My husband, though he isn't an affectionate person by nature and didn't grow up in an overly affectionate household, isn't one to hold his feelings back. He's not a "man up," "keep a stiff upper lip" kind of guy. He doesn't subscribe to the "men don't cry" theory. And I thank God for that because I need someone who is real, who is honest, about their feelings. He's shown our kids that it's o.k. to cry, especially for our boys. He models a biblical example of grief. Grief that expresses emotion. Grief that allows tears and accommodates real expression of feelings.
Father's Day is tough for him just as Mother's Day is tough for me. It's a day when we rejoice in the children we still have, yet grieve for the one who isn't here with us. It's not easy navigating holidays because they typically incorporate celebration. But grief complicates things. It's always an unwelcome visitor to the party. My husband and I have fought for joy, fought to keep hope on these special days. We don't want the death of our son to harden our hearts.
Instead, we look for hope. We grieve with hope. I wrote more on this on the Grieving With Hope Facebook page. (You are invited to "like" the page, as well.) Hope is always there. It's what we crave. (Just as the lyrics read to For King and Country's song, "Crave.") I am thankful for a man who knows the truth, the truth that fathers do weep. Fathers do grieve. And more importantly, we have a heavenly Father who weeps with us, who grieves with us, who gives us hope, who is our hope.
And speaking of fathers, I was all too happy to run across this post today: http://wearethatfamily.com/2015/06/fathers-are-not-idiots/. Whether your Father's Day contains sorrow or not, may it hold gratefulness for our fathers, those here and those we wait to rejoin in eternity, and gratefulness for the privilege of being a father, to those here and to those we wait to rejoin in eternity.