Some days pass quietly. But there are days—like today—that feel heavier than most.
It’s Father’s Day again.
And while people around me are writing warm messages, posting old photos, and planning dinners with their dads, I find myself sitting in silence… holding a memory.
I lost my father. Not to forgetfulness. Not too distant. But to life’s cruelest truth—death.
As the eldest in the family, I used to think I had to be the strong one. I needed to keep going, keep everyone together, and not fall apart in front of my younger siblings. But the truth is, I’m still the daughter who misses him in ways I can’t fully explain. No matter how grown I am now, there’s still that little girl inside me who looks for him in every corner of our home—and in every version of my future.
I miss the way his presence filled a room without needing to say much.
I miss his quiet strength—the way he carried our worries even when he had his own.
And most of all, I miss knowing there was someone in this world who loved me without condition, without need for explanation.
When people talk about grief, they often imagine it as a season—something you eventually outgrow. But I’ve learned it’s not like that at all. Grief doesn't knock once and leave, it settles in our hearts and lives with us. We carry it into joyful moments, and we bring it into milestones. It walks beside us, not always loudly, but never fully gone.
This Father’s Day reminds me of how much of him lives in me.
The way I overthink things, he did that.
The way I hold my silence when I’m hurt, he did that too.
Even the way I care for others more than myself, I got that from him.
There are still so many things I want to tell him.
So many stories I wish I could share.
He never saw me reach certain dreams. He didn’t get to meet the newer, stronger version of his daughter. But I hope somehow he knows. I hope he sees how hard I’m trying, how much of his wisdom still guides me, even now.
I’m writing for others who, like me, are quietly grieving while the world celebrates.
To the daughters who no longer have a dad to call today.
To the sons who still remember the smell of their father’s cologne but can’t quite describe it anymore.
To the children—grown or not—who would give anything just for one more conversation, one more hug, one more “I’m proud of you.”
This is for us.
We don’t post our grief every day. But on days like this, it finds its way to the surface.
And that’s okay.
It means we loved deeply.
It means we were lucky to have had someone worth missing this much.
So, to my Papa, wherever you may be. I still carry you with me. In every decision, in every prayer, in every quiet morning. This day belongs to you… not because you’re still here, but because you never truly left.