Today was Father's Day, which also means that it was the last day of the annual U.S. Open golf tournament. Watching the Open was a family tradition when my parents were alive; we all gathered for lunch or Sunday dinner, then watched the golf as the afternoon wore on. Dad loved the intricacy and unpredictability of the game, and I found enjoying it with him both fun and deeply relaxing. (Translated: I often dozed happily off.) Mom would come in and out, cheering on the family favorites and bringing snacks in her time-honored way. There was always good food to be had at their house—the same could not always be said at my single-woman's house across town—and her goodies became as much a part of our Father's Day tradition as the Open's deep roughs and punishing hole placements.
I watched a bit of the tournament this year. It was held at beautiful Pebble Beach and it was full of its usual twists and turns. But sports-watching isn't quite the same without Dad, just as antiquing has lost much of its charm for me now that Mom isn't there to share my outings. It's not that I never go antique shopping, or never enjoy some sporting event on TV, or never think I might enjoy them again. It's just that for me, it turns out that both things were pleasureable more as a way to spend time with the folks than as an activity in themselves.
I guess what I'm saying is really simple, in the end: when we lose the people we love most, we sometimes lose the pastimes we loved most, too. Could I get my joy those pastimes back? Probably. But without Mom and Dad, I just don't have the desire to. Easier and more rewarding to find new pursuits, ones that don't have the shadow of loss to dim their pleasure.
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