It’s my  twentieth Father’s Day.

My first without Kim.

Each year Kim would get up early and go to Bialy’s as they opened and get fresh bagels, smoked salmon, and cream cheese. She’d cut up an onion and tomato and make coffee and we’d sit and have breakfast together.

“Don’t you want something fancier?” she’d asked before our first Father’s Day.

Our first.

“No thanks,” I’d said.

“I’m going to make you Huevos Rancheros,” she decided.

I know I’ve told this story before, but that’s what we do on twentieth anniversaries. We look back. We share the greatest hits.

“Do you want Huevos Rancheros?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said.

“It’s ok,” she said, “I’ll make it for you.”

Then she looked up the recipe. “I’ll pick up bagels.”

The first year she was going to pick them up Saturday night. She went over to her parents and as it got later I reminded her that the bagel store would close soon.

At some point she started getting up early Sunday morning and getting there as the store opened.

About five years ago she decided to make Huevos Rancheros.

Other than that year we had bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese, tomatoes, and onion every Father’s Day.

This year I had a bowl of Frosted Flakes in Almond Milk.

So many things aren’t the same.

My friend Rick asked me about this yesterday – all of the traditions we had.

I told him that many of the traditions were with other people and now that Kim is gone it’s too painful for them to continue them or it just doesn’t feel the same.

I get it.

It’s not the same.

I could have gotten up this morning and gone and gotten a bagel myself. But that didn’t seem to be the point.

The point wasn’t the bagel on Father’s Day.

The point was a bagel with Kim on Father’s day.

So many things are different and we’re not even at the anniversary of Kim’s death. I’m just rounding the final turn in this first lap around the sun after she died.

So many things are wonderful about my life.

I’m sitting at our picnic table in the back yard of a house that’s paid for with my puppy sitting on the table next to my Mac Book Pro drinking a cold brew cup of coffee that I roasted.

So many things are right in my world.

But it’s not the same.

Last year I was sitting here as Kim drove in the driveway back with a bag filled with fresh bagels. I opened the garage door for her.

“Need help?” I asked.

“No thanks, honey,” she said.

So I sat in this very same spot and drank a cup of coffee with our dog while she brought out our Father’s Day breakfast.

Same spot. Same dog. Probably drinking coffee from the same cup.

It’s not the same.

It’s Frosted Flakes and Almond Milk standing at the sink.

Just not the same.

Published in: on June 18, 2017 at 8:12 am  Leave a Comment  

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