The Unexpected Things That Saved Me

This weekend has been a strange one.

Yesterday would have been my dad’s birthday.

Today is Father’s Day.

And somewhere in between, the Summer Solstice arrived, bringing with it the longest day of the year and the celebration of Litha—a holiday centered around light, abundance, and the height of the sun’s power.

On paper, those things don’t seem like they belong together.

One is grief.

One is remembrance.

One is celebration.

Yet somehow they all met in the same weekend.

I’ve learned over the years that grief doesn’t always arrive dramatically. Sometimes it doesn’t knock you over or leave you unable to get out of bed. Sometimes it simply settles beside you like an old friend and reminds you of what is missing.

A birthday.

A holiday.

A familiar voice.

A person who should still be here.

If you’re reading this and your father is no longer with you, I want you to know you’re not alone today.

Father’s Day can be complicated.

It can be painful.

It can be bittersweet.

Sometimes it’s filled with beautiful memories. Sometimes it feels unfair. Most of the time it’s a little bit of both.

For me, this weekend has also been a reminder of something else.

The unexpected things that save us.

Not the grand moments.

Not the life-changing breakthroughs.

The little things.

The things we never would have guessed would carry us through difficult seasons.

For me, some of those things have been a dog who insists on going for walks, even when I don’t feel like moving.

A Fleetwood Mac song playing at exactly the right moment.

An audiobook keeping me company on a quiet afternoon.

A notebook filled with tarot cards, runes, and scribbled thoughts.

A cup of coffee.

A chapter rewritten one more time.

Ice cream experiments that don’t always turn out the way I planned.

A text from a friend.

A random conversation at a local event.

A sunset.

A full moon.

The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.

None of those things fixed my grief.

None of them brought my dad back.

None of them erased loneliness, disappointment, anxiety, or uncertainty.

But they helped.

And sometimes helping is enough.

That’s what I think about when I think of Litha.

Not perfection.

Not endless happiness.

Light.

Just light.

The sun reaches its peak at the Summer Solstice, but even then it doesn’t eliminate every shadow. It simply shines anyway.

Maybe that’s what healing looks like too.

Not the absence of darkness.

Not the absence of grief.

Just enough light to find your way forward.

Today I find myself thinking about all the fathers who are loved and missed.

The dads whose birthdays still appear on calendars.

The dads whose favorite songs still come on the radio.

The dads whose stories are told around dinner tables long after they’re gone.

The dads whose children still look for them in familiar places.

May you know that you are remembered.

May you know that your love remains.

And for those of us left behind, may we find comfort in the unexpected things that continue to carry us forward.

The small joys.

The quiet rituals.

The people who stay.

The moments that make us smile when we least expect it.

On this Father’s Day and this season of Litha, I wish you light.

Not a blinding light that erases every hardship.

Just enough light to remind you that even after loss, beauty still exists.

Just enough light to keep moving forward.

Blessed Litha.

And to all those missing their dads today, be gentle with yourselves.

The sun still rises.

Love still remains.

And sometimes the smallest things end up saving us.