Father’s Day After Loss: A Tribute to the Men Who Made (and Make) Us Laugh | Grief & Joy

As Father’s Day approaches, I’ve realized something I never expected at this stage of life: almost all of the father figures who shaped me are gone.

My dad, Donald. He passed away when I was young and, unfortunately, I have very few memories of him.
My husband, Todd. I earned my Official Widow Card on January 16, 2020 when he passed away from a massive heart attack while we were on a family vacation.
My stepdad, EB. He passed away on my birthday last year.
Ben’s dad, Dan. He also passed away in July of last year.

And somehow, through all of that loss, one dad still remains standing strong in our lives: Todd’s dad, Gene.

That sentence alone feels impossible to write. Especially since he has definitely been faced with many challenges throughout his life and he keeps on going - like a rock!

Grief has a strange way of counting chairs at the table.

But when I think about these men — the thing I remember first is not the sadness. It’s the humor.

Every single one of them was and is funny in a completely different way.

Todd's Sense of Humor

Todd had the kind of humor that was not for everyone. Frankly, sometimes it even drove me crazy if I wasn't in the right frame of mind.

Sarcastic. Sharp. Brutally quick. The kind of humor that occasionally made people gasp before they laughed. Sometimes people thought he was an asshole for about three seconds (or maybe longer!) before realizing he was absolutely kidding. Or mostly kidding.

Honestly, if he liked you, there was a decent chance you were getting roasted.

Todd could land a perfectly timed comment that was either wildly inappropriate or exactly what everyone needed to hear. Usually both.

After he died, some of my friends surprised me with a memorial bench in his honor. A

beautiful, meaningful bench that reads:

“I shaved my balls for this!”

Sometimes the truest representation of a person isn’t a poetic quote or an inspirational message. Sometimes it’s the sentence that instantly makes everyone who knew them laugh until they cry.

This bench captures him better than anything serious ever could. We have it at our cabin and it is a great place to sit down and "talk" to Todd and let him know that we miss him, love him, and that we are all doing ok.

EB's Sense of Humor

EB’s humor was quieter. Drier. A little sneakier.

He had a way of poking fun at people so subtly that sometimes they didn’t even realize they were being made fun of until ten minutes later. The delivery was always calm, understated, almost casual — which somehow made it even funnier.

There was never a big performance to it. No dramatic setup. Just one perfectly placed comment dropped into conversation like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

Meanwhile, the people who did catch it were trying not to lose it laughing.

EB had mastered the art of saying something absolutely savage in the most polite possible tone.

And like all truly gifted dry humor people, he never seemed particularly impressed with himself afterward. He’d just move right along while everyone else recovered.

If EB was still with us this year, this is the Father's Day card that I would give to him. He would enjoy this type of humor! 

Dan's Sense of Humor

Dan, Ben’s dad, had the kind of humor that came fully loaded with swearing, honesty, and zero interest in pretending things were something they weren’t.

He called it exactly like he saw it.

Sometimes loudly.

Sometimes hilariously inappropriately.

Always memorably.

Dan had a gift for delivering one-liners that somehow became permanent family vocabulary afterward. The kind of comments people still repeat years later at gatherings because everyone instantly knows exactly what story or moment it came from.

And somehow the swearing only improved the delivery.

His humor made people feel connected because it was real. No polished version of life. No fake positivity. Just honesty, laughter, and perfectly timed commentary that could make an entire room lose it.

Gene's Sense of Humor

Then there’s Gene.

Still here - thankfully! Still very funny! Still as steady as can be even when challenged by life situations like cancer.

And yet he still shows up with stories, humor, and the ability to make us laugh when we least expect it. One of my favorites recently was when we had a group text going as we were planning Dylan's graduation. Dylan was joking that the celebration was going to include strippers and kegs. Gene's response: Grandma doesn't drink beer but count me in!

Here is the card Gene is getting this year from me! I think this card works for stepdads or any other father-figure in your life. And it is my kind of humor, too!

Father's Day After Loss

I think that’s part of what Father’s Day means to me now.

Not perfection. Not picture-perfect greeting card families. Not pretending grief disappears because the calendar says it’s time to celebrate.

Just remembering the men who taught us how important laughter is when life gets hard.

Because every one of these men left behind more than memories. They left behind inside jokes. Phrases we still repeat. Stories we tell over and over. Habits we accidentally inherited. Humor that somehow outlived them.

I used to think grief mostly sounded like crying.

Now I know sometimes it sounds like laughing at something only they would have found funny.

Sometimes grief sounds like retelling a story for the hundredth time because you’re afraid people will stop saying their names.

Sometimes grief sounds like hearing your husband’s sarcasm come out of your own (and Hunter and Dylan's) mouth and realizing, with equal parts horror and gratitude, that he’s still with you a little bit.

Father’s Day can be complicated.

It can hold grief and joy at the same table. 

It can make you laugh one minute and completely wreck you the next.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe the greatest tribute we can give the people we miss is not just remembering that they died.

Maybe it’s remembering how they lived.

And in this family, the men we loved lived loudly, loved deeply, and laughed constantly.

Even now, somehow, they still do.