When Father’s Day Isn’t Simple

When Father’s Day Isn’t Simple

Father’s Day tends to stir up mixed emotions for a lot of people. For some, it’s a day filled with barbecues, heartfelt cards, and warm memories. For others—people like me—it’s more complicated.

My dad was a good man in so many ways, but we were never close. I often saw how he connected with others—how he showed up for them—and I felt left out of that. He never told me he loved me or that he was proud, and I never stopped being afraid of him. After his divorce from my mother, the distance between us only grew through circumstances that were outside of my control.

As an adult, well into my 40’s, I began to recognize his quiet gestures—corn left on my porch, a tool that would just appear—as his version of love. But when he died, I sat alone, apart from the family section where a seat was not saved for me. I watched my 4 siblings honor him while I was silently breaking. I was heartbroken—not just by his passing, but by all the words left unsaid and the relationship we never found our way into.

My Children’s Fathers

When I became a mother, I held out hope that my children might experience something better. But life had other plans.

My daughters’ father walked away when they were young teens and never came back. My granddaughter Willow’s biological father asked for his parental rights to be terminated at her birth which became a blessing. And the one man who stepped in and truly tried to be a father to her, asked that she take his last name and asked that she call him dad, the one who made her feel safe—he passed when she was 5.

I have no relationship with my brothers, who are fathers themselves. Sometimes absence is the only way to protect your peace.

The Ones Who Show Up

So what does someone like me do with a day like this?

Here’s what I’ve learned:
In the absence of the kind of fathers we see in movies or storybooks, something beautiful and unexpected can still grow. I became both protector and provider. I learned how to be soft and strong at the same time. I showed up, over and over, when it would have been easier to walk away.

I have carried many children through trauma, loss, addiction, and systems that were never built to protect them. I have stayed up through the night, not waiting for a father to show up, but being the person who could take the hit, clean the wound, speak the hard truth, and keep going.

So no, we don’t celebrate Father’s Day in the traditional way in our house.

We honor the people who show up.

We honor the love that chooses—not just the love that shares DNA. We honor those who protect, nurture, and stay—even when staying costs them something.

A Different Kind of Tribute

To the single moms doing both jobs, to the grandparents raising grandchildren, to the mentors, teachers, and stand-in dads who love kids like their own: I see you.

And to the kids who do not know what to say or how to feel today—who scroll through smiling pictures and wonder why their story looks so different—I see you too. A grandchild I adopted and calls me Mama is sitting next to me and wants to stay home so she does not see others celebrating and that is ok. When she is ready, we will create a new way to celebrate today.

You are not alone. Your story is valid. And your healing is not tied to someone else’s ability to love you right. It begins the moment you choose to love yourself—and the people in your care—with your whole heart.

Happy Father’s Day, through a different lens.