Father's Day

These days the sky stays light well past nine.  It's finally dark, the day officially done.  Hard, hard day.  Harder for me than Mother's Day.  Every child has their own relationship with each parent beyond the family dynamic.  You can see mothers and daughters so in sync when there together, they don't miss a beat.  Others navigate tension and misunderstanding, often even when they think the same way or have the same goal, but they bond.  There's all different ways to bond.  Fathers and son's, mothers and son's.  Father's and daughters.  A father ...and his daughter ...his girl ...his Phoebe.
Like two peas in a pod, they shared a world view and a draw to the power of nature, the overwhelming strength of God's creation ...and found peace in their own smallness in relation to that power.  Their season is here now.  And I am at sea ...I want that back for them to share.  I want it back for me to watch.  I miss their relationship ...their way, together, a dad and his girl.
There is wonder and joy in every other child/dad relationship, and I love watching those too.  But it is the one gone missing that tugs the heartstrings most.  I know he misses her.  He knows I miss her, and the words become less and less.  Maybe we just share a glance or a sigh.  He paints the house and I say I wonder if Phoebe will recognize it when she comes home.  And he tells me she picked the color ....because she did pick one similar a few years back.  I'd forgotten. 
We talk surfing, and it is below the surface of the words, another child using the boards with friends, the proper care and use etc ...  He navigates it from work and our oldest steps in too, making sure everyone's on the same page.  But we both know who would have run the show.  She would stand shorter than three of her younger sisters now, but she would have ruled over them, and she would have protected the prized surfboards while giving tips for maximum fun.  But she doesn't stand shorter than them, and she doesn't rule over them.  But sometimes her death rules over our hearts, and today is one of those times.
I bumped into one of her friends in the parking lot today.  I'd stopped to get a few things for Stephen to have at work.  Forty hours straight is a long time to work, and at least on Father's Day, a delivery of treats is in order.  She peeks in the bag sees the cookies, "I'd rather chocolate chip myself."  Her nose scrunches up "me too, but Phoebe told me he goes all healthy sometimes, empties out the sugar bowl."  We both laugh, it's true.  But I share it because she is one of the very few people who speaks about Phoebe with ease, with the sense that her friendship with Phoebe is still very real, just different.  I like that, appreciate it.  Phoebe's name didn't get caught in her throat, wasn't said with hushed tones, or droopy eyes ...it was just there, as it should be ...present and real.  And you know, it's so fitting that it's this girl I bump into on the journey of making the delivery to Phoebe's dad.  He'd loved watching them together.  Maybe a little wink.
I don't really understand how God weaves such things, such a loss, into our lives.  I know few men who could have continued living and loving the way Phoebe's dad has.  He's all in ...a phrase we used for many years amidst the activity of a house full of little kids.  We were all in ...we took no short-cuts. He still is all in ...even when he doesn't feel like it ....even when his heart is dragging.  His heart hasn't given out.  He just gives more.  And that's the witness for me ...the endless giving, the willingness to serve,  the willingness to walk this life with a shattered heart, hidden, striving to make other's lives whole and full.
Bless him, this man, on Father's Day.