I came across this blog article a few days ago on The Huffington Post, and the deep feelings here grabbed me. That’s because I can relate to them all too well, as someone who was never able to see or touch or listen to my own father even once in my life. To all those who are able to celebrate this Father’s Day by making memories with their father or their children today or celebrating memories of the past, make the most of it. Cherish those memories. They are priceless.
I have passed the rows of Father’s Day cards when shopping for weeks now. It’s like a knife to my heart every time. I even stopped and read a few last week, seeing what it would do to me to read words I’ll never get to say to you again. The grief is different now, eight years after your death. It is a copper basin, deep and somber. It echos when the teardrops drops fall, and they do fall still. It is fresh and old all at once, this grief. It has become a part of me.
The Father’s Day ads are everywhere, a constant reminder that I am alone. Each reminder lances that grief, sometimes deeply and others merely scratch the surface. I have lived with this pain since I was 16- this tension between everyday joy and a burden that was too heavy for a young girl to bear.
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