Father’s Day without Dad

My husband’s car smells like dirt and it’s all my fault. When I asked the gardener we hired to keep up Mom’s yard he sounded eager to do something besides pull weeds. I know how he feels. He said that he would plant anything we got for him to plant and said that he could also use some compost to enrich the soil so the plants would do better. And he was right.

So this weekend, on Sunday, to keep myself busy and not thinking about Father’s Day, I went to the home store and got a couple of bags of compost and some impatiens. Thankfully, the Wonderful Spouse suggested that I just go ahead and take his car today so that I could unload the stuff more easily. I have to say that I just don’t think I would have been able to lift the stuff out of the trunk of my car. Wet compost is heavy. I dragged the stuff out of the back of his SUV and dropped it onto the wagon and carted it to the backyard.

All the activity did not eclipse for a minute that it was Father’s Day a week after we buried my father. Talked to a friend at work today and I think we kind of agree; it doesn’t get less painful, it doesn’t get easier, you just get used to the empty space. I’m starting to think of it like my lupus; I don’t like it, but I can’t ignore it and I have to live with it. It hurts, and it’s always going to hurt. I’m actually kind of OK with that. He was a good man and a good dad. I should miss him. That’s not a bad legacy to leave. The people that loved you will miss you when you’re gone.

Oh, geez. One of the things that my mom’s always said was ‘You’ll miss me when I’m dead and gone.’ Truer words were never spoken. She hasn’t said that in years, mind you. Not since ‘dead and gone’ actually seemed possible, I think.

I’m torn between being grateful that I had the Dad that I did and mourning the fact that I don’t have him anymore. Both seem appropriate.

Went into the garage at Mom’s to get the stuffI needed to repair her hose, she ran over it after dragging it around to water something, and looked at all of his tools, hanging on the nails he pounded in over the course of his life. Couldn’t help my tears. So many memories of him out there, working on his projects, fixing something, making something.

I miss him so much.

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