in which there is a duplicity in Father's Day.

I didn't want Father's Day to be a sad day, but I was prepared for it to be heavy anyways.

I'm the kind of person that likes to be prepared. I ask a lot of questions, so I can know what's expected of me, and what I can expect out of a situation. Before I had babies, I read every book on the subject. I went to birthing classes, I read online forums. I tried to prepare myself for the task of labor and for parenthood.

And so like that situation, there are times when you have to experience something and just get through it. You cannot prepare yourself fully for it.

I knew Father's Day would be sad. And heavy. So my foolishness was in my head that if I acknowledged that, it wouldn't be so bad.

I miss  him. And I regret things done and not done. I mourn the loss of what my kids could have experienced and had with him. My heart aches when Ariana asks when we are going to see Papa. I watch my brother anticipate the birth of his first son and both celebrate and grieve with him because we both know that Dad will never get to hold that little fella. 

And on the contrast, it was also a day to celebrate the daddy in our own little family. I respect so much about the way he relates to our kids. The hugs and kisses and snuggles. The nightly story time routines. The patience he has when mine has all run out. The quiet strength he has in disciplining them. The teasing he does to the girls. The teaming up with the lone other dude in the house. The strength to push four children on the swings. 

I've said it before, there's nothing sexier than watching your husband with your kids. Watching him be a father is so cool, and it reveals so many other ways that I love him. 

Father's Day was complicated this year. I know it probably will be for years to come, but I hear the first one tends to be the most difficult. I'm looking forward to being able to celebrate the day with good memories of my dad and admiration of my hubs.