How I Celebrate Father’s Day Without My Father

How I Celebrate Father's Day Without My Father - Cassandra Photo

June.

This month is truly a month of drowning myself in grace, patience, love and support.

I forgive myself quickly when I lose my patience or when I feel pangs of severe jealously towards those who have living fathers.

I put no limit on how many tears I shed or how many times I curse the hand my family was dealt. (#fcancer)

I commit to far less, I allow myself space, and I give myself permission to watch the slideshow I made to show at my dad’s memorial service – as well as the playback of the service itself that my dear friend filmed for us. And I watch this as many times as I may need.

I listen to music that calms me down and make sure I’m reading books that offer healing (like this one) and uplifting podcasts (like this one)

I write.  As much as I possibly can, I write.  To him mostly, but free-journaling has been like a tight hug for me during my battle with grief.

How I Celebrate Father's Day Without My Father

This month shares both my dad’s birthday (his half birthday which we celebrated rather than his real birthday in December, because he loved the sunshine that much ;) and Father’s Day.

I can’t quite explain the feeling that comes along with walking into stores and seeing cards on display for everyone to buy, or reading blogs and seeing the Fathers Day Gift Guides that I no doubt would be creating to post here, if things were different.

It’s heavy.

Almost as if you’re trying to swallow a rock.

So instead of fighting it or crumbling at the fact that I no longer have a physical being to hand a card to, I created a tradition that made me feel like things weren’t any different for me. Even if just for a split second.

For the 2 years that have passed, I’ve bought him a Father’s Day card. I write in it, and I tuck it into my journal.

This year, I did the same.

And when the day approaches, I’ll think of my sisters. I’ll think of my other friends, my other family members and those of you I haven’t yet met who have endured the loss of a father, and those of you who never got the chance to know yours.

I’ll think of you and I’ll be hugging you tight from afar, because we’re all in this together.

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