I was so content with it, that I haven't even so much as attempted a father's day post since. Until today.
It feels necessary because this year, I learned a lot about my father.
I learned just how much he would sacrifice for his children and for his family.
My father spent every waking moment in the hospital with my brother, John. He lost sleep, he missed work, and he did so uncomplainingly--even with a bad back on soft foam mattress.
He held my brother John's hand whenever John was scared. He had to be pulled away almost by force from John's bedside. (Incidentally, I learned that I could only out-stubborn my father by a small margin: I told him that I didn't care what HE was doing but that I was staying. God, it all seemed so much easier when I was a teenager...)
All of us look up to our father, but I think John did in particular. When he got sick, he was only at ease when my father was nearby. He trusted, as all of us do, that my father would do everything in his power to protect him. And he did.
In someways, I wish that every child could be shown the strength of their hero like that. In other ways, I hope that they never have to.
And as much as I loved my paternal grandfather, I know that he wasn't as good of a father as my dad is to us, which, to me, makes my dad's triumphs as a father all the more impressive.
Next month, my father will be officiating my wedding. I can't think of anything more perfect than that: the man I respect most in this world, joining my hand in marriage to the only other man that I respect just as much.
I love you, Dad. And I am so proud to call you my father.