June isn’t an easy month for me. It’s the brightest month of the year — there are more daylight hours in June than any other month — but for me, it’s also the darkest. It has the bittersweet distinction of being both the month of my father’s birth and of his death, and Father’s Day rounds out the month with an onslaught of sentimental father-oriented commercials on TV and products in stores.
Even though I never knew my biological father (or mother), I was incredibly fortunate to be adopted by an amazing couple. They weren’t my biological parents, but that didn’t matter. They were the only “mom” and “dad” that I knew. It wasn’t perfect — no family is — but growing up, moving from stereotypical suburb to suburb, life was good. I was loved. We were comfortable, dad worked and mom stayed home, the 70s incarnation of 50s values. I learned a lot from my dad — he worked hard, he was generous, he was wise… and he was quick with a corny joke or goofy comeback. I’d like to think I have some of those traits too, because of him.
So even on days like today, the third anniversary of his death, when I’m keenly aware of the loss … I realize that it only hurts this much because it was such a tremendous privilege. Thanks dad! I’ll always miss you.