Today is Father’s Day. We went to church, my daughter and I. As always, she sang out, bursting with joy, sat through the sermon, and waited impatiently for the special part of the service – the Father’s Day gift presentation. As the deacons gave out the pen/notepad combinations, a puzzled look came over Jaimie’s face. I thought little of it at the time.
Service came to an end. I walked out to the hallway and gave her the keys to the car since she is always ahead of me. Though born with Down’s syndrome, she knew to sit in the car and wait as I needed to see another parishioner for a couple of minutes.
She took the keys and mumbled, “I didn’t get a pen.”
“Honey, Daddy isn’t here. The pen was for him, but he can’t use it in heaven.”
“I wanted to give it to Uncle Jim,” she sighed. I choked up. Her uncle has been a loving man in her life, who would do anything for his niece or his nephew. She decided if her real daddy couldn’t celebrate Father’s Day, then maybe Uncle Jim should.
After church, we went to the store to get her weekly paper. While there we saw some pretty baskets made up for Fathers.
“Uncle Jim?” she inquired, pointing to the baskets.
“Sure. He’d like that.”
She poured over each one until she found one she liked. At home an unsuspecting uncle smiled with pleasure as she presented the Uncle’s Day gift, complete with card.
As a widow, it’s too easy to forget that my children lost someone special to them, too. When those celebration days roll around, it isn’t just my heart that yearns for a lost husband; my daughter and my son wish for the hearty laughter of their dad. Father’s Day has become a non-entity for me; for them it’s a strong reminder he is no longer here to hug them, or in my son’s case, to call for advice on so many things.
Widows, please open your eyes, hearts and minds to the loss others in your family share. Don’t be selfish in your feelings. Your husband was many people to others and all of the personalities are missed. To your children, he was DAD and there can never be another like him.