This first day of summer also happened to be Father’s Day, something we haven’t really celebrated since losing Dad three years ago. There’s no longer an overwhelming sadness or despondency that comes from that, though my melancholic mood of late didn’t help matters. To combat that, I made a day of driving and exploring and keeping busy to keep my mind off darker thoughts.
First, I made a pasta casserole and dropped it off for Mom, who had taken a spill on Friday, resulting in a bad black eye and cut head; my incredulous annoyance at her not going to the doctor was likely expected as she didn’t bother to tell me any of what happened until Saturday. Nurses often make the most obtuse patients; if this had happened to her children or grandchildren it would have most definitely been checked out by a doctor, but what can I do? It’s too upsetting to do anything more than keep my distance and hope that people do right for themselves.
I then stopped by the hospital to visit Dad. The cemetery would have likely been busy with others visiting their dead dads, and I didn’t want to share misery. Besides, I never really feel like my Dad is there – if he is, it’s on the periphery, in the shade of the evergreens, not wanting to be bothered. Instead, when I want to feel closer to him I go to the hospital where he worked, where I have many memories of him being vibrantly alive and beloved by his co-workers. I sat in the chapel and spoke to him a bit, then stopped by the cafeteria, near the room he once had me stay in when he had to pick me up on a day I got sick at school. I feel him more keenly there.
Afterward, I took a long drive. This weekend I’ve been doing a lot of driving – it affords solitude, and time and space to think. Mourning the end of spring feels rougher this year. I drove along the backroads outside my hometown, where the corn was barely knee-high, the hills were gently rolling, and the clouds and sky were making scenes primed for painting. I forget how beautiful the world can be when spring departs.
When I finally returned home, Andy had just put a couple of burgers on the grill – an ideal dinner for a fatherless household on this first day of summer. Later in the afternoon, while Andy was napping, I went for a swim. I haven’t been swimming as much since the summer of 2023. I went today in honor of my Dad. That was his habit when we were little kids.
Despite owning an in-ground pool and maintaining it meticulously during the summer months, my Dad didn’t enjoy swimming. He never went in the water on any of our vacations – not at the beach, not in the pools, and not in his own backyard. The one day he would deign to swim with us was Father’s Day – a noble act that was more of a gift to his kids than anything he actually enjoyed. The signs of a father’s love are often hidden, often deep, and often deeply held. That was always one of them.
At the end of today, I went in our pool and thought of Dad. I wasn’t sad about him – there were more other pressing matters to be sad about – and I wasn’t overcome the way I was earlier in the car listening to some of his favorite songs. It felt peaceful, it felt calm. It was a good ending to the first day of summer.
