Jackie McGregor: The ballooning heartache and grief of a fatherless Father's Day
“Mummy, where do I put all the love I have for grandad?” This was the question my son asked me after my father’s death. He was six years old. I had to explain to him that he wouldn’t be seeing grandad again.
He became extremely concerned for him and wanted to know exactly where he had gone? I told him that he’d gone to heaven to be with granny.
“So where exactly is heaven?” he quizzed. My stomach lurched; I was desperately trying to hold myself together. I was afraid the terrible grief I felt inside would burst forth and alarm him. I wanted to wail like an animal, but parenthood prohibited that.
“You go up into the sky, then keep going through space, and after that is heaven,” I replied. I had heard someone talk about this on TV once, and I figured it was as good an explanation as any.
Death is still the ultimate taboo, and trying to explain it to a child, whilst attempting to make sense of it yourself, when you’ve just lost a parent, is challenging. In the coming weeks he had many questions he wanted answered.
“Mum does R.I.P mean, Really in Pain?” he asked, this came from nowhere one day.
“No love, it means Rest in Peace” I replied. He looked thoughtful.
“So, grandad is getting peace in heaven?” he mused.
“Yes,” I nodded. He seemed satisfied with that.
Eleven years later, I’ve just had to tell my now teenage son that his paternal grandfather has died. This time, there were no awkward questions, just shock, then disbelief, then raw pain.
My husband and his sister now face their first fatherless Father’s Day tomorrow. The first one is the most difficult. I remember selecting a card in a shop for dad, then feeling a punch in my solar plexus when I remembered, I no longer had a father!
That first year my son was so concerned about his grandfather getting a present on Father’s Day, that he insisted we send a red balloon up to heaven; to let his grandad know we hadn’t forgotten him.
He blew six kisses into it, for the six years of love he’d shared with his grandpa and included a note.
It was all so simplistic and beautiful, but most importantly, it brought him comfort.
Over the years I have never forgotten my son asking where he should put all his love for his grandad? Where does it go?
Since becoming an adult orphan I’ve had a persistent feeling of aloneness.
Our parents are a buffer between us and the world, the glue that holds a family together, and in my experience the love we feel for them doesn’t go anywhere.
It sits inside you like a timebomb, waiting to be unexpectedly detonated by a song or a memory, but we carry on.
Someone once said grief is like having a broken leg that never perfectly heals, but you learn to dance with a limp.
Father’s Day is difficult for those who have lost dads, but we can still celebrate having had them in our lives.
Tomorrow, in memory of both my father and father-in-law, I might send a red balloon skywards again, with the same note my son attached back then, ‘Love you, R.I.P - Return if Possible’.