Father's Day 15

The portulaca are blooming beautifully today, Dad; we plant them every year, since they were one of your favorites. 

There are days I simply cannot fathom that you've been gone fifteen years... Sometimes it feels like just months ago, sometimes longer than that, but saying 'fifteen years' out loud, that's a kicker. 

I can't believe it's been ten years since I last wrote about Father's Day, or that it was the only time I wrote specifically about this day. I think that post says pretty much says everything I needed to say; maybe that's why I've never tried another one. Until today, that is.

I've written about you on your birthday, and of course in January, on 'that' day. I suspect you realize you've been mentioned many times in other posts in these pages - it's hard for me to think about important stuff without at least thinking about you, if not actually including you in the conversation. 

I'm pretty sure if I had been writing veritable pastiche when you were alive, we'd have had published reams of back-and-forth conversations on hot topics, or silly ones, of course. You were a writer too, in addition to being a teacher, and always had an appreciation for the ridiculous.

I must tell you, Dad, that I've finally come to realize, after fifteen years, why I have these darn 'mood months' filled with agonizing, frustrating, cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat days, and sleepless nights of aerobic tossing and turning, random songs playing on repeat (yes - sometimes In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida), and thoughts from days - no, weeks - no, months - no, years - no, decades ago - marching around my head, trampling on my brain. 

I used to think that June was a mood month because it's "my birthday" month (remember that?!) and because I embody many of the traits of a moonchild - emotional, sensitive, self-critical, imaginative, creative, possessing a retentive memory for even the smallest details of things and conversations both meaningful and inconsequential... I'm sure you recognize each of these individually, and all of them collectively. After all, you put up with me for over 48 years.

I used to think that January and February were mood months simply because it was the depths of winter, and the days were short and dark and cold, while the nights were long and dark and cold.

January. February. June. The mood months. 

I've always felt more helpless than usual then; I flounder more, and am more prone to my moonchildness, feeling it an inevitable outcome of some random astral alignment, and therefore out of my control. 

Dare I say, 'comfortably' out of my control? That would be easier, right?

I know, now, reflecting on 15 Father's Days without you, that it's not out of my control. It's within my control, within my capabilities, t0 react better to January, the month we lost you; February, the month you were born; and June, the month with a day to celebrate you.

Well, maybe not react better - but to react differently. To focus differently: on what's present, not on what's missing. On the fullness, not the emptiness. To remember, rather than trying to forget. So many ways of saying basically the same thing, right? Darn words...

On the third birthday after you passed, I wrote about you, and me, and about the ebb and flow of missing you.

I do miss you -- all the time, some of the time, and every now and then. I explained once that you were like a favorite piece of jewelry, one that I don't wear every day, but when I take it out of the box, it's precious and wonderful and I love wearing it. And then, it goes back into the box after a while, not forgotten, just saved for another occasion. That's you now -- sometimes you pick the occasion, sometimes I do - but you're always here, my favorite, and it comforts me knowing that.

During the mood months, I forget about that analogy; the missing you can be excruciating, as can the not missing you. When I'm not, I feel like I should be. When I am, I feel like I shouldn't be, that you would want me to knock it off. That's one of the characteristics of your random astral alignment, one that you embody as fully as I do mine.

Pisces can judge a person or situation with a guiding force of wisdom. Because of this, they can call you out whenever you're acting in ways that don't serve you... But, when a Pisces identifies these hard truths, they do so with love. 

Always with love, Dad - often a healthy dose of frustration, I know, and I'm sorry about that. But always with love. 

I feel that love now, in this moment, on this day. 

I can see your face and hear your voice telling me I can claw my way out of the sadness, out of the missing you, that it's OK to do that, that you don't want me stuck in the depths of whatever hell I put myself through in January, February, and June. 

That I can smile with the memories, instead of getting trapped in them. That I can assume I'm doing OK, in your eyes, instead of assuming I'm not. That I can take you out of the jewelry box, and put you back, and it's OK to do both.

And like always, when I take a step back and listen to you, I know in my heart you're right. I know you're here. I know you always will be. 

Happy Father's Day, Dad.