Six years ago, I spent the first Father's Day without my father. He died on a rainy day in June, and at his funeral, I choked through a reading of a Father's Day card I'd sent him from Michigan that he never got to read because it didn't reach him in time.
Sometimes, when I think of him, the hurt is still so fresh and sharp. Losing him feels like an alternate universe. A friend's sister described the loss of her father as a continuing nightmare. The reality has set in, but it flickers. Even after these six years of going on with my life and allowing myself to grieve when I need, and dealing with the widening echoes of the loss, I still can't usually talk about my father without my eyes welling up, without tears falling.
He was an anchor in my life, and I still feel adrift without him.
There are times when thoughts of him bring laughter, too. On the anniversary of his death, my sister-in-law, Melinda, mentioned that Dad used to say he had the "makings of a still" underneath his house. I remember him saying that, but I'd forgotten until Melinda shared that memory with me. It made me laugh and cry at the same time.
I miss him every single day. He was one of the brightest, warmest lights I've ever known. His love was constant and certain, and his gone-ness leaves a deep and yawning emptiness even after these six years.
Copyright 2009 Melissa LaFavers