My First Father’s Day without Dad
Father’s Day (along with Mother’s Day) has always been an important tradition in my family - a time for golf, cards, dinner, family togetherness and laughter. However, this year marks the first Father’s Day since Dad passed away nearly 12-months ago, and as the day approaches it feels starkly different. Instead of planning a gathering, I find myself navigating a sea of memories and emotions.
For anyone experiencing their first Father’s Day without their dad, the day can bring an unexpected mix of feelings. There’s the profound sadness of missing him and the gratitude for the times shared. Each memory leads to emotion and pretty soon they are all intermixed with both joy and sadness, one ending where the other begins.
I have such a privilege in being my Dad’s son. Dad was not perfect, but he was an exceptionally good man. Honest. Honorable. Caring. Dependable. Involved. Servient. Loving. Supportive. While he ran his own business, he always had time to coach his kids’ teams. While somewhat reserved to the rest of the world, he made us laugh, in particular Mom. And many of the lessons in my life, what it means to be a man, a professional, a son, a husband, and a father, did not come from his words, but from his actions.
In my adult life, Dad and I talked two or three times a day. Most of the time about nothing important. Football, our state, news, etc. We would try to “beat” each other with breaking news for the non-important. Scoop the other on the trivial. And we loved it each time we did.
In the last year, I have come to realize, that for me, while tempting to shut out the world of emotions and let some memories go unnoticed, I’ve found that acknowledging a personal simple choice/fact can be a powerful part of the healing process: in many ways, I now take Dad with me everywhere I go. When I speak to large groups. In New York when I got to see the actual Beach Boys. When I entered the stadium in Lincoln to watch Nebraska play football. When I coach my kids’ teams. When I record my podcast. At NCAA tournament games. And when I execute on one of my three promises to him before he died: to take care of Mom (and his girls, my sisters).
I have also realized that there is something much more powerful than loss. Something that can pull someone down into despair. It is regret. For what should have been? What might have been?
And because of my immeasurable amount of physical and emotional time I had the privilege of being my Dad’s son while he lived. I have none—absolutely no regrets. The coaching. Active child rearing. His nearly 55-year marriage to Mom. Engaging with and loving his daughters. Taking care of his own parents. Creating and growing his own business. Taking me to oh so many Nebraska football and basketball games. His joy, as he celebrated with me, in my best of times. His support and unconditional love in my worst of times. Seeing him hold his first grandchild/grandson named for him. His pride when I lived up to expectations.
I miss Dad. I miss the unimportant calls. I miss having him with me to commiserate as Nebraska loses games in unspeakable ways. I miss his humility and his wisdom. I miss him at his grandchildren’s events. I miss the way he could make Mom smile and laugh, like no one else could.
Dad was not perfect. But he was perfect for me, just being my Dad.
