*sigh*

Friday is the 2-year anniversary of Dad's death. It's been interesting to monitor my feelings as this date approaches, and I was particularly surprised by my very negative reaction to the whole Fathers' Day palaver this year.

As the TV ads, junkmail and various email promotions bombarded me with the "perfect gift for Dad!" messages in the lead up to September, I became more and more agitated and likely to burst into tears for no apparent reason.

I was in New Norcia on study leave on that particular day, and remember a woman who was a fellow participant in the weekend retreat making a scathing comment about how the priest who presided at Mass on that Sunday prayed for "the fathers" but not for mothers. Someone else pointed out, "that's probably because today is Fathers' Day," and that almost subliminal mention of fathers in the prayer of intercession was the only reference to Fathers' Day in the Mass.

My response to hearing that comment (as I hadn't quite realised the significance of the date) was, "Finally... thank God it's finally come, now the advertising will stop".

It's not as if Fathers' Day was anything special when Dad was alive- we never made much of a deal of Mothers' or Fathers' Days. My usual filial duty consisted of a phone call on the day, and maybe a card, if they were really lucky (and I remembered to send it... they often would have arrived after the fact, as I'm a bit vague about such dates). But for some reason, this year, even more than last year, the fact that I was fatherless on Fathers' Day hit me.

This year, I won't have the opportunity to do anything particular to mark the date, as I will be spending Friday travelling to Canberra, and participating in a seminar on music and liturgy. (Last year, I watched the DVD recording of Dad's funeral, and then rang Mum and we cried together over the phone). This year, Mum will be in Newcastle, with my aunt and cousin, so at least she won't be alone, which is a good thing. I imagine we'll cry at each other over the phone once we both get back home and have the chance to catch up with each other.

It's hard to believe it's been two years. I still miss you Dad.