I love Father’s Day. And I also really dislike Father’s Day. The dislike started in 2003 when this daddy’s girl experienced her first Father’s Day without her daddy. I seriously doubt the holiday will ever be the same for me.
I love watching my husband be a daddy and now a papa. My heart feels like it could burst when I now watch my son in the role as daddy. Even with those joys, the day is still hard, simply because it gives me yet another reason to miss my dad.
My daddy dropped over with a massive heart attack in November of 2002. God had completely orchestrated the days prior to his Black Friday death. My daughter was home for the holiday. We had a great time with the family, including my dad on Thanksgiving. Then the next day he was gone. When I kissed him goodbye on Thanksgiving night and told him I would see him later, I didn’t realize how far away later really was.
I don’t need a day on the calendar like Father’s Day to remind me of my dad. Things remind me of him each and everyday. I can hear him sing with I listen to the radio. I can see him on horseback as I pass a horse in a field. I can hear his laughter as one of my kids say something silly or sarcastic. Sometimes I think I can still smell his cologne. In my mind I can still see his soft, yet calloused hands. I can also see his eyes when I glance in the mirror.
There are days when the simple things like a wrench, a guitar pick, a pair of cowboy boots, a nice looking truck or a fishing pole can fill me with memories of my dad. The flowers on my porch, the guitar standing in the corner of my living room, the tools in my garage always remind me of some of the things I daddy left with me.
But more than things, my daddy left me with love and he left me with life. He left me with life lessons that continue to guide and direct me nearly 14 years later. My daddy was not a perfect man, but he was the perfect daddy for me. He taught me to love, because he loved me. He taught me to forgive, because we had to forgive each other. He taught me lessons each and everyday. He taught me how easily others can be hurt, because we hurt each other. He taught me how to joke, to laugh, and to be a bit sarcastic, because he was that example for me. My daddy taught me to believe in myself, because he believed in me.
The list of things my daddy taught me could fill the pages of a book. Really the only thing he didn’t teach me was how to live the rest of my life without him. This is a lesson that I’m working on each day. It’s a process that is sometimes harder than I ever thought it could be. It is a lesson that I would have rather never learned. But my daddy taught me to be tough and to do whatever it takes to do what I need to do. So that’s what I do. I continue to learn my lessons. I walk with his memory in my heart and I cry just a bit on Father’s Day. That’s just something a daddy’s girl has to do.