Catherine Connors is a mother, writer and recovering academic who traded the lecture hall for the playroom and discovered that university students and preschoolers have much the same attention span. She still dips her toes into academic waters by writing the occasional scholarly article about the place of motherhood in Western philosophy, but mostly now she changes diapers and wipes noses and indulges in long reflections on whether Yo Gabba Gabba is a harbinger of the decline of western civilization. Oh, and she blogs: in addition to Bad Mother blogging at BeliefNet, she is, among other things, the author of HerBadMother.com, Managing Editor of MamaPop, moderator of Her Bad Mother’s Basement, co-founder and co-editor of WeCovet, Contributing Editor at BlogHer, and (deep breath) founder of and contributor to Canada Moms Blog. And in her spare time… oh, wait. She doesn’t have spare time. But she’s okay with that.
I know that Father’s Day should be, in significant measure, about celebrating the father of my children, and it will be that, for sure. But still: I have lost my own father, and that’s impossible to forget.
Last night Emilia and I sat at the dining room table, making a Father’s Day card for her dad. “You make one, too, Mommy,” she said, and of course, I obliged, but as I sat there, crayon in hand, hovering over the words had Emilia directed me to spell – To The Best Dad Ever – I became overwhelmed with grief. How many times had I written those words, or words like them, to my dad? How many cards had I signed, how many pictures had I drawn, how many crayons were worn down writing out words of admiration and love? So many, and now, no more.
I put the crayon down and told Emilia that I was going to the bathroom. When I got there, I cried. I cried and cried and felt about six years old and when I was finally able to compose myself, I thought, this is how it is now. This is how it will always be. This loss is forever.
This sadness never goes away, does it?
I ask, and yet I already know the answer.