As we just celebrated Dave’s second Father’s Day in the mountains, I began to think about my Dad. Until Dave became a dad, Father’s Day was not a holiday that neither of us had celebrated for many years. As the holiday passed us by, I came to the realization that I have lived twenty-six years of my life without my dad. I am saddened by the fact that I have lived most of my life without him. He wasn’t there to accompany me to father-daughter dances or there to walk me down the aisle at my wedding. He couldn’t be around to see his own children mature into adults or to meet his wonderful grandkids.
As each Father’s Day passes, I stop and reflect on some of the great memories I did have with him. Some of my fondest memories of Chicago are with him: eating Italian Beef sandwiches while watching the Bears or indulging in Italian ice after a long day at the park. Although there’s such an ache in my heart for his absence, his memories will always live on. And even though my children will never meet their grandfathers, they will always know how great they were by the stories we share with them.
The good news is Father’s Day has meaning for us once more. After all of these years without celebrating, it’s nice to have something to look forward to again.
