Father’s Day should be about celebrating a dad’s role in our lives. For me, it’s about overcoming his absence.
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I am always glad to see my friends posting pictures of their dads as the Fathers day weekend approaches. It’s nice to see the bonds and love people have for their dads. I like to see the pictures and realize that most of them hold some special meaning themselves, some event or day that will be remembered for reasons only those involved could understand. Through the pictures, you can see love from a child to father and from father to child, a truly unique relationship exists between a man and his kids and it is even apparent in pictures.
Some pictures are of fathers lost, some taken too early, some who lived long full lives, and many still with us. However no matter the amount of time on earth you can tell that they touched people especially their children. To reading the comments on the photos explains things about the day, the time, the people but the picture is what tells the story. The eyes, the setting, the time frame all mean something. The pictures aren’t just pictures they are memories.
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My picture is usually my children; my sons are among the greatest joys of my life. The pictures I use will someday mean something to them I hope, a memory they can cherish with their children. Pictures that will show that their daddy loved them and that they loved him. My daily hope is that I can be a man that can raise my children to be the kind of men our society needs them to be. That they will be proud that I am their dad. Most importantly that I can hand that same sense of responsibility to them in raising the generation that they will be entrusted with nurturing.
Father’s day has always been a rough time for me; I grew up not knowing my dad from anything but a few pictures and scribblings in notebooks.
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Father’s day has always been a rough time for me; I grew up not knowing my dad from anything but a few pictures and scribblings in notebooks. My father didn’t die when I was young or before I was born, he just left. There were reasons, and they aren’t important it was just the hand I’ve been dealt. I never hated him for it, I just never understood and probably never will.
We can overcome the absence of a father, I am living proof of that, it could have gone terribly wrong for me. I could have ended up a much different person than I am today. Don’t get me wrong I am nothing special; I’ve just seen good people take the wrong turns. There were always people in my life to help fill the void that was left by not having a father. My Grandmother, my Mom, my aunts and uncles, my oldest brother and for a few years a step dad. They all played a part in shaping me to who I am today and I thank each of them for their contributions.
The last few fathers days have been different. In 2010 I was reconnected with family on my dad’s side, through Facebook. In the process of reconnecting, I found out that my dad had resurfaced, and my cousin gave me a phone number. He also told me that dad was sick. After garnering the courage to make the call, at the age of 33 years old I spoke to my father for the first time. It was evident during the conversation that he was as uncomfortable as I was, it was also clear that he was indeed very ill. We talked and found out that he drove right through my town twice a month on his way to treatment in Biloxi. We decided that he would come to my house the next trip, and we would meet.
I hung up the phone and broke down, the years of wondering and waiting was supposed to be over and again he had disappointed me.
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The day came that he was to be there, I left work early I went home nervous and a little excited. Then the disappointment came when he called and said that the treatment was canceled, and he wasn’t coming. I hung up the phone and broke down, the years of wondering and waiting was supposed to be over and again he had disappointed me. I was angry, upset but also in a strange way a little relieved.
I didn’t hear from him again; weeks went by and nothing. Finally, I got a note from my cousin that my father had been moved to the Veterans Hospital in Biloxi and was in hospice, and that it was pretty bad. I talked to my wife about the situation, and she told me that we had to see him, it’s advice I will always be thankful for even though at the time I didn’t want to hear it. However I decided she was right, I called him and told him we were coming.
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We made the drive to Biloxi, got our hotel then made our way to the hospital. I remember that they were doing construction and finding parking was impossible. But knowing my father was in there, the man that had left a hole in me for my entire life, I just wanted to pull up on the grass and race to his side. We parked and made our way inside and after an elevator ride and a long walk down a hallway with a feeling; that could only be explained as part doom and part joy, I walked into the room of U.S. Army Captain Robert Benjamin Holland.
33 years of questions, frustrations, missed birthdays, missed Christmases, graduations, my wedding and the birth of my boys were all ready to come out. However when I saw him lying there, literally on death’s door, frail bruised and withered, I really couldn’t say anything. I felt sorry for him; he missed everything. He had wasted his time; he wasted our time, he missed so much joy. With the condition he was in at the time, he couldn’t say much at all, and was in and out of consciousness. I sat there for a while just looking at him, this legend, this myth, this void, was there before me. I brought my wife and kids in, and he got to meet them and have for just a moment a little joy. They stayed for a while then left us, for me to be there with him alone for a while. I wish I could say that we got it all out, that I had asked him a million questions and that he gave me all the answers I was looking for. That isn’t what happened. We sat there in near silence, him sleeping part of the time and me just questioning everything to myself. With no answers.
After a few hours, I knew it was time to go, I met my wife downstairs, and we went back to the hotel. I had intentions to go back Sunday; I didn’t.
I met my father on Saturday, June 5th; he died on Sunday, June 6th.
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The years of waiting, the time wondering was all over. I met him and now he was dead. No questions answered nothing seemed to be resolved, it didn’t make sense to me, what was this journey all about? What was the reason for it happening like this? Meeting your father and burying him in the same week just seemed unfair and so unnecessary. I felt like I was almost worse off than before.
Since that time, I have been brought in touch with family I never knew, a family I hadn’t seen since I was five or six. I was reconnected with a part of my life I never knew. For that I am grateful, but the questions remain, and may always remain.
So with all that said, Father’s Day to me if very important. Not knowing the real relevance of Father’s Day growing up, makes me understand it that much more now. My boys will always know their dad, and more importantly, they will always know that I love them and that they are important to me. I suppose if anything came from it that is it, and that’s a pretty big thing.
I will also take the time to remember my dad, and what he means to me.
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So as another Father’s Day is here, I will cherish it with my three boys and make new memories, happy memories. I will also take the time to remember my dad, and what he means to me. Not the same things that many of you remember about your dads, not playing catch or learning to drive, but his impact on me and who I am. I suppose in a way I can thank him for that.
Happy Father’s Day to all the committed dads out there and happy Father’s Capt. Robert Benjamin Holland, a combat veteran of the Vietnam conflict, and holder of two bronze battle stars. You will always be my dad, and will always hold a place in my heart.
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Photo: Flickr/ Marcela