I will make this as quick and painless as possible, but I am compelled to document this feeling.
My maternal grandpa died only a couple of months after I was born. My paternal grandpa died when I was 12. My daddy died when I was 15. Although it was lovely to get a father-in-law (a fabulous one!) a few years ago, mostly, Father's Day has just been a painful reminder of what I lost too early for many, many years. It has never passed without me feeling incredibly sad. (In case anyone who has lost a parent or anyone close to you wonders, the sadness of their loss never wanes; you only learn how to deal with it better in time.)
Every day I think about my dad. So many things remind me of him. Experiences, emotions, objects, random-ass weird things (this makes sense if you knew my dad), and just about anything else. Lately, of course, I remember how much he wanted to be a grandpa. Believe me or not, (and even I'm not always certain he was kidding) when he knew he was dying, I was 14. I had a "steady" boyfriend. He joked (I hope) all the time that I should quick have a baby so he could have a grandchild. I could still go to school and all that, for he pledged to take care of it. And because I remember the care he took braiding my hair while I sat on the edge of the couch before my P.M. kindergarten, I know he would've been a super grandpa. He was full of love above all things. The sadness creeps in.
Today, however, is a renewed feeling for this holiday, for there is now a new father in my life. The father of MY baby. And although his child is only 11 weeks along in my tummy, he has already proven in countless ways that he will be a superb father. His own role model for this position is, as earlier mentioned, an absolutely wonderful man, and my husband will only continue what appears to be a family tradition of excellence. This man who already takes such good care of me will soon be taking the best care of our child. A woman could not possibly be happier.
So, now I can say with confidence once again, "Happy Father's Day."