The Last Father’s Day

June will always be a month when I fight tears. You went into the hospital on Father’s Day in 2013 and never came home. I think about your last words to me that morning before the paramedics took over…”What a way to spend Father’s Day.” Everything happened so quickly I never got a chance to hold you and tell him how much you were loved. You died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, but they revived you. When I saw you again,¬†you were on a ventilator and your arms were secured so you couldn’t remove it, though you tried. You were so heavily sedated that you couldn’t respond. Occasionally you would give a tiny smile or open your eyes for a second. My heart broke and it has never healed. For 10 days I watched as your body began to shut down and hope was lost. I’m grateful for the short time after the ventilator was removed when you could speak a little and know our family surrounded you and loved you. June, the month of weddings and love, now is a month of sorrow for me.

I know the time will come when I see you again, and that brings me comfort. I keep your pictures in every room of the house where I spend a lot of time. Seeing your face each day lets me hang on to knowing you were not a dream. I miss you. And I’ll always love you. I know you wouldn’t want me to grieve, but to move on and enjoy the days God grants me here on earth. So I try to honor you by moving past the sorrow. Talking with God helps. He understands my hurt and pain. I pray for healing when I lift up prayers for others. I wait patiently and happy in the knowledge that you received God’s promise of eternal life.

June moves on, and so do I.

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