My dad died when I was sixteen. I’ve had more years without him than with at this point. The whole situation bums me out.
I’m not overly emotional or nostalgic anymore; I’m more disappointed. I feel proud of what I’ve done in my career, my marriage, my children. But the praise and respect of parents is irreplaceable.
Parents are yin and yang, good cop/bad cop, a balance. My mother is all praise and positivity. I think my dad would provide the vital constructive criticism that isn’t my mother’s forte. Or maybe I’ve just invented that in my private what-if world.
I go through times when I think about my dad all the time. I remind myself of him (if that’s even possible). And then I’ll go days or weeks without a thought in his direction. No guilt, just fact.
And honestly, Father’s Day isn’t the worst day. I have my husband to celebrate and a wonderful step dad as well. And all Jeff wants is to watch golf, so that’s easy.
So Father’s Day is approaching. I miss mine.