This Sunday is the 100th anniversary of Father’s Day – a day to celebrate our fathers and all that they mean to us. We make them breakfast in bed, give them cards and presents, often home-made, and let them go golfing or fishing or whatever their usual hobby is. We fix them their favorite foods for dinner and try to let them have a day free from any aggravation. Growing up, I must have taken that day for granted – I know we would have given dad a card and gift (probably a tie or maybe a mug) and I’m sure mom fixed him his favorite dinner. But I can’t recall specific events. I know he never went golfing or fishing. He probably spent the day on his farm. It is what he did most weekends.
Last year, I was home in early June (not the actual weekend of Father’s Day, but close) and I took this picture of Dad.
It has become my favorite photo of him – he has his impish Irish smile and he is engaged in his daily routine: reading the Washington Post. When I think back over the years, a classic memory of Dad is sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper.
Since moving ½ way across the country, I have missed many Father’s Days with my dad, but they seem to take on more meaning each year. This year will be the hardest one, though. I have no idea how many more Father’s Days we have left with him. The fact that I am not able to be there this year makes me very sad.
We are looking at assisted living arrangements for dad – specifically locations that offer memory care. Some of the locations we have visited are in the DC area, where mom and dad live now. Some of them are in the city where I live now. If you haven’t guessed already, I am really hoping the family will agree that having him here is the best solution! That way, as long as he is still with us, I will be able to celebrate Father’s Day (and birthdays and Thanksgiving and Christmas and any other special day I feel like) with him. And I promise not to take any of them for granted.