"HAPPY" FATHER'S DAY?

I know what I want to say; I’m just not sure how to say it. This Sunday there will be a celebration across the country. Families will celebrate together, parties will be had, dinners will be made, and the man for whom all the hubbub is all about will be treated oh so specially. Of all the days of the year, it’s the day I fear the most. Deamons talk to me, pangs of guilt return for the day, ghosts and fond memories all of which combine for a rather depressing Father’s Day.

My father was a helluva man. And although he and mom divorced when I was only three, he was my very best friend right up until the day he died of lung cancer some 13 years ago. I’d only see him two weeks out of the year but what fun we had when he came down to visit. We swam, we golfed, we ate like royalty, we played poker, and we laughed. Oh how we laughed. It’s really odd how my sister and I remember these little obscure moments in time and the words he said. We can quote him verbatim even to this day. He eventually moved down to Florida, and I got to live with him beginning my senior year in high school.

During that year and my years in college, I truly realized how special he was. He was so well liked by everyone. He taught me a lot in a short time. I modeled myself after him in many ways. I wanted to be like him, behave like him, and be as well liked as him. I don’t know about being as well liked, but my behaviors and ethics resemble him. And for that I’m proud.

Some moments in time you don’t forget. Dad had been sick for reasons unknown. He needed help, and I drove down to help him go through endless tests. Dad was in his hospital bed; I was sitting in the adjacent chair when the Oncologist came in. “Mr. Moser, you have inoperable lung cancer. You’ve got about six months to live. I’m sorry.” I’m sure I must have gone pale and did my best to hide my fear as I watched Dad try to process this unbelievable news. His face expressed bewilderment more than anything else. It was rough being there and having to deliver such news to the family, but I am glad I was there for him. For the next three months I helped him make his final move to Vermont where my sister, a hospice nurse at the time, would care for him until he died four months later. Being fatherless sucks. I think about him often, but how can I *not * think about him on Father’s Day?

When I married, I got along great with my father-in-law. It was great to have a father again. The divorce severed that relationship quickly. As soon as he found out about our impending divorce, he never said a word to me and hasn’t since. I guess he hates me for leaving his daughter. Come to think of it, I’m not sure how he honestly felt about me? I probably don’t want to know the truth at this point.

And now the really difficult part. I grew up without my father and promised myself that I’d never leave my children. Promise broken. My son is growing up with his father thousands of miles away just like I did. I feel bad for me, but I especially feel bad for him. Still, I know I made the right decision despite this hardship. Spending Father's Day without him is an empty feeling and always hard for me to comprehend. I miss that little guy, and I always will. And come Sunday, *all* these fatherly feelings will be magnified. Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to it.