Monday, June 18, 2012

The Last Hurrah of Father's Day ...

A public art work I came across while walking around in D.C. yesterday. It has a sign that says something along the lines of "Father's Day, Gone Fishing."
Social media is such a weird barometer for how transitory and simultaneous the world is. This year on Father's Day, one of my friends just gave birth to her first son, another friend lost his father to cancer. All of this was prominently announced on Facebook, of course.

I honestly tried not to think about my Dad when June 17 rolled around, because I miss him too much. Luckily, yesterday I was nowhere near old photo albums, or even paying that much attention to social media. Instead, I was walking around D.C. with friends looking for a good place to grab brunch, nursing a mild hangover and enjoying how beautiful the day was.

I got sunburned and I was late getting back to where I live out in the mountains of Maryland, but I don’t care, it felt good to be careless, mindless and unaware of time passing.

Does time even matter anymore, when we’re carefully curating every moment of our lives? Don’t we supposedly exist forever, in tweets, posts and Pins? I can’t bear to post one of those faded, scanned images of my Dad and me as a Profile pic, like so many people do when this annual celebration of dads rolls around. I know his presence didn’t last ... only until I was 15 years old. I don’t want to go back to that moment, and what it felt like to lose him, ever again, visually or otherwise. It's not that I begrudge people who need that on Father's Day. It's just that I can't relate to it, and I don't want to.


What I want to do instead is live every moment like it’s the day I decided his death wouldn’t hold me back in any way. And I’ve been doing that a lot lately ... traveling, doing art shows, writing anything and everything I want, running half marathons. Dancing in a club somewhere, where time appropriately stops, as it should, because I get lost in all that good music and the people around me, just existing in life, bright and flashing and full of possibility.

6 comments:

Joy said...

Beautiful post dear! Yes, live in the moment as well! I was afraid I might lose my dad to his recent surgery so that's why I rushed back home. It felt good to be there with him. I'm always afraid he won't live as long as I would like.

Becca Ramspott said...

Thanks for reading this. I'm so glad you got to spend time with your dad recently.

Beth Tillman said...

Dear Becky:

I was moved by your piece and glad to know of your strength. I love you and admire your forward-motion. It's the best way to be. I love you very much and always have.

Beth

Becca Ramspott said...

Hey Beth, thanks for sharing this. I have definitely tried to be strong over the years and have gone after a lot of things that make me happy ... It's not easy, though. I wish so much that my Dad could see what all I've accomplished ... that's the hardest part. Love and miss you, too

Linda T said...

I wish every day that he had stayed around to see what a wonderful young woman you have become and to appreciate all you have accomplished. Love you, Mom

Becca Ramspott said...

Mom, as always, you are sweet to read this and I really appreciate what you said. Love and miss you and looking forward to August.