I got an email from Nordstrom Rack this week. A classic promotion and the subject line read, “Which type is your dad?”
A dead one – I thought to myself.
I wanted to send of a snarky reply but I didn’t.
Sometimes it’s easier to keep those little remarks to yourself. Advertisers are not often in the business of being sensitive to these kind of pain points.
Here we are. Another calendar year rolled by and I find myself clicking delete on promotions in my email, in the accounts I manage, and ignoring blatant ads on social media.
These Father’s Day triggers are everywhere.
After reading some of the pieces I published last year on the holiday I realized I’m at year number four, not three, of this holiday without him.
Four seems so much bigger than three.
You can ask the toddlers who have become bigger children in his absence.
I’m in Father’s Day denial. I was hoping to keep it at an arms distance.
But Nordstrom and Macy’s and Apple and even Starbucks are telling me I better prepare.
Sigh. Deeeeeeeeep sighs.
I’m missing him and breathing in his scent found in the hot popcorn popped fresh at the hardware store. I finger his sweatshirts hanging in my closet, next to my work blazers reminding me of how his fibers felt when brushed against him as I rushed out the door.
I’m in denial this year and so I turn my attention here. To the …
White walls painted fresh in a completed basement.
Slices of crisp dill pickle on dry crumbly bread.
Ham spread with mayo, no Minnesota butter to be found.
Small floating bubbles in spritzer.
Peas sprouting up in the garden.
Translucent squirts of lemon juice easing their way down into glasses full of cool water.
Coffee beans grinding.
Fitness instructors reminding me to tend to my back.
Encouragement from bosses.
Kisses on the cheek with an old friend. The ones who knew him too.
Red lipstick marks on coffee cups.
Baby Opal just one miraculous week old.
Maintained eye brows.
Dinners with grandmas and aunts and mother-in-laws.
Lottery tickets scratched clean.
These are the beautiful things this week is made of. And I’m focusing on them instead.