in case father’s day still sucks for you

Two years ago, I hastily signed up for a free WordPress blog and wrote down some feelings on Father’s Day.

Because I’m completely unoriginal, I modified a similar blog written by an internet stranger. It was a total one-off, but I probably should have continued it. To my astonishment, WordPress decided to Freshly Press it, and it kind of blew up.

It felt tingly to know that something I wrote resonated with that many people. Sadly–not shockingly–nothing I’ve written since has been recognized by the internet lords, and this probably has something to do with the frequent profanity and tacky internet memes this nonsense blog is saturated with.

(I love each and every one of my 58 followers, thank you).

Many of the feelings I felt then still exist today, two years later. They always will. But thanks to the existence of this 17 pound sack of drool, I have a reason to stop being such an inconsolable ball of hate this year.

liam pool

Father’s Day will never be the same for me, but that’s okay. It was never about me, anyway. I mean if there were a National Grieving Daughter Day, I would probably be leading the charge in the streets as we speak, but mercifully, that will never be a thing.

Today shouldn’t be about grief.

It should be about spending money on things. Things men like, such as power tools he’ll probably toss in the back of the shed later on when you’re in bed and maybe a case of Miller Lite.

Dad bod must be maintained.

Dad bod must be maintained.

Anyway, if you’re still reading this, know that you’re not alone if today still sucks–even after seeing those photos of my adorable baby and Leonardo DiCaprio with a beer belly.

Also know that life gets better sometimes, even when you least deserve it.

Happy Father’s Day.

dad daughter niagara falls

some day

Three years ago, in the early morning hours of April 6th–my father, Colin George, died.

He’s really gone, I remember thinking. I’m never going to see my dad again.

Quite fiercely, and for a time, I envied those who take comfort in the belief that death isn’t real. That some day, when this life is over, we are all reunited in eternity.

Then, four months ago, in the early evening hours of November 27th–my son, Liam Colin, was born–and that envy was gone.

2014-11-29 23.00.40

I didn’t quite realize it yet, but as I lay awake that first night peering at my son through that small pane of glass, I no longer needed to envy the belief in that mythical some day.

Because my some day is now.

I get to see my dad every day. I see him the moment Liam wakes up and smiles at me. I see him in the way the corners of his big, dark eyes crinkle. The way his pointy little ears stick out from his head, just a little. And that’s just the beginning.

My some day is today.

It’s every day.

And it’s forever.

dad babyliam