I miss his voice.
Every time he spoke, the whole room wasn’t an empty space anymore, the tone and cadence of his voice overpowering the quiet. I often teased my father, calling him the “Professor” because he liked to talk about random facts and beliefs that interested him. Sometimes I would nod my head, half-listening, wondering when he would put a period at the end of his sentence. He would talk to me about politics, current events, and his favorite subject, the economy. I rolled my eyes in my head when he got on his soapbox, sometimes dismissing his viewpoints as random ramblings.
I miss those days.
And even though it has been 455 days since he has passed, it doesn’t get any easier. This may sound strange, but sometimes I don’t even believe he is gone. I expect him to call me or walk into our home, telling me what he likes and dislikes about our Phoenix or our home. His opinions on things were distinct. I didn’t always agree with what he said, but I enjoyed hearing his viewpoints, wondering what he would say next.
But there isn’t going to be next anymore.
He is gone. And everyday, I convince myself to accept the finality of it all. But it is hard. I want to know if he is ok. Is he at peace? Is his voice echoing what I view as the unknown?
There are no answers to these questions. I will never know.
On this Father’s Day, I will live in the past. My father wasn’t a present guy or a greeting card guy. It didn’t stop my sister and I from shopping for him on his birthday and special occasions. As soon as he received his card, he would call. He would say to us, “You didn’t have to get me a card.” I would say, “We wanted to Dad.”
I won’t be having that conversation this year. I really miss those days. I really do.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
So sorry for your loss. My husband just lost his father this past October. It does take a lot of time to heal. I hope that even in the sadness, you find some peace and joy in your memories.
Thanks for your condolences. I did play his favorite board game to honor his memory.
Ru – I’ve never seen a picture of your family until now – what a beautiful family you have!
I can even imagine what the loss of a parent is like. It must be something that you deal with one day at a time. I’ll be thinking of you this Sunday, on Father’s Day.
Thanks Tracy. It is something that I think about everyday, but with time, I am trying to focus on our happier memories. It is definitely a process. Hope you had some quality time with your Dad.
I lost my Dad in 2002 and there are still occasional times when I think ‘oh, I must ask Dad that’. I don’t know if this will sound strange to you but I have this belief that when we think about loved ones who have passed on that they are near to us. I’m sure in my own mind therefore that your Dad was close to you when you wrote this and he will be there again on Sunday.
So sorry for your loss. x
Thanks for your comforting thoughts. Doesn’t sound strange to me at all. And I think the thought of being near or around, gives me a sense of peace.
So sorry Rudri for your loss. I will thinking about you this father days and what a wonderful relationship you had with him.
Thank D for your kind words. It helped playing Carom to honor his memory.
I recognize this aching, this longing. We’re all familiar with temporary which makes the permanence of losing a loved one so utterly difficult.
Belinda, the longing part is exactly what I am feeling. There is need to rewind time and relive some of those memories. And you can’t. That is what fuels the ache.
I’m so sorry you will be missing him this Fathers Day. I know you have many beautiful memories that will forever live in your heart. I hope you will take comfort in those memories.
Thanks for your words Suzicate. I try to remind myself of those memories everyday.
For the first time in a very long while I will get to spend Fathers day with my Dad this year and as I do I cannot help but wonder if and when I will get to do so again, so I feel for you, missing your Father this weekend.
You write so beautifully about him it is very clear how much you loved and now miss him.
Thanks so much for your words.
I am so glad you spent Father’s Day with your Dad. I loved your post about him.
This was beautiful. My own dad is 76 years old and as the years start creeping up, so does the worry.
So true C. So true. My Mom is creeping up in the years and now my sister and I focus on her, trying to keep our remaining parent as healthy as we can.
Funny, about the Father’s Day card. Sounds like my Dad, saying “you didn’t have to spend your money and get me a card.”
I love how you talk about his distinct opinions, which some people wouldn’t embrace the way you do. As you say, even if you don’t agree you wanted to hear how he feels about things. These kind of memories are the fuel that will give you strength on this difficult weekend.
Eva, thanks. I’ve learned that when someone you love passes on it is important to remember the things you loved and disliked about them. It is embracing everything which I think helps me cope with his loss.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Rudri. By the time I hit, “Sometimes I would nod my head, half-listening, wondering when he would put a period at the end of his sentence,” I had tears in my eyes. You are such a powerful writer.
Thanks CK for stopping by and leaving such a kind and gracious comment. Sometimes when I write about my father, the tears are formed even before I articulate what I want to say. It’s hard to put these words down, but I find it cathartic.
This post seems to glow, it is so heartfelt and genuine. Thank you for sharing about your father on here.. Beautiful.
Best,
Hannah Katy
Thanks for reading Hannah. I appreciate your words.
I am so sorry for your loss. I’ll be giving my dad an extra hug tomorrow, in his honor.
The extra hug means so much. Thanks for that. I truly appreciate it.
Thank you for sharing this with us. I’m sure it’s hard to discuss, but perhaps it helps at the same time. I hope that the memories you have stay strong. By writingthem here, I think they will for you. Hugs to you on this Father’s Day. xo
Thanks for the hug Christine. You are right, his memory stays alive as I recall all of my memories with him.
My Dad has been gone for over 33 years. And I still feel his loss every day. It’s just not sad anymore. Now when I think of him I have a giant smile on my face and KNOW he is smiling back.
I love the image of a giant smile… I am not there yet, but by reading your comment, at least I know it is possible.
My dad is alive and well yet I still don’t get to see and talk to him nearly as often as I’d like/should. This post has encouraged me to be more diligent–at least with the calling. There’s not a whole lot I can do about the visiting.
I encourage all my friends to relish the time they get to spend with their parents, whether by visiting, writing, or calling. I read your letter to your Dad and thought it was a wonderful way to honor him for Father’s Day.
Happy Father’s Day, Rudri. I bet the Professor was with you today in heart and spirit, and in some small way, I hope that brought you comfort.
Thanks Stacia. I believe he was with me, probably laughing as I encouraged my daughter to get a greeting card for her father.
This is beautiful, Rudri.
It doesn’t get easier exactly. But as the years go on, the good memories become so much a part of us, and the stories we tell our children. I believe we feel those we love with us, when the worst of the grieving subsides.
Thank you BLW. I try to remember the happy memories even in those despairing moments of grief.
I do too.
I know. I know. Love you.
I’m so terribly sorry for your loss. It sounds like you have wonderful memories of a wonderful father.
Thanks for your condolences. I appreciate it.