Father's Day

It satisfies me to organize. We’ve moved in. We have our juicer. We’ve ordered replacement parts for it. I drank carrot juice this morning. We have a new rice cooker on the way. We have a bathroom trash can. Stray suitcases are getting tucked away, and a home is coming forth.

Next task: Thank you notes. Next week, perhaps. In the meantime, learning how to live well with my Love is top priority. It is so easy to settle for mediocrity in a marriage.  We are so very different. Then again, we are so similar, it’s scary. I get stressed out easily, and that throws everything off. She continues to show grace toward me. Morning walks are important. Hugs are more. I highly recommend married life.

Last task: write on Father’s Day. I don’t have a father. He died…14 years ago. Father’s Day comes and goes without notice. Though I am thankful for the many men who have stepped in to help out through the years, I would have to say it would be nice to call my dad. Everything would be different if he were still here. Everything. I can’t even imagine being in the same place if he were.

I was talking to a mentor yesterday. He said all his time was being taken up with working on his son’s new investment apartments. What a novel idea that my dad might be helping me work on my wife’s car or installing something or discussing theology. That would be great. My immediate family has some gaping holes, holes that are only there because of the loss of my father. I still do not understand why God allowed him to die of cancer at 54. I will never. Even still I can’t imagine what my sister-in-law’s family is going through with the loss of my brother. What hell. What pain. What do you do? Nothing. Just be. Cry. Pray. Say, “I love you.”

With my dad and sister.

The truth is I would prefer to not think of any of this stuff. It hurts too much. It also makes me more human. I like not digging that deep. I might love better. I might be more sensitive. I might think in terms of family, humanity, eternity. I might be reminded of something that only your heart knows is true. I might be changed. For all that life is, I am really bad at it. I’m scared that I might not be accepted. Under all this junk and fear, the truth is I miss him. That’s the bottom line. It hurts even to write that line. Perhaps that’s good…I’m not sure. What is good is your wife suggesting things, life with fresh carrot juice, and crying over your dad because you really miss him. These are good things.