Long-Distance Father's Day

I got calls from both of the kids today — one 1,000 miles away, one 5,000. And a hand-made card from #1 son yesterday. God bless those kids! But no other calls from near or far with Father’s Day greetings.

I took some flowers from my yard — hydrangea, lily, yarrow — to my father’s grave, and thanked him for everything he did for me, everything he made me, for being there for me, for what he taught me about being a father and a human being, and asked him to keep helping me, because I need it. Today was his birthday, too; he would have been 95.

And I prayed for my friend and her family, whose father died just last week, and for the others I know whose fathers have passed on to a bigger existence, and for the fathers and their children who are separated for whatever reason.

And it was good to see the new fathers in my family, bringing on the next generation. Little Stella Rose even sat on my lap without crying, a Father’s Day gift to me. My brother is such a good grandfather.

There were not as many flowers as I thought would be up at St. Paul’s Cemetery, there at the end of Uniontown, when Charlie and I went for our sunset walk.

A bittersweet day. This is how it seems to me: One morning you wake up and you realize there are no second chances. The beliefs, the hopes, the dreams, the thoughts you had that were not realized or went awry, you realize now are gone. So you hope for not a second chance, but a different chance. Unfortunately, that same morning you might wake up and realize the different chance…well. You end up just being glad you’re a father, and you keep working and working and working at it.