Oh, Father’s Day.

Happy Father’s Day to those of you who celebrate. And my heart is with you if yesterday was bittersweet.

This is a Father’s Day post for those of you who didn’t have a lovely brunch with your father at a nice winery yesterday. This is a post for those of you who might have cried a little yesterday. Or maybe wanted to stay in bed all day and watch Netflix.

My dad has been gone about a year. He was the best dad he could be. He had schizophrenia, and life wasn’t kind to him. His mental illness made it difficult for me to have relationship with him. There were times he disappeared. Extended periods when I didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

And, yet, he was funny. Really funny. And really smart. He had two master’s degrees and a promising career as a chemical engineer (until he had to go on disability).

There are times my father was cruel to me, but there was also no one who was prouder of me. Mental illness is brutal and confusing. In the end, I found peace in thinking about how we had a strange but perfectly imperfect relationship. It ended with me being his person in the months leading up to his death.

My friend, Rich, recently invited me to speak at a state convention of the Lions. He didn’t know what an incredible gift he gave me.

When I arrived, a woman rushed to me and asked if I was Dr. Eshbaugh. When I said I was, she said that she knew my dad. She said she worked with him when she was at Monsanto.

And the next thing she said to me stopped me in my tracks. She said, “And he was brilliant.”

I am sure there must have been other times when people have approached me and said they knew my dad. But….I can’t remember any of them…..and I certainly couldn’t remember another time someone approached me and said something positive about him. She remembered something other than his mental illness.

I used to wish I had a different dad. Being his daughter was pretty hard a lot of the time. But now I realize I never wanted a different dad. I wanted my dad to be well. And I carry that with me.

What are you carrying?

Are you grieving your father? Maybe even grieving a father who is still living?

Does your father not remember it’s Father’s Day?

Are you resentful of the care you have to provide your father?

I saw so many social media posts yesterday about perfect dads. And they made me smile. I love happy families.

But I have to wonder…how many of us have bittersweet Father’s Days despite what we post on Facebook and Insta?

It’s a lot of pressure, really. You are supposed to key in on one individual and celebrate his role in your life. Maybe he was great but he’s gone. Maybe he’s still here, but you have a strained relationship. Maybe you never even knew him.

And if life wasn’t complicated enough, here comes dementia.

Maybe you took Dad out to eat at his favorite restaurant but he barely ate. He doesn’t get excited about much since he was diagnosed. His apathy made your time together painful.

Perhaps your Dad is in a nursing home, and you visited him there for Father’s Day. It was just sad. You left feeling guilty that it’s not possible for him to live with you.

Maybe your husband has dementia, and your adult kids aren’t reaching out on Father’s Day. They don’t know what to say to him lately, so they distance themselves.

The other day, someone told me this would be their first Father’s Day without their dad. But their dad is still alive. He lives in a facility with end stage Alzheimer’s. He hasn’t recognized her for quite some time. She cringed when she heard those words come out of her mouth.

Here’s the thing about families.

Your family wasn’t perfect before it was impacted by dementia. It’s not perfect now. Let’s acknowledge that dementia can be really hard on families.

We have this romanticized idea that families get closer when they encounter a challenging situation, like a chronic illness or a death. Research shows the opposite. Families struggle to maintain positive relationships in the face of such challenges.

You may be experiencing something you are perceiving as role reversal. Are you parenting your father? You may have increased financial strain as a result of dementia–and that’s stressing your family relationships. You had holiday rituals that you all enjoyed, but they aren’t possible anymore because of dementia.

You are not alone if your Father’s Day was bittersweet. Or maybe just bitter.

It’s okay to say you don’t like Father’s Day. Or Mother’s Day. Or Christmas. Or Thanksgiving. Or Juneteenth. Or whatever other holiday triggers you.

Maybe someday you’ll enjoy that holiday again. Maybe you won’t.

It’s okay to not be okay on those days. And on any other days.