After a fickle few weeks, Michigan finally gave us summer. Rushes of warm air and a searing sun that lingers into the nighttime. It’s my favorite time of year.
It was always dad’s too.
He was a summer baby, just like me – both born in August. And he loved nothing more than watching the backyard come to life as the temperature rose. And taking swan dives into the pool, after working hard outside. And sitting on the boat bobbing along with a cold drink and his favorite people.
I think that’s why this time of year can feel as hard as it does, because he loved it so much. And why we were all surprised to be a bit more sensitive and upset than expected over the last few weekends. Because he should be here, enjoying it.
And like most of these warm, inviting weekends – we gather with friends. Friends that really have become family. Friends that we and dad spent years growing with. And when we all got together, over evening drinks or an afternoon brunch, something really lovely happened. They missed dad as much as we did.
Sometimes it’s hard to look outside of your own grief, but in the last few days I’ve realized how mine is just a ripple in an ocean of unrest. So many people miss dad. So many people are grappling with the hole his loss has created in their lives. So many people welcome us with tears in their eyes and toast to him when the sun sets over the water. Because they loved him so much.
It’s a comforting feeling, how much he’s missed – knowing he wasn’t just someone special to us, but, simply, just someone special.
I try not to let losing dad be the center to which my life revolves, but it does in likely more ways than I’m even aware of. And I don’t want it to overshadow all of the things I am, to myself or to other people. I don’t want people to think it’s all I can talk about and live within. I try not to. And there are times I can hear dad’s booming voice in my head “Give it a rest, Toots!” – like he would whenever I was relentless. But there are still moments when people turn away when I talk about it, or tense up when I say his name – and that can really hurt.
So these past few weekends, it’s nice to know that a lot of people are still healing. I’m not just a girl missing her dad. There are so many girls, and boys, and family, and friends, and neighbors and co-workers and sometimes perfect strangers who are missing one hell of a guy.
And in a strange way, that does make it easier.
A REKD GIRL 