My First Father’s Day: A Memoir

My first Father’s Day was not like the one we all imagine in our heads.

Of sleeping in late and waking up to fresh brewed coffee and breakfast in bed. A neatly wrapped gift of a new tie. A chubby hand print picture with “I love Daddy” in mommy’s handwriting rainbowed over it. All this followed by a lazy day at home with wife and kid meeting my every need, serving my every desire, and making me a steak dinner to round out a perfect day all about me. #1 Dad. in. the. world.

Yeah, that did not happen.

Father’s Day 2011 was eight months after Gwendolyn went home. The sting of death lingered but was dulled by the demands of directing a summer camp. In those days,  I was a summer camp director at Camp Eagle. Fifteen hour work days consumed my life six days a week for thirteen weeks. I loved it. There is nothing like going to bed utterly exhausted, spending yourself for the sake of the gospel. Sundays were Opening Day at camp. I would go to the office early to make last minute preparations, meet mid-morning with my leadership staff, participate in corporate worship with all the staff, and then head to lunch.

I must have forgotten that it was Father’s Day. Days blend together at camp. The rest of the world marks days according to the Gregorian calendar. At camp it was Week 3, Opening Day. It was just another day, leading a ministry, learning to embrace the lingering sting that was now part of my existence, missing Gwendolyn, and longing for heaven.

At lunch, I was reminded it was Father’s Day. If you have ever been in a camp dining hall, you know the sound can be deafening as hundreds of voices engage in conversation, wooden benches scrape across the concrete floor, doors slam, music plays, utensils clink and clank, and leaders try desperately to give instructions on the microphone while only the good kids pay attention.

Our friend, Emily Sjogren (we call her Sjo, as in “show”, for short) approached me in the salad bar line and was the first to say, “Happy Father’s Day”. If you know Sjo, you know she is one of the most thoughtful people on the planet. She writes the best letters and has a distinctly memorable pen(wo)menship that makes the reading enjoyable. She also lived and worked at Camp Eagle in those days and was incredibly kind towards my wife and me in our grief.

She didn’t say anything else, nor did she need to. I am pretty sure that others said something to me as well. Camp doesn’t have cell phone reception so I didn’t get any texts. Emojis didn’t exist. Though : ) smiley faces did.

It was a tender moment. I remember having to walk into the adjoining dining hall where it was quiet and no one was eating. I was caught unaware by her kindness, and I needed a place to mourn for a minute. Or many minutes. Time was funny in those days.

At some point, I gathered it together and finished my lunch. Sundays were always unique lunches. We didn’t pay the staff much, but we fed them in abundance. And on Sundays, we made the meals fun because Opening Day dinner was the same every week. So was Day 2 breakfast. And Day 4 dinner. Saturdays were left-overs. Sundays broke up the monotony.

After lunch, I gathered my staff and we met to go over assignments. I used to read a passage of Scripture and charge them to serve the Lord and give it their all. We would pray together. Those were sacred moments, as if we were preparing for battle and might never return again.

Erin, I am sure, wrote me a nice note. I cherish her notes. I will have to look through my box of notes she has written me over the years and see if I can find it.

Campers arrived late afternoon to all the hype my staff could muster. In that fateful hour, every emotion kids are able to experience was on display somewhere in the room. Elation. Anxiety. Awkwardness. Acceptance. Counselors met their campers. Campers met one another. Parents drove away in silence—they too feeling the same range of emotions after entrusting their children to college students.

I wonder what Gwendolyn’s introduction to Jesus was like. I am sure everyone in heaven is pretty welcoming. Will she welcome me one day? I wonder how all that works.

Soon after the initial hype, all the campers would lug their week’s worth of belongings to their cabin and stake their claim on a bunk. Opening Night was always a blast at camp. It was a good balm for my soul. There was so much anticipation for the work God was going to do that week. After all the kids went to bed, I would gather my leadership to pray together before calling it a day. Then I would head to the office to answer anxious parent emails. In the stillness of the night, I would walk the field back to my house and my waiting wife.

That was my first Father’s Day. It was a normal day (for camp life) accentuated by the simple kindness of a friend. She remembered. Simple kindness made a difference.

It was better than I could have imagined.

God is really good at doing that. It’s better that He got the glory that day, and I didn’t get a tie.

I don’t really like ties anyway.

“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”
Ephesians 3:20-21

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Blair is married to his best friend, Erin, and together they have three children, Gwendolyn (now with The Lord), Malacai, and Gemma.
Having been deeply impacted by their daughter’s death, but desiring to have beauty rise from her ashes, they established Hope Mommies™ to provide community for women and families that have experienced infant loss, sharing the hope of Jesus Christ and creating a network of support to help with emotional, spiritual, and physical needs of a grieving family.

 

Would you like to contribute a piece of writing to the Hope Mommies blog? We invite you to submit here!

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