Welcome to the No Dads Club

I consider myself to be a lifetime member of the No Dads Club. It's not something I ever wanted to be a part of at such a young age. Losing a parent as a child rewires you a bit. I remember talking to friends, meeting new kids in school…sinking into myself when someone would ask about my “parents” (plural); or mention “mom and dad”. Childhood activities took a dark and twisty turn….  quietly making Father’s day cards in school with no one to give them to, creating a family tree for a school project… and then as an adult, filling out forms at the doctor’s office that ask about your family medical history. Parents: Living or dead. Check the boxes. Mother - Living. Father - Deceased. It’s the only normal I have known.

This past year has brought an incredible amount of loss for my family. Three of my uncles have died, each of them battling very ugly diseases and illnesses that often took their minds before their bodies. Three men with servants hearts, strong in faith and family. Men that were there after my Dad died, each in their own way. 

So, here I sit today with a heavy heart, as I welcome most of my cousins to the No Dads Club. 

We are all adults with families now, some have kids that are well and grown, starting families of their own. None are without the experience of losing a loved one, that in itself is not new. Losing a parent though, that hits different. Down to your core. 

My relationship with death is admittedly on the apathetic side.  After a lifetime of mourning, I forget the rawness and newness of it all. I forget to reach out and pass on condolences (p.s. this is me doing that now in my own way).  Being in the No Dads Club this long has afforded me some lessons I’ve learned along the way that I'll pass on though. Grief does not have an expiration date. It is never ending. It ebbs and flows; often hiding out for a while, until a little grief bubble pops up when you least expect it. Finding an old picture, hearing a certain song, a strangely familiar scent, a date on the calendar, a favorite recipe, a forgotten t-shirt found in the back of a closet… that’s all it takes sometimes to trigger the waterworks. 

My Dad died on Maundy Thursday. Being raised in the church, of course in my innocence I thought he might rise from the grave a few days later on Easter Sunday like Jesus did (you’ll likely never catch me at an Easter church service, needless to say). Here we are now at the start of the Lenten season, the timing is not lost on me. 

As a child I would look to the clouds in the sky, searching for a patch of sun poking out; windows to heaven my Dad could look down through. Now I’ll look for bigger windows knowing it’s getting pretty crowded up there, and they are all in very good company. 

Remembering Elliott Pancoast, Gene Brown, David Doerfler and Byron Hanna, today and every day. 

Cousins, I love you. 

“Hold on to the memories,

they will hold on to you”

-TS