Father's Day

Was last week.

I know.

I celebrated by asking my dad to pick me up from a late Saturday night flight...which happened to arrive even later than scheduled.  When the plane did land, I made Dad sit in the car for an extra hour while I waited for my checked luggage that didn't ever show up.  Happy Father's Day!  Dad didn't complain.  He just hugged me, empathized about my long flight, told me he'd drive me back to the airport in the morning for my bag, and asked to hear all about my trip.  So the first midnight moments of Father's Day found me sitting with Dad in my parents' kitchen, exchanging impressions of Windsor Castle.  I kind of love that memory every bit as much as I loved seeing Windsor Castle.

Yes! 

I was in London! 

It was amazing. 

I'm dying to show/tell you all about it! 

I hadn't been long planning a trip overseas.

But a few months ago, my phone rang early in the morning.  My father-in-law was on the other end, calling to indicate that his June 7th plane ticket to London needed a new owner. Would I be willing?  "Don't worry about your children," he added before giving me a chance to respond.  He'd already contacted my family to make sure Lucy and Spencer would have a loving place to stay while I was away. "Are you sure?" I asked a million times.

"Discussion is closed."  He answered every time. 

These little tidbits are only tiny snapshots of a much more complex picture.  But I hope they show, in a tiny way, why I feel so much love for these two men.

     

Grateful, emotional, meaningful *sigh*

Was Father's Day particularly sentimental this year? 

Of course.   

We miss this Daddy. 

For every emotional, physical, romantic, pragmatic reason possible.

People always ask me, "How are you?" 

The question is usually serious.  Sincere. 

And I almost always struggle to give a general, honest answer regarding my life of constantly conflicting emotions (most of us, probably, struggle to answer that question completely, no?).  I can't say "sad,"  because that answer neglects the true joy I feel when I think about my children, my testimony, my family, Wes's freedom from pain and limitation, the Savior's sacrifice, the Spirit's comfort, etc, etc, etc.  But saying "happy" seems to neglect the true and constant heartache, longing, exhaustion, and stress that come from being physically separated from my husband and help meet.

But the other day, I realized there is an accurate answer. A single, perfect description of my life that transcends all the constantly changing, difficult to describe emotions.  And so if you ask, "How are you?" with that serious, sincere look in your eyes (that evidence of love and concern that I appreciate in so many of you dear friends and family) I can tell you this much - without equivocation, without a dissertation, and without masking or minimizing any part of the story:

I am blessed. 

Father's Day is the perfect illustration.  Am I perpetually sad that my children don't have Wes's constant physical influence in their lives?  Of course.  But who else has two undeniably amazing fathers (see above), nine (yes, I said nine) perfect (yes, I mean perfect) older brothers...

     

     

...a slew of grown (and growing!), exemplary nephews (including many unpictured)...

     

  

...and an army of equally exemplary and attentive friends (most, likewise, unpictured)...

...to fill in the gaps?!  Moments like the many pictured here are never lost on me.  Nor, do I think they are lost on Wes.  We are both inexpressibly grateful for all the men who play such a needed, positive role in our children's lives. 

That being said, I hope it is understood that I don't feel like my children are fatherless.  Because I know they're not (another incalculable blessling).  And they know that too.  They talk about Wes constantly.  He is a irreplaceable part of them.

Several months ago, after clearing the table as usual, Lucy offered to wash and load all the dinner dishes.  I gave her a grateful squeeze and said something like, "Thank you, Lucy!!  Did you know your daddy used to wash the dishes after dinner, too?  He used to say, 'The person who cooks shouldn't do the dishes!'"  My comments made Lucy smile and she said to me with obvious pride, "I so have my daddy's genes!"

She does.  In more ways than I can possibly enumerate.  (which is not to say, however, that she does the dinner dishes every night  =)  Her brother has those genes too.

Handsome little devil, isn't he?? 
And speaking of Spencer:

The boy has always been snuggly.  Anyone who has curled up by him at bedtime knows he values closeness.  So the other day when he cupped my face in his little hand and looked at me with a loving smile, I thought nothing of it and looked back at him with casual fondness and typical affection.  But then he said something that practically halted my pulse.

"Member Dad doed this to you?"  he asked, his sweet hand still cupping my cheek.

Ten thousand instances of Wes's fingers on my face flashed before my suddenly wet eyes.  And I thought, if anyone ever tries to tell me that a father's tenderness goes unnoticed by a child, I will have reason to make serious rebuttal.  Spencer's comment cemented that oft quoted truth that "The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother." (Theodore Hesburgh)

How obviously - but remarkably - true!

Belated love and thanks to all the tender, tremendous fathers and brothers and friends that bless our lives.  And Happy Father's Day to my sweet Wesley!

(Whew! The rediculous length of this post is proof that I should never take such long blogging breaks!)