Father’s Day. Is it a bag of mixed emotions for you, too? My father and I loved one another and I have a plethora of rich memories. But my father wasn’t perfect, and I think the demons he fought were wrought by the pressure to be just that. It is true; we had some dark days. But in 1985, he traded his earthly existence for his place in Heaven. If forgiveness is all it is promised to be, my dad is sitting at the feet of his God.
I have been involved with that dastardly job called spring cleaning, which is a blog for another day. But the day came when I reached into a box and found a dozen letters from my dad. I did not remember corresponding with him, let alone keeping the letters. So I sat down in my mother’s old recliner and read letters from my father. Suddenly, I could see his smile, hear his voice, and appreciate his ability to go from serious to funny in an instant! I could feel the affection and hear his cautious advice. It was bittersweet. But a lot of healing washed over me as I realized he had taken precious time to talk to me in a form that is lasting. Old tattered letters, forgotten and stored away in a lost box, became an odd reunion for my father and me. I took him two roses from my rosebush, and smiled at how this has been one of my best Father’s Day ever. It is not about perfect parents…it is about ordinary, flawed people who wanted to be perfect in their child’s eyes. I get it now. And with every bit of my being I can say, “Dad….Happy Father’s Day.” But better yet, I can read between the lines and know that my father’s day is happy.