Everyone said it would get easier. They told me each passing year would be better. The first year, my dad had just died, it was fresh, raw unfiltered. The second year, I decided to buy a house. Distracted thinking was my coping mechanism. This year, COVID. This year, I finally had to sit in the pain and the hurt. Let me tell you, it doesn’t seem to be better.

My dad was 47 years old when I was born. He had already raised 3 boys. He was a minister in the church of the brethren. He worked for the local electric company. He would go hunting during hunting season and fishing during fishing season. He was a simple man, one who lived by simple principals. He was born during the “Greatest Generation”.  He told me he remembered the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He was walking up the steps to his high school when he heard that the United States was attacked by Japan. Two years later, in 1943, he enlisted with the Army and fought for his country in the South Pacific. When dad came home in 1945, he didn’t talk about the war again until 1989.  

Thanks to my dad, I became a history buff. We often took day trips to Gettysburg and he would tell me all about the battle at Little Round Top. He would tell me about the Peace Light and how the United States made a commitment to never fight amongst themselves. He took me to Williamsburg and we talked about the freedoms that the founding American’s wanted from England. We couldn’t seem to go anywhere where my dad didn’t share a story about history. I was in 11^th grade in 1989 and we were studying World War II. I came home and started asking my dad questions. After a while he agreed to speak to my class about being a veteran of the war. It was the first time that I ever knew that my dad was a medic for the Army. He told so many stories. I hold those stories close to my heart. I always told myself that I needed to sit down with him and video his stories, because eventually they would be lost. It is one of my biggest regrets to this day.

My father was an extremely religious and God-fearing man. He had high standards and kept to them. We were never allowed to enter a restaurant that had a bar. My dad was always worried that someone would see and think we were going drinking. He instilled a wealth of religious teaching into my life. He could quote a bible verse from memory. It would amaze me how at the most inopportune time (such as coming home from a night of dancing with my friends) that my dad could pull out a bible verse about the sins of dancing.  I felt like the movie Footloose was made from my life.

Dad could fix almost anything. I would often be tasked with the job of holding the light while he would use one of his tools to perform his magic. My dad taught me how to change my tire, my oil, my spark plugs and add all kinds of fluids to my car. He would often be called to one of our homes because something was broke, and we knew he could fix it. During his retirement years, dad took up woodworking. He made beautiful items. Benches, clocks, bird houses, doll cribs and doll houses. It’s amazing how those simple homemade items are so treasured today.

I was talking to my brother this past week on the phone and he said to me “Crystal, I really miss my dad, if I could bring one person back it would be my dad”. Through that conversation, I felt the immense loss of the man we called dad. He was a quiet, strong, knowledgeable, loving caring man. He was consistent and stubborn.  We miss him. As I reflect on today being Father’s Day, I acknowledge that our family was blessed. I also acknowledge that not everyone had the type of dad we had. I also recognize that many of you reading this have lost a dad, a father figure, an important man in your life. I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but after 3 years, I’m not sure it will ever be easy.  I want you know that you are not alone in your grief, that many other’s are scrolling through Facebook and smiling at friends and family who still have fathers, all the while you are feeling this odd sense of jealousy, sadness because you can’t physically hug your dad.  Big brother, I miss my dad too and what I wouldn’t give to hug his big broad back one more time. Happy Father’s Day to all of you going through this loss, whether it’s old or new or somewhere in between. You are not alone.