My mother and I had a long discussion about this very thing, this morning. Everyone is allowed to (and should) grieve in their own manner. Some choose to move along as if the day doesn't happen. Others decide to mourn the loss of their loved one. My mother is amazing for lots of reasons. First, she put up with all of my dad's crap long enough to have two (amazing, if I do say so myself) children. Then there was "typical" mother stuff. I know some people have less than wonderful parental experience. But, to me, all the things my mom did as I grew up just felt like things parents were supposed to do: she showed up to all my games (and I played a lot of sports), she encouraged me, she supported me, she did my hair, took me to school, picked me up after every (oh God, so many) practices. This seemed normal to me. The being truthful when I sucked at things part was hard then, but now I see the merit in it. This was all so common place in our house - the fact that I had great parents - that I thought everyone had this. Dealing with my father's cancer the way she did was extraordinary, however, there was never a doubt in my mind. She did everything in her power to make sure my sister and I had a father for as long as we could. But she's also beyond compare for sadder reasons: she knows how much we loved our father - so she gets our sadness. But she also lost her father when she was just 19. Well, she didn't lose him - she knows where he is. But it also puts her into the: what do we do with Father's Day now club. So she's understanding, she's helpful, she's willing to listen to me about it and comprehends the importance of those early morning discussions.
Now, this doesn't mean she always agrees with me. Last year she did scold me for trying to do a Native American rain dance with hopes that it would ruin all the Father's Day cookouts. This morning, she did, though. Father's Day sucks. Yes. My father is dead. Don't worry, I'm not going to make a bad joke about that. I did that this morning on Facebook.
But that doesn't mean I can't celebrate him. It doesn't mean I can't mock him. Laugh at him. Poke fun at his expense. I mean, the beauty of having a dead Dad? I always get the last word. That must be burning him up somewhere. Let's hope he's not really burning up though. So today we celebrated. And laughed. And told Dad stories.We even went through some of his old t-shirts, looking for ones to wear.
I will forever remember today as the day I learned my father must have worn half shirts in the 80s - because seriously, look how short this shirt is.
We went to breakfast at one of his favorite local spots.
We sported mustache rings I purchased at a Relay for Life event a few weeks ago.
We went to his favorite casino and I lost all my money. My sister looks so happy here because she did NOT lose all her money. I should have taken a picture before we went in, instead of as we were leaving, eh?
And then we went to one of Dad's all-time favorite places.
And ate Redamak's burgers.
We listened to stories about Dad taking Mom up on the back of his motorcycle when they were young. Back when Mom let him have a motorcycle. This means she was either not smart yet, or really in love with my Dad.
Then we came home. My mother made us each two framed collages of Dad. We decorated them and sealed them back up.
It was a great metaphor. The pictures won't change - just like our memories. But we can add to them, enjoy them, and cherish them. We can revisit them every day and smile. They are forever ours. Just like the day can be, too. We still have a father.So we can celebrate Father's Day. We just get to spend the money on ourselves instead of on him. Not exactly a win. But we'll call it a tie.
And don't worry, I still found an appropriate Dad shirt to wear. Even if it was tempting to wear a #1 Dad shirt just to confused the masses.
