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I stepped into the grocery store and frowned at the bunches of “Happy Father’s Day” balloons, strategically placed by the entrance. If I’d been shopping for my husband or my now-grown sons, who are wonderful dads, my mission would have been easier. But that day, I had to buy a card for my father. 

I am writing this article on contentment during a very difficult season in my life. I look out at the pristine lawns, sunny sky, and encroaching spring coaxing robins to take flight—three days before we bury my aunt, who died two months after we buried my grandmother, her mother, who died two months after we buried my uncle, her brother.