Father’s Day, from one father to another

My most recent Twitter “bonus” came in the form of a San Francisco Bay Area writer, photographer, and mother who was was widowed at age 29. When I clicked over to Hyla Molander’s blog, I couldn’t stop reading. You’ll see why.

Thank you, Hyla (above), for letting me share your story for Father’s Day.  I’m honored.

The Father’s Day Timepiece

On Father’s Day, I hold the wristwatch — a stainless steel Bell & Ross— noticing the delayed clicks of the white second hand. My thumb moves in circular motions across the waterproof glass, and I am surprised by the weight of the timepiece.

Erik, my 29-year-old husband, pleaded with me for this expensive watch.

But I said, “You know we can’t afford that right now.” We were saving money to buy our first house in over-priced Marin County, CA.

“Hyla, he’s going to give it to me for one-third the cost.”

Oh, Erik. “Why do I have to be the one who has to say no?”

Erik had put me in charge of our finances after he’d accepted that his enthusiastic spending habits wouldn’t bode well for our future. We were newly pregnant with our second daughter — and moving from one rental house to the next was getting old.

But Erik bought the watch anyway.

The fight blew over quickly, as most of our disagreements did, and the watch became a playful joke between us.

“You know Erik, he has to have the latest and greatest,” I’d tell people.

So, he liked to spend money. Every day, though, when he came home from work, he’d fly our daughter Tatiana into the air and say, “You are the reason for my existence.” No one could deny that Erik was a phenomenal father.

And, during my pregnancies, there wasn’t an evening that passed when Erik didn’t rub almond body butter all over my ripe belly. “Sexy curves,” he’d say.

Yes, Erik was an exceptional husband, always helping me with my writing, my photography business, and doing more housework and errands than I ever did.

Isn’t marriage just an exercise in seeing the perfection in each other’s imperfections?

Erik wore that watch when he ran, when he showered, when he lugged computers around at LucasDigital, where he worked.

And, my beloved Erik, only 29-years-old, was still wearing that watch when 17-month-old Tatiana and I heard him take his last breath.

A heart attack.

Just like that.

The funeral passed, then Keira’s birth, and through each layer of grief, I sobbed from a place I didn’t know could exist.

And then Evan came along. Evan—the handsome, Stanford MBA, Ironman athlete—who didn’t run out the door when he met Keira, 2, and Tatiana, 3, for the first time. No, Evan didn’t flee the scene like many other men. In fact, one month after we met on Match.com, Evan rode his mountain bike up Mt. Tamalpais and asked Erik’s permission to take over in caring for me and the girls.

Now, not only has Evan taken over for Erik, but Evan makes sure we talk about “Daddy Erik” every day. Evan says, “If I died, I’d be incredibly bummed if you didn’t keep my memory alive.”

Through Erik, we remember life in greater detail. We remember the butterflies that flew over our heads as Evan and I exchanged wedding vows, we remember the excitement in the courtroom when Evan legally adopted the girls, and we remember, each day, how blessed we are to now have four magnificent children.

~~~

On Father’s Day, I squish my lips against the black face of Erik’s watch, tuck it in to an ivory-lined box, and tape the folded turquoise wrapping paper along the sides.

Erik wants Evan to have his watch.

Closing my eyes, I imagine what Erik would say, and I begin writing a letter from Erik to Evan, which finally reads:

“There are things I would have changed about my 29 years, and I know that you and Hyla will have your own bumps along the road. I also know there will be times that you struggle to navigate the path of raising girls. There is no doubt in my mind that you will do a phenomenal job. That, you have already proven.

What I really want to say is thank you. Thank you for taking over—for wanting to take over. I chose you to take care of my girls, of my wife, because what I saw in you was the ability to be the most nurturing father and loving, supportive husband. You are one stellar man—anyone who knows you will vouch for that.

Evan, what I am about to give you, I am not sure you will even want to wear, and that’s cool with me if you choose to leave it in a drawer to pull out only on the occasion that you feel the desire to look at it, to be reminded that the time is now—the time is always NOW.

Happy Father’s Day from one father to another. You deserve the greatest life.

Don’t forget to take it. Take life. Breathe it all in.”

~~~

Thanks to Hyla for sending along that beautiful photo of Erik holding Tatiana before he died.

Today, Hyla Molander spends the majority of her child-free hours — her children are 2, 6, 8, and 12 — writing her memoir, Drop Dead Life: A Pregnant Widow’s Heartfelt and often Comic Journey through Death, Birth, and Rebirth.

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Tagged as: death, Father's Day, gift, grieve, Hyla Molander, loss, remarry, widow