11/12/2025
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of you, Dad. Sometimes it happens in the smallest ways — hearing a song you used to hum, catching the smell of coffee early in the morning, or seeing an old man walking with his hands in his pockets the way you always did. Grief doesn’t really fade; it just softens into quiet moments like these.
You were never perfect, but you were real — steady, honest, and strong in that quiet way only fathers seem to be. You worked hard, came home tired, and still made time to ask how our day was. Back then, I didn’t always understand how much that meant. Now I do.
If I could talk to you again, I wouldn’t ask for advice or stories. I’d just want to sit beside you for a while, no words needed — the kind of silence that used to feel like comfort. Wherever you are, I hope you’re at peace. I hope you know you’re missed more than words could ever say.
Somehow, I still feel you near — in the calm after a long day, in the stars above, in the lessons that guide me even now. You’re gone, but you’re still here in all the ways that matter.