08/15/2025
Four years feels like ten.
And somehow… it also feels like yesterday.
I can still hear my mom’s voice telling me the news.
I knew—before she even spoke—that I needed to get my husband first.
My dad was in the hospital with COVID… isolated, alone.
If I’m honest, my dad knew how to be alone.
But loneliness? That’s different.
And I’m certain he didn’t pass from COVID alone — he passed from a broken heart.
Here I am now.
With my son, he never got to meet.
With a version of myself he never got to know.
My dad and I… that’s a story for another day.
Today is strange. It always is.
I feel heartbroken and angry.
I feel like I’m losing him all over again.
But I can also share memories and even laugh without crying.
Grief is confusing like that.
People tell me, “He’s with you. He’s watching over you.”
And maybe he is.
Sometimes I feel him — maybe it’s real, maybe it’s just grief showing up in the way I need.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking.
But here’s what I know:
He isn’t here.
I can’t hug him.
I can’t pick on him.
I can’t cook with him.
I can’t eat another meal with him.
I can’t look into his brown eyes and see his silent “I love you.”
I can’t call him to tell him Nolan’s latest ridiculous thing.
I can’t ask his advice when I feel lost.
I can’t get coffee with him.
I can’t pick plants with him at the nursery.
I can’t collect seashells at the beach with him.
I can’t argue with him one more time.
I can’t watch him yell at a soccer game (which drove me bonkers).
Grief often shows you the long list of things you can’t do anymore…
Because those are the things you miss most.
Today I’ll find a way to honor my dad.
Go hug yours.
So here’s my reminder:
Be present.
Put your phone down.
Turn the screens off.
You can always make more money, but not more time.
Kids don’t need glamour.
They just need you.
And one day, that’s exactly what they’ll remember.