I was a daddy’s girl. He was the first man I ever loved. We spent hours playing HORSE in our driveway, we laughed way too much, and we had fun doing yardwork. He experienced my driving for the first time, which I had no desire to do and the day I got my permit he asked me to drive maybe 2 miles home. It ended up with me driving into a tree in our driveway (not crashing, just literally drove into the branches, put it in park, said “I didn’t want to do this anyway,” and walked into the house). So, in short, he was pretty darn awesome.
Five years ago I said my final goodbye to that man. That man, who was my dad and my daughter’s grandfather. He never met his granddaughter. He never held her. Never kissed her. He never got the chance to love her.
She never heard his voice. She never felt the warmth from his overwhelming hugs. She will never ride on his shoulders or learn the way he loved life and had fun doing the most boring things. She won’t ever understand his love of every holiday, especially Halloween and Christmas. She will never know the embarrassment that he could cause.
She’ll never be able to love him the way I planned for her.
Five years ago I grieved the loss of the most amazing man I had ever met {aside from my husband}. Two and half years ago I grieved the loss that my daughter never knew she lost. Every day I grieve in different ways, something as little as opening the brand new Folgers container and that warm coffee scent fills the air in a gust, but the grief never wains. As my daughter grows, I find myself grieving even more for him. For him and for my daughter.
He’ll never take her Trick or Treating, he won’t see her tear open her Christmas presents, nor see her dance in her recital in the spring. He won’t hear her laugh. He won’t feel her hug around his neck. He won’t see all the amazing things she is going to do.
But she will know him. She will love him. Because I am going to make sure she doesn’t miss out on him. She’ll hear all the stories, she’ll learn how to absolutely love presents {and give presents}, she will know how spectacular Trick or Treat is. Because he lives on with me.
I am my father’s daughter, through and through. I am going to carry on his legacy, for him and for the sake of my daughter.
She will know him.
She will love him.
She will feel the warmth of his hugs, through my hugs.
She will hear his laugh, through my laugh.
She will know his love of life by the way I live my life.
She will know his love of the holidays, through my overwhelming love of the holidays.
While my father is no longer physically here with me, so much of him lives on because of me.
Losing a parent is hard. If you are lucky enough to have them, hug them closely. Saying goodbye to my dad didn’t happen in one day, one week, or even in one year. I continue to grieve while raising a strong-willed, creative, loving little girl. I know that is the kind of granddaughter he’d want, just like the daughter he raised. It’s such a weird feeling of sadness, yet happiness, that I was lucky enough to have him as my dad and that I want her to know that he was pretty stinking awesome.
She is the luckiest girl in the world because of him. And I’m going to make sure she knows that.
Thank you for this wonderful post. I lost my father in September of 2011 and my daughter was born in May 2012. I was blessed that in my last conversation with him, it was to tell him I was pregnant. It saddens me daily that he will never teach her all the nonsense he taught me, never tell her the tired old jokes he always told me, the hugs and laughter. I just had my second child this year, a boy, and it breaks my heart he will never get to meet. At least with my daughter I had that moment, they were connected for that fleeting moment. He lives on in me, and everytime I tell one of his silly jokes.
I am so sorry for your loss, but that story is so neat! What a special memory and connection. Thank you for your kind words. I try to remember that I shouldn’t be sad, but feel happy for having such a great dad that I wish my daughter knew. It’s great that we can pass on those “quirks,” as I call them, to our children. Lots of love!
Thank you for this post as my husband and I deal with this same thing daily except we have a 2 month old son. My son will never know my Dad or my husband’s Mom because we lost them both due to health issues. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of them. My son will never have the relationships with them that we had hoped for, but he will know all about them both! I’m thankful for things to share with our son such as wonderful memories, pictures, stories, traditions, etc. It’s nice to know that we’re not alone. This time of year is especially difficult, but we make the best of it because that’s what our parents would want us to do. Thanks again and Happy Holidays to you and your family.
A friend sent me this just now to read and I really appreciate you sharing.
3 1/2 weeks ago my dad was in a fatal car accident. Losing him in combination with the sudden and traumatic way has been overwhelming to say the least. We have a 6 year old and 20 month old and my dad was in our daily lives as a dad and a friend. We don’t know how much our 6 year old will remember, but we know our 20 month old won’t remember how much she loved her Papa or how much he loved her. Right now she walks around our house yelling for him. 🙁
Hugs. I lost my dad from brain cancer when I was 9 weeks pregnant with my first child. I luckily was able to share with him that I was pregnant weeks before he died. I grieve for the loss of the relationship they will never have every day, but like you, refuse for his memory to fade. She will know about him even if she won’t know him.
I lost my dad 3 days after I gave birth to his first grandchild. We had gone home for a baby shower and a week later he was unexpectedly in a coma in ICU. He touched my bellly, knew her name and had bought her an outfit. It was the biggest juxtaposition to be broken and grieving for his loss and overjoyed with our beautiful daughter. She’s 2 now, and not and day goes by that I don’t struggle with missing him and how he would enjoy her. Thank you for telling your story, I have found comfort in your words.
Every word of this describes how I feel. I lost my dad on Halloween of last year (ironically, it was his favorite holiday) and I’m expecting #3 in 9 days. My youngest was just over 2 when dad passed and will barely remember him, and have no memories of doing things with him. My oldest is the luckier of them, she is 10 now and has the best memories of him. It pains me to know I will have 2 kids who won’t know how great my dad is. Btw, I have family in Knoxville and I’m just up the road, across the Ky/Tn border 😉
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