June 17th ~ Heaven's Rich Pageant

There is always a bit of trivia I remember about Father's Day falling on June 17^th. Although, I don't know if it is still true to this day, when we lived there, it was the last time it snowed on Father's Day in North Dakota. I try to remember everything about Father's Days past as I no longer have my Dad here to celebrate. I try to remember everything about him.

If you have lost your Dad, I don't know if this is true for you. But, I miss my Dad more today then I did when he first left. The hole just keeps growing. It is an ocean of loss. You don't really understand what you have lost at the time of the loss. Your loss is all past; you won't celebrate birthdays or Father's Days anymore. You don't imagine that you won't have that warm hand with the weathered skin to hold when you are drowning in the struggles of life as an adult. You don't know then that as you chase your dreams and stumble through the life surrounding you, you will want to ask Dad; hey how did you open that sandwich shop those years ago; and how did you pack up the family and journey from the big city of New York to the vast prairie of North Dakota? Where did your courage come from; your strength? How did you endure so much pain and sickness and still remain the most graceful person in the room? What is the song they used in the REM video you appeared in? How did you make such perfect fried eggs? I adored my father when he was living, but wasn't always listening; in the loss of him I listen to every breeze and every heartbeat for the sound of his voice.

I think about the richness of heaven and how it is ultimately the dream trip I hope to take one day. Forget Ireland or Australia; heaven seems to be where all the lovely people are. Since Dad lives there I image it has Holsteins and Appaloosas; chili and Schlitz; the open road and family gatherings; laughter about grease on door knobs; a jukebox with Anne Murray and Statler Brother's songs; lakes for fishing; oceans for swimming; prayer and forgiveness;

My Dad was a man of tradition. So, for tradition's sake, I made him breakfast. Bacon & Eggs with pumpernickel toast; careful to keep the yolks runny.

Then I sat on the porch with him and my coffee, listening; resigned to the fact that I will have puffy eyes tomorrow. And that, I suppose, is how you know just how rich you really are.

I hope this is a happy day for Father's everywhere.