'Why Is He Not Here?' by Debbi Voisey

It’s Father’s Day, so why is he not here?

Not physically here; she knows why he’s not here in that way. But why is he not here, like everyone else’s dead father is here for them?

She’s looking at all the posts on social media, although goodness knows why she’s torturing herself. She’s opted out of Father’s Day gift mailing lists, which is why her inbox is not as full as it usually is this time of year, but it’s the other stuff isn’t it?

Those Facebook posts from everyone who’s grieving, asking “why did God take you too soon?” and “I know you’re looking down on me and are with me in my heart” and all the other things she doesn’t know whether to roll her eyes at or just cry about from the very pit of her soul.

Then the FB memories come, which remind her why she should have stayed in bed, with her phone off. The memories that show why it was such a cruel disease. 

The last coherent thing from him was a comment on a Father’s Day lunch post from eleven years ago, when he’d asked her why her steak looked like the profile of Winston Churchill. And then the years coming closer to now were photo memories of her mum feeding him soup, or shaving his beard, or posting on her wall asking why every time you were in a hurry to get to the hospital the taxi was always late. 

She can’t opt out of all that, can she, and even if she could, why would she want to?

She doesn’t believe he’s with her in the same way the people talking directly to their fathers on Facebook do, but the pain inside her shows her why he’ll never truly be gone.