By Anissa Kennedy 
At just 55 years old, my father-in-law passed away, four months before our son was born. For two decades, he valiantly fought an unknown illness that depleted his body in every way until he was skin and bones. Before he finally succumbed to this unseen disease, he told us he’d dreamt of his first grandson. “He’s beautiful,” his voice strained. “I’ve met him and feel like I know him already.”
I think about that conversation often, how their spirits must have bumped fists in the dream world, one coming and one going.
Yes, to an extent, we were relieved when my father-in-law, Eugene, moved on. Knowing how much he endured and struggled daily, we gratefully said goodbye to the misery that plagued him.
But I won’t lie—part of me feels ripped off. I feel cheated that I never knew my father-in-law as the healthy, strong, and revered man he was. I’m pained that my son will never know his paternal grandfather and have a better understanding of his lineage, that he will have to settle for stories instead of first-hand experiences. Although I know it isn’t fair, I feel indignant on my husband’s behalf that his father was ill and unable to be the physical example he needed during crucial maturing years as a teenager and young adult.
Even now, more than two years later, my husband will sometimes start a text to his dad, only to remember he is no longer available. Sometimes he just wants to brag about our boy, ask about a scenario from his childhood, or request parenting advice. Sure, he can ask his mother’s opinion on what Eugene would have said or done, but it’s not the same.
More than anything, he wishes he could finally express real gratitude to his dad now that he is a father himself. He gets it now. To this day, my husband claims the most terrifying moments of his life were the early weeks after we brought our son home from the hospital. Those long, one-eye-open nights awakened a fierce, paternal protectiveness within him.
“I always thought I was grateful for my dad, and I loved him and told him as much all the time,” my husband admits. “But now I really KNOW what I put my parents through. Now I get why my dad gave certain guidance, why he was so invested in what I was interested in, or why he worried about me constantly.”
Everyone suffers when a loved one suffers, especially if that person is the head of the house. A son needs a dad, a real one. Eugene gave every effort, despite every ache and setback, to be a source of strength and a positive influence, even from the sidelines once he was bedridden. In fact, he was probably more involved because of his condition than many fathers are without the excuse of sickness.
Despite chronic pain and a deteriorating body, both of which limited his physical participation, Eugene was a pillar of resilience to everyone who knew him, but especially to his son. And while my husband knows they had a bond, he still wishes he had expressed his love and appreciation more often.
When they say we never truly miss something until the connection is lost, they speak the truth. Those words may be cliché, but if your father or father figure is alive and within your safe circle, tell him you love him today. I am sure he had faults. Maybe he wasn’t as present or involved in your life as you would have preferred or needed as a child. Maybe he wasn’t the resolute leader he should have been. But maybe you can see now, regardless of his humanity, he tried, and he loves you.
My own dad is probably reading this right now, cheering me on by trying to figure out how to share it on his social channels, despite being an avid non-reader of everything else. My husband loves him (everyone does, really). We can go to him for virtually anything. But there’s nothing like connecting with your own dad, your own flesh and blood.
Don’t just say Happy Father’s Day this month. Make more time this year to glean wisdom, express gratitude together, and ask the questions you would wish to know if your father were to pass on sooner than expected. Don’t wait for the funeral. Don’t wait until you are a parent knee-deep in diapers to finally give your dad the thanks he is due for raising you.
by Samantha Lyn Walljasper 
by Angela Joyner 
