Forever and a Day.

“Will Daddy’s stone be here forever?”

“Yes, sweetheart. It will be here forever.”

Under the shade of the tree, it doesn’t seem so unbearable. The blinding desert sunlight of midday peeks through the leaves and three balloons float this way and that into the clear blue sky above. Fresh flowers dot the gravestones and miniature flags, faded and dry, snap periodically in the light breeze that provides the only reprieve from the heat. Chimes ring softly and a teddy bear lies lifeless in the grass, mementos left behind in gestures of solace.

Looking across the grass an old woman bends over, the love and sadness seeping from the hands that place fresh flowers in the vase. Sensing that she is being watched her eyes meet mine, a silent acknowledgement of the misery that lies in this peaceful place.

It is our fifth pilgrimage. An annual visitation that mommies do in lieu of the things that daddies no longer do.

Sitting here in the breeze, his greatest gifts quiet and close, I collect the thoughts that have scattered all week. Holidays are an uncomfortable truth and while I no longer douse them with tears and wine and anger, they are an irritating inconvenience that simply serves to remind me of the solitude left to me. It’s not about him. 

It’s very much about me, what I want and what I do not have.

Father’s Day is about them, what they want and what they do not have. There is a void in their childhood. The slivered memories they have do not represent the man that he was or the father he was destined to be, and they crave the stories that form the image they are left with. Five years have vanished and with them the simple childhood joys that they crave and that a father would bring. I have given so much and yet I cannot give them what matters most.

Memories of laughter and simple things.

Eight years ago as we welcomed my daughter, new life collided with the unchangeable reality that my own father, a man among men to his children, would reach his own mortality. Four months, at best. And yet he defied the odds and stood strong and silent and unbending. Four months became years. And suddenly the tables turned, and he was there when the man who was supposed to stand by me vanished.

There will come a day when I join my children in remembering a father gone. But I will remember him with a lifetime of memories whereas they cling to the few they still remember. I remember the laughter and the anger, the good and the bad. They remember the bad and idolize the stories that make the man. They ask for a dad that will toss them in the air and tickle them. A dad that will take them places and watch movies with them and build things and play games and explore and splash in the pool and draw pictures and teach him how to drive and walk her down the aisle. A dad that will teach them about life and take care of their mom and make her smile.

They ask for what I have.