As with every Fathers Day, I began the day by visiting my first son, Jesse, at the cemetery, and my father also, who died in '98, four years after Jesse. It's a sad though necessary way to begin the day. Their graves are just feet apart, my father overlooking my son. I still miss them both terribly, and will never forget for an instant what they meant and still mean to me. Losing my father was a difficult though natural part of life, but losing my son was a blow I'll never get over. My first. My boy.
Later I helped my wife and second son, Daniel (7), put together an adjustable, portable basketball hoop, backboard, and pole, a gift for his excellent performance in school, and because he just joined a summer basketball league. My 2 year old daughter watched from the swing, or crawled around on the grass, enjoying herself thoroughly. Daniel had a lot of fun playing basketball afterwards (we also got him a nice new ball).
After that I rested, and then celebrated the day with a little gift opening ceremony with my little family. All in all, it wasn't a bad day. I usually hate Fathers Day since it's such a reminder of not having Jesse there. I need to learn better how to enjoy what I have and not dwell on what I've lost. It's hard, he's so everpresent in my thoughts. I miss you, Jesse. Rest in peace.
I love you always,
Your Daddy
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