Father’s Day. Typically this day is very difficult: the father of my son was killed in a car crash in 2009. Each year it gets a little easier. Acceptance came slowly and peacefully. Years 2 and 3 felt like a gentle, ebbing, release of pain and brought the freedom to smile and laugh again. It also brought love. My husband. My stepchildren. As always, my son. My brave, wonderful son whose sliding gait reminds me of his father’s. I relished the acceptance because it felt like I could remember him again without weeping or throwing a chair against a wall. And my baby spent more days smiling than grieving so life was a little bit of all right. I lost myself in pictures the other day and happened upon a shot of my son and his father in the driveway. Upside down, laughing, held in the strong arms of his dad, my son wore a giddy expression. A picture of delight on a sunny day. It made me smile too.
This is what Daddies do.
Mommies kiss boo boos, make lunches, and obsess over matching socks. Daddies swing their children in the air, higher and higher with no fear of falling because they know safety is waiting. Daddies navigate the obscure male world of the barber shop, pick out ties, silence tantrums with an unmistakable baritone, and insist that a young man stand up, shake hands, and look a person in the eye to greet. Fathers set standards, quietly instill pride, and set the example for what it means to be a man of honor and integrity – even when they make colossal mistakes in plain view of their children. Or maybe especially when that happens.
My mother, a divorcee, was lucky enough to find love and companionship later in life with my stepfather. He is awesome. I still remember his grip on my elbow as he guided me toward the casket at the funeral. My legs wobbled and threatened to fail me so I could not have made that walk without him. We may not be related by blood but he is my father; he loves me; he loves his grandson; and he has been there through every important milestone of our lives. My dad held my son on the day he was born, inspired his middle name, and walked me down the aisle at my wedding. He taught me that families are formed in many ways, which is a blessing not to be taken for granted.
I have seen the impact a loving father can have on his child, even when he is taken too soon. My son has the confidence of knowing his father loved him, was incredibly proud of him, and didn’t leave him on purpose. He remembers fully the lessons and understands his father’s contributions to and aspirations for his life. And I know his father wanted us to be happy. To thrive. His death did not signal the end of our journey. One special trait my son inherited from his father – aside from the mischievous glint in his eye and disarming smile - is the capacity to be generous with his love, to selflessly want the best for his loved ones. Without my son’s welcoming heart I would not have been able to expand our family to include my husband and stepchildren. Given the tragedy of his father’s death, my son could have rejected everyone, pushed away the possibility of changing the family structure to include this “new dude” telling him to clean his room and to move his football equipment from the doorway.
As I gained a loving husband, my son gained a stepfather with the compassion and sincerity to support us as we honor the life and death of my son’s dad. To be to my child what my stepfather is to me – a role model, a constant presence, one who will share his experience, scold him, love him, punch him in the chest, and teach him to be a man. I was smart enough to choose a husband who makes space for my son’s father in our lives. There are pictures everywhere, constant stories about Daddy, and reassuring back rubs when seemingly innocent situations trigger an irrational emotional response. Grief lingers. There is no jealousy of or threat from my late partner’s memory. We never stop talking about him. We always remember my son’s father because - like my husband who has to fight to be present in his children’s lives – being a father was the single most important job he had. It was all he ever wanted to be and what motivated him to reach his goals. Our personal relationship was flawed and doomed, but his role in our child’s life cannot be devalued.
Monday, June 17, 2013 
