Thirteen years ago I became a father. There's nothing too unusual or earth-shattering about that, except that I was already a mother.
But when Jeff was killed, I, like too many moms and dads who's other half dies or walks out on them, I inherited double parenting duty. Ask any single parent, and they'll tell you what a daunting task it is. In my case, it was particularly challenging because of the kind of parent Jeff was.Unintentionally, parents usually take on a parenting personality -- like the disciplinarian, the "fun" one, the nurturer, the protector, or the "cool" one. I can't say that either of us would have qualified as "cool." Jeff was too goofy to be cool, and I think the kids consider me anything but cool. I'm fine with that, though. Jeff was definitely the fun one, and once he was gone, so too was the fun in our house for a long time. I knew in spite of my sadness of losing Jeff, I could still nurture them and love them with all my heart. I would give it my best shot to make them feel safe regardless of what had just happened to them. But I knew I couldn't replace the fun in the same way he brought it. He had a knack for making them laugh. He created silly games that almost always involved candy. And his inherent goofiness just made everything more fun.
Of course his absence was palpable every day. But it was more evident at times when only a Dad will do, like when our son needed to shave for the first time, or tie his own tie, or even have his first legal beer. Plenty of moms and sons share an interest in sports, but as much as I am a diehard sports fan, it was a "Matt and Dad" thing, and although he never told me, I know going to a Bruins or Red Sox game with mom wasn't quite the same. The girls had their Dad things, too -- hiking, working side-by-side around the house and yard, listening to music, shopping without looking for "sale" signs -- things that weren't quite as fun with mom.
I often feel so sad and helpless that they were cheated out of a long life with their super dad. They deserved more. And so did Jeff -- he was gypped out of a life with his awesome kids who saw him as their hero. He considered being a father the most important part of his life. But intense hatred against our country took him from them, from us, and left us with just memories in his place. All we could do was not die with him emotionally, but instead, live for him the way he would have wanted us to -- with laughter, love, respect for others, and a sense of humor.
Sometimes I struggle with a feeling of failure in my attempts to be two parents in one, but one Father's Day the kids gave me a gift (a basket of some of Jeff's favorite things) and a Father's Day card that said in their own funny way, "thanks for being both mom and dad." My reaction came in the form of tears -- happy and sad ones. The confirmation from them that maybe I hadn't done such a bad job afterall was the real gift. Now, each Father's Day, the kids search for just the right card (usually an irreverent one), they write Mom over the Dad, and give it to me to say thanks for trying not to replace their dad, but for doing my best to fill his enormous shoes, and keeping his memories fresh.
So if you've dreaded Father's Day because your Dad isn't there, use it as an opportunity to say thanks to the Dad in your life, even if the Dad in the physical sense is your mom.
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