- To the dads who have treated me many times on meals, upgrades, desserts, movies, bills, etc.,
- To the dad who fixed my car free of charge, even though it would have been one pricy bill.
- To the dad who always talks about my dad, and cars, and makes me feel loved.
- To the dad (and mom) who got me a roundtrip plane ticket home when I got my heart broken.
- To the dad who ordered takeout and invited me over to watch an Audrey Hepburn film at his house.
- To the dad who let me vent about life after dad died, and often drove me to dad’s cemetery.
- To the dad who told me I was loved when I felt lower than dirt.
- To the dads who give me the biggest hugs.
- To the dad who took the time to email me when I needed advice.
- To the dad who passed me a note down the pew in church just to tell me I was an awesome kid.
- To the dads who pulled over when I broke down on the side of the roads.
- To the LDS dad with his family in SeaTac airport who asked me about France, my future plans, and looked like he genuinely cared when he told me I must be pretty amazing for going after what I want.
I’m sure many of you have forgotten these moments now, but I will remember them always.
Thank you for loving your children, your wife, your family. Getting to quietly observe from the sidelines how you love and care for them is really a special treat. It lets me daydream for a moment what my life would be like with my father at my disposal. It makes me excited for the day when I have my own family, and can watch my kids have a dad as great as you all. And thank you for looking out for other’s kids (like me) too, even though it's not really your duty to.
Life doesn’t scare me anymore. I decided that I didn’t want to wait until I’m dying before I start living. That’s why I’ve made the things I want to do happen at such a young age. You get one life to live, you’ve got to do so as fully as you can. I miss my dad daily on so many levels, especially today. But maybe in some twisted way, I'm the lucky kid here. Because of my trial, I’m blessed with many dads who have looked out for me and who I’m sure will continue to do so. Thank you so much.
Happy Father’s Day.
Love, Hannah
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| Our last Father's Day - 2007 |
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