On Father’s Day.

My golden girl Zoe is zippering at high speed around the backyard, a rare Juneuary blue sky day with cumulus clouds spreading across the sky and simultaneously, a big sheet of stratus clouds ensconcing my heart. What I am not feeling is regret, and it’s not remorse either, but instead simply a visceral sadness at the passing of my father this weekend. Today, on Father’s Day, you’ll find me mostly alone with my dog and my tears, processing this cascade of feelings.

Every human has her own hand drawn map of childhood. It is rife with flaws and missteps, filled with roads traveled, sights seen and remembered along the way–colored in the way she personally viewed the world as she moved through it, her family right there with her in life’s classroom, drawing their own little life maps. I know this to be true, because I have my own children now, and we so often reflect upon our shared experiences in entirely different shades of the same color. It’s kind of remarkable, actually. Being separated from my dad all these years, I realize now that my own map is so very different from those belonging to my three brothers. My map stops at adolescence, when my dad stopped suggesting destinations and handing me colored pencils and instead, became a shadow behind my eyes.

Our relationship (well mostly the lack thereof over the past thirty years) is complicated, to say the least. I needn’t go into that today. But the hardest truth probably is that we never actually said goodbye, even though we parted ways eons ago. And so the sadness in my heart is likely rooted in that, which is both undeniable and a little surprising to myself and all who know me. I’m trying to figure out how to make peace with that, knowing full well that this may take a while.

Today has just been a series of moments and memories; of tears welling up in my eyes over the loss of a father I once knew; of hugging one of my best friends for a little too long this morning because that’s when the tears finally hit. (Thank you, amiga. I love you. Also, grief is so weird.) Of, at my very core, being 100% human and feeling the sadness over the loss of a soul I once loved. 

My tears are over our shared love of dogs, all shapes and sizes but especially retrievers and dogs named Holly. It’s remembering my dad confidently throwing me into right field with a baseball team full of boys, knowing I could field a grounder and throw the ball to first base just like a boy. It’s his constant hustle, the beads of sweat accumulating across his brow, the Schlitz beer that he would, on occasion, generously share with our black lab. It’s keeping him awake on road trips from the front middle seat of his old truck, fishing from an endless stream of irrelevant questions about state capitals and roadside flowers. It’s the insufferable sense of nostalgia that he imparted to every one of his children, myself included. It’s campouts and campfires and Dutch oven beef stew, it’s walkie talkies in the desert and Yahtzee at the table in the 5th wheel RV. It’s old-school sleeping bags and a huge canvas tent in 100 degree heat on the beach in San Felipe, Mexico. It’s the constant storytelling. (Oh dad, enough already.) It’s fishing at Lake Tahoe and learning to water ski, and believe it or not, it’s also a little bit about a fiery red-headed sprite of a second wife named Marlene. (May she, too, Rest In Peace.) 

These are the shiny and bright things I have lost with the passing of my father, though in reality, I lost them long ago. These are the happy moments I mourn. The grief isn’t new, but newly revisited with the passing of my father, the one whose DNA teased my hair into curls, gave me disproportionately short legs, and instilled in my body the impetus to never stop moving. I guess if you were still here, I would say thank you for those joyful moments and memories, dad.

Me, Kenny, and probably Holly.

Today, there is only forward. There is always just that one inevitable direction, whether moving through the unexpected loss of your father or the protracted loss of your beloved family dog, Toulouse. The feelings soften over time. I know this to be true. I’ve lost before and the one true thing about life is that we are all, every single soul, barreling down the road of this experience at lightning speed toward the inevitable end. May we all make the journey worth the ride. 

Peace out, dad. If the Rainbow Bridge is real, please share some love to every single dog we have ever loved. I can almost see you smiling.

Ted, circa my childhood.