No words to add…
For most people Father’s Day is made of sugary sweetness; of crayon-adorned cards and handmade gifts, of close embraces and tender words, of silly ties and lazy lunches and unapologetic kisses.
For most people it is celebration and affection and gratitude in great supply.
For most people it is their heart’s warmly welcomed house guest.
But you are not most people.
For you Father’s Day is a fresh bleeding, the reopening of a persistent wound; an unwanted, uninvited rude reminder of something beautiful you had and lost or of a long-kindled dream that finally died for good.
It is a vicious calendar intrusion of regret and grieving and anguish—and it’s hard as hell.
I want you to know that someone understands.
I want you to know that I see your deeply buried hurt, the nagging pain you keep so well hidden, the steady stream of tears you wipe way in secret.
And I want to give you permission to feel it all today; every bit of scalding anger, every fist-slamming moment of heavy sadness, the…
View original post 256 more words