… on dads past, dads present, and dads yet to come
June 21, 2015
Today could be a sad day, a nostalgic day.
A first Father’s Day without a very important father.
It’s also rainy here, grey.
The perfect day for some wistfulness, reflection.
But as I found myself shifting into that realm of missing and wishing, just as my brain started to go there, I was hyper aware of what was happening around me.
Jack and Mac, having come up from Connecticut on Friday night, were at the counter with me and Gabe. Granny wasn’t up yet, but we’d see her any minute now. John, even though it is Father’s Day, was manning the grill and taking Dingle Diner breakfast orders.
We were laughing and poking fun, the ShepHerds were wandering around – soaking wet from their time outdoors in the rain and tail-painting all the white cabinets. A movie with explosions – I don’t know which one – was on in the other room.
And I was lazily rolling through pictures on my computer, to find one for a silly poem I’d write for JoHn a little later, and post on the blog.
The one on the top of this post rolled by. It is a picture of Sam, weeks ago, with his little cousin, who I think might really be a princess. And it hit me.
I can look backward, and be sad that Grampa isn’t here today.
I can look at what is in front of me, and look forward.
I will think of Father’s Day as a celebration, as well as another thanks-giving day from now on.
I will give thanks to Grampa, for all that he was to me, and for giving me the wonderful man I married.
I will celebrate my partner-in-crime-and-parenthood, who is a pretty phenomenal Dad (but don’t tell him too often because he will absolutely get a fat head).
And I will look to my sons (all two and a half of them), each a terrific human in his own right, and each with the potential to be a fantastic Dad one day (but not right now though, (just sayin’ in case they read this)).
I found myself smiling, as JoHn handed out dippy eggs and omelets (he pronounces them “arm-lets” and we don’t know why because they do not contain arms). And I gave a mental nod to my Old Yankee Man.
I can still miss him, and I do – sometimes more than can hold back tears.
But I can also celebrate him.
And remind myself to celebrate the Dad in front of me,
And the Dads yet to come.
Thanks for readin’.
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