The sun was shining brightly this morning as we cruised down the highway, everyone happily bobbing along. Dressed in our best, we were headed out to go offer our best to the Perfect Father and thank him for the gift of the father with us. I whispered, “Happy Father’s Day” to the strong handsome man beside me. He responded in hushed tones so as not to disturb the merry chattering behind us, “Four times over… plus one.”
Blissful basking is quickly clouded by the bitter sting of shared pain. I am suddenly grateful for the bright rays of the early morning sun that necessitated the dark shades now hiding the tiny pools collecting behind them. Concentrating on the road and not letting those pools become rivers, I hear a sniff and see his hand raise to his eyes. I don’t want to spoil the mood with the heavy feelings in my heart of the blessing we have yet to meet but his words, his hands and his eyes have released the dam and let the tears flow.
Five years later, how can the wound be so fresh that the smallest little pick peels back the scab? Do wounds of the heart ever heal? Perhaps. Maybe some. Not this one, I suspect. A precious soul, one whose absence we feel so keenly, can't be reduced to a thin red line that slowly fades to white. The space that missing someone leaves behind aches like a phantom limb.
He looks at the 5 year-old version of himself sitting behind us singing a favorite song. We are both thankful for that gift which would not be here without the loss of the other according to the cycles of biology set in motion many moons ago. I am thankful for the gift of him who isn't afraid to say "plus one" and who isn't too busy being a big man to mourn for that tiny one.
Only You can answer our why’s. Only You can answer our prayers. Only You can soothe our souls. Thank you, dear Father!
Happy Father’s Day, my dear.