I Wish I Could Celebrate You

A few days ago, I was messaging with a friend of college, who lost her dad several years ago. We were talking about Father’s Day. She said to me, “I try to celebrate (my husband) and my father-in-law but I can’t give them what I want to, not yet.”

Boy, did she hit the nail on the head.

My sister, mom, and I always made Father’s Day a big deal for my dad. I can remember, from the time we were really little, meticulously thumbing through every Father’s Day card down in the grocery store, trying to find the exact right one. My sister and I would fight over who was giving Dad which card. Then, on the morning of Father’s Day, we’d all gather around Dad before getting ready for church and watch him open his cards. I can still feel the thick envelopes between my fingers.

He got cards from each of us, and from whichever cat and dog was living at the time. We watched his reaction as he chuckled, his shoulders moving up and down with each wave of laughter. He always read my mom’s last, because her cards to him were a little PG-13. Sometimes he might dry a tear, if the card was sentimental. The year I graduated from college, I wrote him a poem and we both bawled. I wish I could find that poem now.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was excited to make Father’s Day special for my husband. I gifted him a book called How to Cheer Up Dad that is written and illustrated by a local Lakeland author. It is still one of my daughter’s favorite books to read with my husband.

Now, I can’t even walk down the greeting card aisle. Every ad that I see related to Father’s Day makes my stomach hurt. “Last Minute Gifts for Dad,” “Top 10 Tech Gifts for Dad.” It’s everywhere. Practically inescapable. I could empathize with folks who found holidays like Mother’s Day and Father’s Day painful, but I’ve never fully understood it until now. I don’t know if I can even say the words “Happy Father’s Day” out loud, to anyone.

To My Husband on My First Father’s Day Without My Dad

So, to my husband on my first father’s day without my dad: I wish I could celebrate you. That I could go to the store and get you a card that was a little bit PG-13. Our daughter and I could bake you your favorite cake, and give you a day filled with all you favorite things. I wish I could give you an upgraded air-fryer and wrap it up real nice. I wish I could give you a celebration worthy of the amazing dad that you are. But, I can’t right now.

You don’t care about any of those things. In fact, there is only one thing that you really want for Father’s Day. It’s the same thing that I want, too. One more run to Twice the Ice, one more chat, one more laugh, one more celebration with your father-in-law who loved you dearly: my dad.

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