In the year since my father passed away during our family trip to the scenic shores of Cape Cod, we have navigated a series of poignant milestones. From the major events—holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries—to smaller moments, like the first time my mother zipped up her own dress or when I accidentally dialed my dad’s number only to hear it ring on my desk, we’ve faced them all.
Today marks the final “first”—the anniversary of his passing.
In some ways, it feels like just yesterday I was sitting beside him on the beach, while in others, it seems I’ve lived a lifetime in this past year. A year can vanish in the blink of an eye, yet the long days stretch on endlessly.
I recall every detail of that fateful day: the outfit I wore, what I prepared for dinner, the salty scent of the ocean in my children’s hair as I tucked them into bed, and the text I was about to send when I heard my mother’s panic-stricken shout. The sight of my father lifeless on the ground is etched in my memory, and I was forced to make an impossible choice between being a daughter and being a mother.
My 8-year-old son had heard the chaos—the urgent calls for 911, the hurried footsteps, the desperate attempts to revive my father. His cry for me pierced through the turmoil, a raw sound born from a fear that couldn’t find words.
In that moment, I faced a choice. Left or right? My father, or my son?
I hesitated for just a moment, caught between my past and present, before instinctively knowing I had to be with my child. You might see my decision as wrong, but unless you’ve stood in that doorway, torn between the man who raised you and the boy you brought into the world, you can’t truly understand.
Our role as parents—our instinct—is to protect our loved ones from unbearable sorrow, no matter the price. I couldn’t shield my mother, brother, or husband; they had already encountered the harsh reality. But with my son, I still had a chance. I felt a powerful urge to shield him from that moment, even if just for a little while longer.
So I lay beside him, cocooning him in my arms, as the muffled sounds of paramedics filled the air. I whispered assurances that everything would be alright. It wasn’t a lie. In my heart, I still clung to the hope of the little girl who danced with her father and fell asleep on his chest. That little girl believed in magic and happy endings. As I comforted Jack, I was also reassuring the little girl within me.
Today is just another day. I will miss him just as much as I did yesterday. When the clock strikes midnight, there won’t be a magical transformation that wipes away our sorrow or fills the emptiness. And I wouldn’t want that either. Grief knows no expiration date. It’s simply a reflection of the depth of our love.
As my dad wrote to me before I left for college, “We haven’t reached the end; we’ve just switched tracks. We are still on this journey together, bound by love.”
Today is just another day. If I’m fortunate, tomorrow will bring another one. Each day offers a new opportunity to love deeply, fully, and without regret.
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In summary, the journey through grief is filled with moments that shape us, and while today may be a day of remembrance, it is also a reminder to embrace love, cherish memories, and continue our path forward.