Each year around the beginning of June I start feeling sad. That's the time the Father's Day ads start in earnest reminding me over and over I've lost the reason I had to celebrate. It looks like that may finally change.
My grandfather Tim Ross passed away many years ago in 1980 when I was 13. My dad Larry Ross passed away in 2006. My grandfather JC Bullard and my step-dad Wain Emory both passed away in 2008. I unfortunately don't remember that much about Grandpa Ross. I remember visiting his house. I remember when he got sick. But I don't remember much more, not even the funeral. I'm sure I was there, but I just don't have any images that I can recall. It was the other three that I really felt. On top of losing them, which was bad enough, was just how close all three passed to each other — shock after shock after shock.
It would be easy to see why I'm no fan of the yearly ads telling me my dad needs a new tie or a new golf club or a new BBQ set. My grumpiness with the holiday though has waned some over the years. I feel it at first when the initial ads hit, but I seem to dismiss it more quickly now than before. Another part of moving on I guess... at least until this year. This year the difference caught me off guard while I was on a boat ride at a nearby lake.
Catina's mom and step-dad invited us with the family out for a day on the lake. They have a boat that they use regularly for fishing. The weather was beautiful. Lots of clouds skirted by keeping us cool along with the spray from the boat. I remember the day feeling so peaceful as I chatted with everyone and took pictures. When the sun was setting and we rode back in it finally dawned on me. Something had changed this Father's Day.
We had bought Catina's dad and step-dad presents to give them after the day on the lake. As I shook hands with each of them I thought about how Father's Day had a new meaning now after seven years. I'm about to officially join Catina's family and these two men are a reason to celebrate again. A holiday of frustration and sadness is now something more. A yearly ache has a new focus, a new perspective. I almost missed the change this year. It was an afterthought. Next year I'll be ready to celebrate these two men who helped make it possible for me to meet and love Catina. A part of my sorrow will always be there as we slip into June, but now there will finally be something more to look forward to. My main regret is that the men who meant the most to me will miss our big day.
