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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/i> This loss is forever.
<\/i>
This sadness never goes away, does it?<\/p>\n
I ask, and yet I already know the answer.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":179,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[34],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1211","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-my-dad"],"yoast_head":"\n