This coming Sunday will be Father’s Day. It’s kind of a running joke that Father’s Day pales in comparison to Mother’s Day. Mothers wake up to breakfast in bed, flowers, cards, and handmade gifts from little ones. After church she’s treated to brunch and perhaps additional gifts and treats. On his day, Dad gets up, walks the dog, tries to read the paper but is interrupted by the smoke alarm. Pretends to enjoy burnt bacon and under-cooked scrambled eggs. Unwraps a necktie that looks suspiciously like one he already has in the closet. After church he still needs to mow the lawn.
Yes, the comic strip version of Father’s Day is slightly exaggerated.
But truth-be-told many men are uncomfortable with being fawned over. They love spending time with their family, but prefer it be shooting hoops with the kids, making popcorn to share while watching a movie, teaching a skill, or reading a bedtime story in a funny accent. These little interactions make lasting memories. And good memories are what get us through the rough patches in life.
Losing your father is hard. As we get older ourselves and watch our parents age we start to think about the inevitable. My dad died thirteen years ago at the age of 83. I could see that his health, both mentally and physically, was declining. Still, I wasn’t prepared for the call from my sister-in-law that he had died in his sleep. I was very much a daddy’s girl, and he was a doting daddy and granddaddy. My heart was broken, but I also knew that he was in Heaven with my mom who he had missed for eighteen years.
My daughter lost her father (my ex-husband) very unexpectedly last fall just before Thanksgiving. He too was a doting daddy and granddaddy, and it hurts me to see the pain and grief she is feeling. She has a busy life with four children ranging in age from ten to nineteen, a husband who puts in long hours every week at his law firm, and two dogs that stay poised at the sliding door waiting to alert the household of every lizard or squirrel that threatens the property. I suspect she frequently cries in the shower after managing to hold things together until the kids have gone to bed. This first Father’s Day without her dad to celebrate will be hard.
I think the fathers who get overlooked the most are the ones who have lost a child. Of the thousands of people in both online bereaved parents’ groups I belong to, a very small percentage are the fathers. And an even smaller percentage of the fathers post or comment on a regular basis. Just as many men aren’t comfortable being fawned over on holidays or birthdays; most of them are not comfortable sharing their emotions. Especially the painful emotions. And especially in a forum where potentially 10,000 people could read their words.
My husband is my children’s stepfather. He has been in their lives since they were ten and five. He’s been a doting father figure for 35 years and revels in his role as Grandpa Rob. Rachel’s sudden death in 2017, just two months after her wedding cut him to the core. But he tried to be strong for me and out of respect for her dad’s grief. I suspect he cried when he was alone in his office. And it was more than a year before he would participate when family members or friends would reminisce and bring up memories of Rachel.
If you know a father who has lost a child, please don’t overlook him this Father’s Day. He may be withdrawn or putting on a stoic mask. He may be blustering and rolling his eyes at the “silly fanfare.” But make no mistake – he is missing his child. Take him aside. Say his child’s name. Acknowledge his pain. Share a good memory if you can. He might try to brush you off; say he’s okay; it’s all good. He’s fine.
Don’t mind his rebuff. Don’t be fooled by the nonchalance. Trust me.
He’s not fine.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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