#lossofafather

There’s a certain kind of ache that never really leaves you—an emptiness that lives quietly within, only to swell in moments you least expect it. Every time I see a child laughing with their father, when I see that pure joy reflected in their eyes, something inside me cracks all over again. That smile—a simple, innocent expression—becomes a cruel reminder of everything I’ve missed, everything I continue to long for. It cuts deep, like a wound that keeps reopening, no matter how much time has passed. I try to carry on, to function, but the absence of you, the void you left behind, is always there.

I wish you were here. I wish I could turn around and see you standing there, ready to hold my hand, to wipe away the tears that seem to fall far too often these days. You were supposed to be my safe haven, the person I could always turn to when the world became too much. Now, when the weight of everything crashes down on me, I find myself looking for you—searching in my thoughts, my memories, my dreams—hoping for just a flicker of your presence, a whisper of your guidance.

There are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I wish you could hear. Life is moving forward, and I’m doing my best to keep pace, to make choices that would make you proud. But the truth is, I feel lost more often than not. I long for your voice, your wisdom, your quiet strength. I wish I could talk to you about my doubts, my dreams, my decisions. Every new step I take feels incomplete without your insight. I want to sit with you and unpack every thought, every dilemma, every little crossroad I find myself at. I want to hear you say, “You’ve got this,” or even offer a firm nudge when I’m about to head down the wrong path.

I think about the kind of support I would feel if only you were here. Not just emotionally, but spiritually—knowing you’re behind me would give me a strength I haven’t been able to find elsewhere. I often imagine scenarios where you’re sitting beside me, nodding thoughtfully as I explain my plans, your eyes lighting up with pride or narrowing with concern. I want that. I need that. And it breaks me that I can’t have it.

People say time heals, but what they don’t understand is that time only teaches you how to live with the pain—it doesn’t erase it. Some days I go through the motions, managing to smile, to laugh even. But behind that smile is a heart still aching for the love it lost. I miss the warmth of your embrace, the comfort of your presence, the way everything felt okay when you were around. I would give anything to have just one more conversation, one more walk, one more moment with you.

You weren’t just my father—you were my grounding force. The one person I believed would always be there, no matter how old I got or how far I wandered. Losing you was like losing a piece of myself, a piece I’ve been trying to find ever since. I’ve tried to be strong. I’ve tried to carry your memory forward with dignity and grace. But there are days, like today, when the sorrow becomes too heavy to carry quietly.

I don’t know what the future holds, and that terrifies me. I’m doing the best I can, but without your guidance, everything feels like a gamble. I want to make you proud. I want to live a life that honors your love and your legacy. But I also want to cry on your shoulder when things get tough. I want to feel safe again.

Maybe someday, we’ll meet again. Until then, I’ll keep holding onto the memories, the lessons, the love you gave me in the short time we had. I’ll keep talking to you in the quiet moments, hoping somehow, somewhere, you hear me.

I recently read about work horses to find them described as docile, patient and how they can carry heavy loads. Grief can be a heavy load. It's funny because when you are in the midst of grief, so many people will tell you how strong you are, yet...

Honoring our bodies in order to lighten the load Listen to the audio version here February 20th, 2019 Dear Dad, It’s Wednesday.  This is one of those long, short weeks where you work a day less than normal, but it feels like a regular week.  I feel heavy today.  Not sad or anything but physically heavy.  My gut has grown these past few months.  Not sure if it’s from eating sweets since you…

I recently read about work horses to find them described as docile, patient and how they can carry heavy loads. Grief can be a heavy load. It's funny because when you are in the midst of grief, so many people will tell you how strong you are, yet...

Honoring our bodies in order to lighten the load February 20th, 2019 Dear Dad, It’s Wednesday.  This is one of those long, short weeks where you work a day less than normal, but it feels like a regular week.  I feel heavy today.  Not sad or anything but physically heavy.  My gut has grown these past few months.  Not sure if it’s from eating sweets since you passed away.  I had lost my belly…

The post is a heartfelt reflection on the complex emotions of grief after losing a loved one. The author candidly describes unexpected reactions, internal struggles, and the gradual process of healing.

A journey through the emotions of grief Photo by Liza Summer on Pexels.com Dec 14th, 2018 Dear Dad, Today I’m having a lot of emotions. My heart is feeling heavy yet full of love. I have felt anxious, sad, fearful and relieved. I’m questioning so much and have so much on my mind. I’m worrying about Isaiah and his struggles. Wondering if I have ever put too much on him without realizing…