I’m porch sitting this morning. The cozy chair from your back porch has made the transition to mine. When I sit here, I find comfort that you sat here before me. Silly, but sitting in this chair helps me to feel closer to you. And I am listening to the birds, trying to identify them by song. There are five different varieties this morning, and among them is a cardinal. A wink from you. I will admit I am in need of as many winks as you can send my way today.

Of course, I have always known this day would come. Father’s Day, without a father. But nothing really can really prepare you for the enormity of the loss of your parents. Today, I acknowledge the hole in my heart and the grief that holds the hole open. It hasn’t healed over yet. I suspect it will take some time and will probably never heal completely. The scar will remain, but today it is still an open wound.

I grasp for memories of you, Dad. I have looked through videos and photos on my phone to see your smile, to hear your laugh, and to see that twinkle in your eyes. Oh, how I miss that twinkle. Always playful, no matter what was happening. I need that in my life. The picture of you covered in snow, after sledding down the driveway, sits on my shelf facing my bed. When I go to bed and when I get up, it makes me smile. That look on your face of mischievous joy is classic Mike Hunter.

The lostness I feel in being unable to call you for my daily dose of joy cannot be overstated. I miss sending you pottery pictures, in all stages, because you were my biggest supporter. I miss lunches and dinners, and your picky eating. I miss the time we had spent growing closer over the past 7 years since Mom got sick. It’s like our hearts were all joined together as one, and now one part has been ripped away. Those parts left behind are trying not to bleed out. Putting pressure on the wound hurts as much as letting the blood flow. Either way is painful.

Trying to live life as normal while your heart is wide open like this is difficult. While the sharpest pain has dulled somewhat over the months, I still have an open wound. I know a little about open wounds, physically speaking. Wound care can only go as fast as the wound will allow. Waiting for the recovery is slow going. The circulation has to get to every part of the hole. It can be packed, but it also has to be unpacked regularly in order to keep healthy tissue growing. That unpacking and ripping away is brutal.

Dad, emotionally it is the same. Every time I think my grief is subsiding, or at least dulling, the packing gets ripped out. I know the ups and downs are part of the process, I definitely learned that with Mom’s illness, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less now that I have two grief processes in which to live. I feel alone much of the time, even in a crowded happy room. I feel stuck between what was and what is now. I miss you.

I will go to the cemetery today and spread some birdseed. It makes me feel as if I am not leaving you and Mom alone. The birds will keep you company. Of course, I know you are not there, and you are much happier together than apart. It makes me happy to imagine you two together in the indescribable love of God. Saturated and dripping in the waves of love, as they wash over you. I could never be sad for your union with a love so real that it becomes part of your very essence.

However, I can be sad for the part of my own heart that is now missing. I will walk with a limp now. An injury that will be remembered and effect my life from here forward. Remember when we sat on that bench at the cemetery and I told you I would sit there when I missed you? I didn’t think I would be there quite as often as I have. I’m glad you chose that place. That bench. That shady spot. I feel you when I am there. Both of you. It is the only place, currently, where I don’t feel alone.

As far as Father’s Day goes, have a good one in the arms of your heavenly Father. Know that you were the best Dad ever. The perfect one for me. And a great stand in for so many others who were without. You showed me unconditional love. You gave me confidence. You allowed me to be who I am. You saw me. I belonged when I was with you. You were a gift to me and I will forever be grateful for you. I love you, Dad.