A Letter From the One Who Made Me

My Dearest Child,

If only I could reach across time, through the veil that now separates us, and hold you close once more. If only I could wipe away your tears, smooth back your hair, and tell you with my own voice how much I love you, how proud I have always been of you. But since I cannot, let these words be the arms that embrace you, the warmth that reminds you I am still here—in ways you may not yet see but will someday understand. 

Being your father was the greatest privilege of my life. From the moment you entered this world, I was forever changed. I saw in you a piece of myself, a reflection of all my hopes, my dreams, and even my fears. I know I wasn’t the best father, letting my own bitterness consume me—shape me into a person you wouldn’t even look at twice. I didn’t blame you because in my sickness, I allowed my fear of death to stain a part of you that I know affects your view of the world; has dimmed it somehow. But know my little moon, every step you took, every lesson you learned, every time you stumbled and found the strength to rise again—I was there, watching, silently cheering you on, whether you knew it or not. 

I wish we had more time. I wish we had more laughter, more quiet moments, more late-night talks with you sitting by my bed, where I could have told you all the things I didn’t say enough. I wish I could have seen you reach the milestones still ahead, been there to celebrate, to guide, to remind you were never alone. I’d have watched you walk into the future with your college degree or say “I do" to the man who watered you patiently. I wish we had more sunrises together, more bike rides with your arms wound so tightly around my waist, more stories to tell, more time just to be. 

But even though my time with you in this life has ended, I have not left you. Look for me in the way you carry yourself, in the kindness you show to others, in the strength you don’t always realize you have. I live in your laughter, in your stubbornness, in the quiet moments where you feel me near but cannot explain why. I am in the way you love, in the way you rise after loss, in the fire that burns inside you to keep going even when it hurts. 

I have watched grief try to swallow you whole over the years. It whispers that the pain is too much to bear most nights, that you are alone in this sorrow. And as it’s weighed you down I watched you fight to not let it win. Feel the pain, yes—allow yourself to grieve. But do not let it steal the joy from your life. Do not let it take the light from your eyes. Remember me not with sorrow, but by living. By loving. By embracing every moment, not in spite of the pain, but because life is too fleeting to waste on regret. 

And my child, let there be no doubt—I was proud of you every single day. Not just in your achievements, though there were many. Not just in your victories, though I celebrated them all. But in you. In the person you are. In the goodness of your soul, in your resilience, in your ability to find beauty even in darkness. I was proud of you when you tried, when you fought through the hard days, when you showed up even when it was easier to disappear. And I am proud of you now, as you carry on, even when the weight of my absence feels unbearable. 

I am with you. Always. In the wind that brushes against your skin, in the stars that light up the sky, in the memories that time cannot take away. So go forward, my little moon. Live fully. Love deeply. And know that I am never truly gone. 

Forever with you, 

Pops