Happy Father's Day

 

Thirty years ago this month I faced my first Father’s Day without my dad.  It seems like forever ago, and my Winner High School math tells me I have officially spent more days without the blessing of my dad’s presence than with him.  The years have travelled on without Dad and boy, today I could really use him.   And the most difficult thing on this day of celebrating all things “Dad”, is that Scott now joins me in this club.  He’s even younger than I was when my dad died.  I hate this reality for Scott.  Writing this is still a punch in the gut and frankly, I’m pretty tired of being in the ring.  

I was a new mom, balancing a teaching/coaching career when Dad died at the all too young age of 56.  Thankfully, we lived right down the road in Gregory, and I was able to enjoy my parents with that move.  The coaching grind is a busy life and sometimes your plans follow the “game schedule”.  Ours certainly did so being a half hour away was a bonus for my family.  They were able to come to games and we got together often on the weekends.  The weekend we moved to Gregory was the same weekend they dropped my youngest sister off at USD.  So much for empty nesting….I was there often as I had been fortunate enough to get a job teaching in Winner.  It was not unusual for me to run home to have lunch with mom and dad. (The daily menu of Mrs. Grass’s Chicken Noodle Soup, crackers, cheese, and lunchmeat…with Oreo’s for dessert. Bob had a pretty simple palate.)  Sometimes I would spend the night or even stay for supper.  I’m guessing they didn’t mind most of the time, but I was so wrapped up in my life during this era, I didn’t even think about them actually having the house to themselves for the first time 27 years…. I regret that now.  Not the time I spent with them, but absolute oblivion on my part of giving them some time to adjust to the empty nest.  (Like my little friend Spencer Shanks would say, “Come on, Lynn!” )

Blessedly, Dad was gifted with the title of Grandpa on April 1, 1992. We were all thrilled to finally have a baby in the family.  In dad’s eyes, Tate hung the moon.  He found out his diagnosis of esophageal cancer in the middle of my pregnancy.  He was in the middle of chemotherapy when our dear boy arrived, and this was a huge motivator for Dad.  They loved taking on the role of “day care” for the last two weeks of the year when I returned to school.  I’m not sure how they divided the cuddling time with Tate, because my mom was ALL IN with this gig too.  I know Alice did all the heavy lifting—diapers, feedings, baths—but most days I returned after school to Dad sitting in his den with Tate holding court.  Yes, Tate, even at the mere age of 6 weeks was in charge with Grandpa Bob and Grandma Alice.  He ruled the roost, and they loved it. And for exactly 358 days, Dad relished that role.   His cancer battle was over on March 25, 1992--7 days before Tate’s first birthday.    We were crushed. 

I received a card after Dad died and its message perfectly summarized what I was feeling.  This great gentleman had lost his dad a few years before also and, in this card, he wrote how not only was he mourning the loss of his dad, but the loss of all the things his kids would miss out on with their grandpa.  I remember sobbing as I finished reading that kind card.  He nailed it.  My loss while incredibly hard, wasn’t bothering me as much as what Tate (and later, Scott) would be losing with Dad’s death. My kids were missing out on their grandpa.  I distinctly remember Tate’s last basketball game as a senior.  We had played an incredible tournament in Aberdeen—Tate and his teammates had knocked off the number one seed and after a semi-final loss, were playing for 3^rd place.  It was a full house and right at the tip off, I teared up.  All I could think of was that I wished my dad had been able to enjoy these days with him.  All the things—concerts, school plays, baseball, football, track, hoops—I wanted him to see all the joy we were experiencing.  Mom and I often talked about what Dad would have done as the boys grew older and events, especially state events Tate was fortunate enough to be involved in, occurred on Friday nights.  Fridays were sale days.  There was a joke amongst our family that you weren’t married, buried, or born on a Friday in our family.  Dad had only missed 3 sales in his entire life before his illness—one was the day I was born. The other one involved the Blizzard of 1966 and another a health issue involving my grandma.  Fridays were for paying the bills.  Sale days were sacred.    Mom claims he would have been cancelling sales or making the entire ring listen to DT  Meyer do play by play of the Charger games during the sale.   We had a few laughs over what might have been Dad’s decisions for these game days. I wish we knew. 

Today is the day to celebrate all things Dad.  Mark was not one to get all hyped up for this holiday. He didn’t need the attention.   He was usually at some team camp or teaching driver’s ed. Some of our best Father’s Days were spent watching the boys play baseball.  I forgot one year to get him a card and as I apologized, he said in his incredibly sarcastic, calm, non-coaching voice “That’s okay, I’m not your dad.”  I laughed for years about that.  I still do.  And I’m still regretting that I didn’t get that card.  Mark took care of so many things for us….he made sure we had what we needed all the time.  Rarely took the time or funds for himself to make sure we had what we needed or thought we needed.  He was just so solid.

I know there are so many others today who are also missing their dads.  It is a terrible club to join and the older I get, the more of us there are traveling along missing their dads.  I try hard not to get consumed with what I don’t have –the things I miss are rarely material things.  I miss the people in my life who have gone on before me.  Too many of them and I struggle to grasp why God placed me on this journey.  I have had well meaning folks tell me to keep the faith and how tough I am.  I don’t particularly feel tough, but I am realistic enough to know that I cannot do anything to change this journey.

I watched with great joy and pride on Tuesday night as Scott coached the littlest group of T-Ball players ever assembled in the history of T-Ball.  Tiny, excited, helmet-wearing, dirt playing, littles wearing their adorable purple jerseys, while Coach Senftner and Coach Kayla navigated the evening.  Some of them didn’t know where first base was located.  Some needed help putting on gloves.  He coaxed some of them to their spots in the field.   I heard his big, booming voice encouraging them and helping them hit the ball.  The stands were full, and my heart was too.  His dad would be so proud of him.  He is good with kids and has a gift of drawing kids into whatever is going on.  I pray he always uses his talents wisely and shares his gifts with those who need him. 

Today my heart hurts for Scott who continues to show me that despite what we’ve been dealt, that the glass truly is half full and to keep on drinking…(sometimes old Scott Robert takes that a little too literally I’m afraid. #BunkhouseKaraoke LOL) But his outlook shows me that you need to keep moving forward even on the hard days. Scott seems to do this.  He always has.  He was blessed (?) with Daughters’ voice volume and Mark’s unwavering faith to just keep going.   I’m not going to lie about this, it has been a tough month.    But we are not alone in tough journeys…so many are living days they never planned with circumstances they’d love to change in a heartbeat.   We aren’t special.  And there are so many who have huge mountains ahead of them that just don’t seem fair.   We will be okay.  Broken and sad some days, but we have much to be thankful for also.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there. I pray you know how much you mean to your family.   The dads in my life made everything better….and you do, too.