In January, complications from cancer resulting in my dad’s passing, so today is my first father’s day without my father. I know I’m not alone in this dubious distinction, and I want you to know that you’re not alone either.
A friend mentioned that during his first Father’s Day after his dad died, the day passed without much fanfare. I can definitely relate to that. If my dad were alive, today I would have Facetimed him and my mom, talking about soccer and his latest woodworking project and about the grandkids. And that would have been it. I guess you never know when a Mother’s or Father’s Day will be the last.
Instead, I Facetimed my mom and talked to her about Dad, not unlike what we’ve done every Sunday for the last 5 months. I told her that I’m really grateful that she and Dad traveled to St. Louis back in 2020 (before he got sick), and I’m constantly reminded of Dad’s presence from that trip because he fixed and installed so many things in our condo. I think of him almost every time I use the foot hinge (see photo) to prop open the closet door, whenever one of our kitchen drawers closes softly, or whenever I turn on the floor-level heater in my bathroom (which Dad “fixed” simply by turning it on and waiting 60 seconds).
We also talked about my childhood, specifically how willing Dad was to learn new sports and rekindle his knowledge of sports he played in high school so he could participate with me and my siblings. I taught him how to play soccer, and I have so many fond memories juggling the ball with him in our backyard and looking out for him during my team’s practice. He played pickup for many years after I moved to St. Louis.
I’ve struggled to think of a specific moment of my childhood to provide a charming anecdote for this post. This isn’t for lack of good memories–I’m fortunate to have a pleasant upbringing. But the memories kind of blur together into various categories: soccer, trips, camping, and of course the rare tumultuous moments (I wasn’t a wild child by any means, but I had my share of teenage angst).
And perhaps that’s okay. I’m grateful for a blur of memories over a field of dramatic spikes. I’m grateful for the long hours he worked while remaining fully committed to his family, for his patience, for his courage, for his generosity, and for his wisdom.
I’m not a dad in the traditional sense, but I try to be a good papa for Biddy and Walter. I’m grateful for the opportunity to carry on my dad’s legacy.
Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers out there, those who are with us and those who have passed. I love you, Dad.
Jamey,
My thoughts are with you and all those who lost their father over the years. My father had a serious and comedic side, and shared both in equal measure with friends and family. It is with a small bit of irony that he passed on Father’s Day in 2004. The first full year proved difficult as he and talked all the time. My mother, now 82, and a stroke survivor celebrated her birthday a few weeks ago and we shared stories with other family members from that June 18 years ago. I won’t say that it ever gets easier, but I found myself unlocking more and more memories with the passing of time. My prayers remain with you and your family.
Cheers
Joe
Thank you for sharing this, Joe, and it’s reassuring to hear that more memories can be unlocked over time.
It’s really sweet that there are tangible reminders of him around your home! I love that photo of Biddy and your dad — Biddy looks like he’s learning and ready to help out!
Thanks! Biddy is always trying to learn new things about doors. 🙂
What a moving tribute. I can surely see your dad reflected in the good and kind man that you are.
Walter, Biddy, and the whole Stonemaier community are lucky to have you.
Your Dad’s legacy lives on.