Back when Grey's was good.
This Father's Day I am coming up on a weird anniversary. It'll be 15 years since my father died (he died right around Father's Day) so I will have spent half of my life with him and half of my life without him. This is...just a reality I am coping with, because I've known it was coming, and I've grown up, and he's not who I think of when I think of my family anymore.
I loved my father dearly. We shared a similar sense of humor and loved to prank Mom and my sister. He embraced my friends and loved to embarrass us at the mall or scare the crap out of us while we were all watching scary movies in our den. He gave me my passion for books, along with Mom. He in particular loved history and thrillers, the two kinds I'm so keen on now.
A lot of his friends wanted to step in and do what they could. I appreciated their support. Several of my friends' dads claim me and another fatherless girl we grew up with as their own. They did help raise us, for sure. But nothing replaces being raised - into adulthood - by a person so similar to you, with whom you would've been great friends now.
Instead, I raised myself, and my "brother," who is not a biological relative, and his parents picked up a lot of the slack. My French teacher picked up a lot of the slack. The suddenness of my father's death sent my mother into a near-catatonic state and I had no guidance from her. As her parents' health declined and our one-income monetary situation worsened, she drifted further and further away from me. As a lot of people on these boards know, we have never quite mended our relationship.
Grief is a dull, dull ache for me now, but there are times when it becomes acute - particularly around that random day in June. I don't bother wondering what would have been. I can't know that. My mother will sometimes focus on his flaws, and her lingering resentments over how he handled money, so my grief has to remain private or only shared with partners and friends. Unlike my sister did at hers, I don't think I'll say much about him at my wedding. He's in an ephemeral not-forgotten but silent place for me.