I woke up this morning, looked out of the bay window and
said “Well it looks like it’s going to be a lovely day.” I paused and then
called my mom and said “Hey, looks great outside. I hope it rains on everyone’s
cookout plans.”
My mother is very supportive of me, as a whole. She also is
sometimes appalled by me. Today was an appalled day. A few minutes later my
iPhone went off, reminding me (via the calendar) that it was Father’s Day.
Thank you, iPhone – I have been living under a rock until
this morning. I hadn’t seen the mass Facebook postings. I also did not notice
the commercials reminding me about how my time to get my Father a gift was
running out. Nor had I opened the 1,000 emails that my inbox was filling up
with reminding me of things I had purchased
my father in the past – or telling me other great gifts he just couldn’t
live without. Someone should really talk to the marketing department of these
email companies and tell them to think about wording. Because guess what – I
think he can live without a new power washer. Because guess what – he’s already
dead. OH, BURN. Wait…maybe that’s why
he died. Crap.
What do people do who don’t have a father on Father’s Day?
Good question. We aren’t normal, so I can’t tell you what people normally do. We, however, put on our JimG Carpenter Foundation shirts and ventured out.
We stopped by one of the hospitals that Dad was a frequent
flyer at (too bad they don’t give out frequent flyer miles, or we would have
spent Father’s Day in France or something) and went into the ICU waiting room.
This had been our home away from home many times. For days on end. It was empty
of people but full of their stuff. You could tell people had been sleeping and
basically living there. We waited for a bit and then decided to head down to
the basement and into the hospital cafeteria. We saw a lady and a small boy
getting ready to check out.
Mom approached them and asked them if we could buy them
lunch. The lady was confused (and probably concerned) - Mom started to explain why we were there…she
told the lady that it was our first Father’s Day without Dad and that her kids
wanted to do something in honor of their dad- and got a bit choked up. The lady was very
kind, and asked about Dad and the foundation. She said they were there visiting
her father who hadn’t been very responsive or able to communicate with them -
she sounded frustrated. Mom assured her we had been in her position and to hang
in there. The lady thanked us numerous times and we headed back into the
elevator.
I don’t think that any of us were prepared for the feelings
that came along with being there, or talking about how this was our first
Father’s Day without Dad. We got back in the car, the original plan to head to
another hospital and find another family to donate to.
Instead, we decided to just stop by the store and head home
to make dinner. While here, we decided we should offer to purchase the
gentleman’s groceries in back of us in line. My sister asked him if we could,
after they rang up his purchases. He and his daughter were a bit stunned. I
explained we just wanted to do something helpful in honor of our Dad. He
reached out immediately, hugged all three of us, and wished us the best for the
foundation as he left.
My father was the type of person who would go out of his way
to help. He wouldn’t have openly admitted that, since it would have killed his
street cred. But it was true. He was the guy who took extra angels from the
Angel Tree at Christmas so that the kids who hadn’t been chosen wouldn’t go
without. He was also an amazing father to have. While going through some old
pictures I happened along this one.
It doesn’t look like much, and you can’t even see his face.
But you can see the effort he put into being my father. Due to my allergies I
can’t eat most mayos. The comments on this old picture (thank God I posted it
to Facebook?) tell me that we were making tuna melts one day. My parents have
Miracle Whip and more than a few flavored mayos. I couldn’t eat any of them. I
offered to just eat something different or to go get some “Denise-safe” mayo
from the store. Instead, my dad decided to make homemade mayo with me. I took
this picture because it seemed like a funny thing. We were making mayo. And
every spice in the cabinet somehow made its way out. That’s just the kind of
guy he was. Spare no effort.
Father’s Day will never be the same. It will always have
some sadness. But I’m lucky enough to have a great vault of memories to fall
back on. And when all else fails – I can go scare some people and offer to buy
them something.
All in all, it was a good way to spend what could have been
a pretty crappy day. I’m glad it didn’t rain on anyone’s cookout plans, I
guess. And I’m not just saying that because my mom made me. (But really, she
did.)
