It’s a bittersweet Father’s Day. The first one without Shannon, who was a daddy’s girl as anyone who knew her knows all too well. We both miss our girl so much and these particular holidays are tough ones.
Little Lamb, daddy’s nickname for Shannie, loved to snuggle up with her daddy.
It is also the last Father’s Day before one of our sons becomes a father for the first time and another one becomes a father for the second time. Such joy and sorrow all in the mix of one day.
I also like to remember all the other father’s of special needs kids who are unable to use their words either verbally, with a speech device or in writing to tell them just how much they mean to them. Those dads whose undying patience, unconditional love and unwavering loyalty to their special needs kids is unsurpassed. Those dads who may have ventured out for a nice cup of coffee and breakfast with their son, but ended leaving in a mad rush with a to-go coffee in hand to head home and make their own breakfast because their son melted down, not because they were obstinate or perhaps undisciplined, but because their autism simply makes it difficult for their sensory systems to process the world around them on some particular days – even if it is Father’s Day. *This story may or may not be true of a certain endlessly patient son and generally delightful grandson of mine.
Yesterday at our Special Olympics #somn state summer games I overheard an athlete glowingly thank their coach for spending their time helping them practice. Their appreciation was joyful and enthusiastic. I turned to my husband and said how lovely it was that such thankfulness could be expressed with words. Those who parent non-verbal children have to learn to see the signs of thankfulness that most children are able to exude on some level.
To all those fathers who won’t hear the words “I love you”, know that they do and your presence is unmeasurably important to your children.
