My Dad
They say, '“A picture is worth a thousand words.” So what about a picture of a picture?
Two thousand?
I’m so glad I snapped this shot cuz I ended up losing the photo itself after bringing it to an online commemorative meeting. I was so bummed that I misplaced that photo afterward. I felt a deep void without it. Nowhere as deep as the void left by the actual passing of my dad, but it was like, “Damn, I can’t have my dad, and now I can’t have this cherished photo either.” The photo kept him with me. I beat myself up for misplacing it.
My dad would not have wanted me to beat myself up. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
He was the most supportive dad.
Y’all, you have no idea.
He was that kind of guy (and I have since encountered a special few like him) who could make you feel seen and heard and validated. He genuinely cared. He was a great listener. He was humble. He was self-aware. He loved guiding and educating. He was passionate, but in a quiet, unassuming way.
It’s hard to feel the loss of my dad cuz it’s so enormous.
When I’ve had friends/relatives lose their beloved dads, seeing their loss hits hard.
Somehow it’s easier to conceptualize it when I’m more far removed.
When it comes to my dad, I live in the hole.
Losing him has transformed my life. It has, at times, engulfed me alive.
Take, for example, the 8 years or so after he passed away, when, aside from a three-year hiatus into ultra-religious practice, I poured myself into dating emotionally unavailable men. Not only dating—over-investing—physically and emotionally.
I was trying to fill the infinite void in my heart with a bathtub stopper.
Then came the period of, I think I found someone with a kinder nature, who has certain aspects that harkened (seemed to at the time) to my dad.
Then came the period of ending that relationship.
It was around that time, the official end of that, that I moved my blog to Substack and renamed it “Small Steps, Deep Breaths.”
It had formerly been called Mindful Nuggets.
I began a new stage of my life. And I suppose I inherently felt I would be taking small steps to building my new life. A life of healing, of fresh perspectives, of intimate personal growth.
I would not be who I am without my dad.
In the short 21 years that I was blessed to have him, he gave me an infinite amount of love, nurturing, and wisdom.
In my healing journey, I strive to be at a place where I can feel his presence without getting overtaken by sadness of missing him or anger at G-d for taking him away.
Grief isn’t linear, and it’s not all rainbows and butterflies, but I find a lot of his qualities in the spiritual growth I am doing as well as the heartfelt, authentic people in my communities. This helps me feel his presence. And gives me gratitude in other areas of my life as well.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad!
I know you used to respond, “Every day is Father’s Day.”
Cuz you became a dad in your mid-forties and were so darn excited to have been blessed with it.
And also you said it because, let’s face it, you were corny as hell—in a good way—your goodness ran so deep, it left people awestruck at times.
Anyway—love you very much.
I know you worked very hard your whole life. And I know how much your power naps helped. And I pray you continue to rest in peace.
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