The Heaviness of Father's Day

Last month was Mother’s Day and the excitement of going to Ellen. This month it’s the anticipation and dread of Father’s Day. 

Ellen was amazing. The trip to California filled my heart and checked items off my bucket list. I can’t remember the last time I felt excitement like I did when I SAT IN ELLEN’S CHAIR! I kept joking all day that seeing a taping of an Ellen show was better than the birth of my children. It was such a truly, wonderful day. 

This week has been brutal. So many tears. I am fatigued with grief. I feel broken more intensely than I have in the weeks prior. What I have learned through two and a half years of therapy is that I have to be intentional with my thoughts. I have to think about why I feel. What are the underlying issues of my sadness? It is easy to become overwhelmed with all the reasons I am sad and broken. Sometimes that list is endless. But the tool of being intentional helps me narrow down the specifics for right now.

I have learned something new about my grief and how I feel about Matt’s passing. Every holiday is difficult. Some more so than others. There are a few during the year that I want to come and go as quickly as possible. The anniversary of Matt’s passing, our wedding anniversary, and, I have learned recently, that Father’s Day is at the top of that list. I grieve for my kids as well as myself. The added emotion I feel for them makes this weekend particularly difficult. 

I also ache for what Matt’s dad must be feeling this weekend. I cry whenever I think of what his pain must be. As the time moves forward, I find that I am more clearheaded. With the grief fog lifting a little, comes a clearer understanding of all the ways I am grieving. And this year, I not only feel for Matt’s dad, I feel for my children and myself in a new way. 

Monday, in particular, was a really awful day. I spent the entire day in tears. The stress of this coming weekend overwhelmed me. I was leaving swimming lessons with Olivia and saw my friend, Christie. She knew right when she saw me that something was on my mind. She asked what was going on and as I said “Father’s Day,” the tears started coming and didn’t stop until I went to bed that night. When we were getting in the car, Olivia asked me why I was crying. Through my sobs, I told her that I really missed her daddy. She then asked me, “Mom, is Daddy coming back?” I could barely contain myself as I tried to explain to her that he couldn’t. That he won’t be coming back.

Throughout this week I have thought so much about Father’s Day. How my kids have not yet started to process their grief or that their dad isn’t with us. My heart shatters knowing that they will someday feel pain because of this. I am angry that Olivia even has to ask if her daddy is coming back. I am angry that when she sees a cemetery, she asks if that’s where daddy is at. Four-year-olds shouldn’t know what a cemetery is. They shouldn’t relate their dad to any cemetery that they see throughout their car window. Father’s Day makes me really angry because of what it does, and doesn’t, signify for my children. Olivia only had 21 months with her dad. Rylan never even met him. 

The thing about Matt, the thing that makes me sad for him, is that he loved being a dad. His world came into focus when Olivia was born. He lit up because of the joy she brought his heart. Without a doubt, I know Rylan would have only added to that happiness. Rylan would have given Matt have more grey hair and (maybe) a few wrinkles. Olivia’s constant questions and singing would have made Matt crazy and impatient. But he would love sharing stories of her with whoever would listen. Matt should have been here last week seeing Olivia in her first dance recital. Beaming with pride. He should be a part of Rylan’s obsession with tractors and dirt. These precious children should have a dad instead of just a mom. A mom desperately trying to fill the void in their hearts that will never be full. 

I go into this weekend full of dread and desperate for Monday to be here. I want it to be over. I don't want to "celebrate" Father's Day at a cemetery with tears on my cheeks and an ache in my heart. I don't want my dad to carry the burden of seeing his daughter so broken. I don't want Larry to put on a smile and pretend he is alright. And I don't want my children to have to grieve their dad.