A Father’s Day Tribute Of Love, Loss, and Life Lessons

This is my first Father’s Day without my dad, and I find myself sitting in the rawness of it all adrift in a tide of memories, emotions, and long-unanswered questions. The grief is real. But so is the love. And that love… was complicated.

In this deeply personal reflection. I open up about the ache of childhood trauma, the complexity of losing a parent you always yearned for. The lessons learned and what grief has taught me about healing, forgiveness, and the enduring strength of imperfect love.

I loved my dad with my whole heart. He wasn’t perfect—but he did the best he could. What parent is anyway? And somehow, that’s enough for me now.

This isn’t a simple story. It’s not a tidy tribute wrapped in a bow. It’s a reflection on the messiness of love, the ache of absence, and different types of grief.

“Grief doesn’t require a death certificate. Sometimes it simply requires courage—to admit that you miss someone who hasn’t died, but who feels absent all the same. And that’s a grief worth honoring.“

Losing my father has left me with a cascade of emotions and questions that linger, unanswered. Grief is a winding journey, and as I try to make sense of it all, I find myself reflecting on a love that was complex, imperfect, and yet unwavering. The death of my father has brought a difficult journey full of reflection and bittersweet memories. Here I share how the death of my father taught me about life and grief.

Each moment feels like a delicate attempt to grasp feelings that slip through my fingers. My father loved me deeply—of that, I have no doubt. But he was a complicated man, one who battled many demons throughout his life. I didn’t learn this to later in life.

Let’s be honest… Life is complicated, and I’ve come to understand how important it is to recognize what people have endured. Looking back, I realize that much of my own journey has been spent trying to understand him.

My dad was a loving father to all three of his kids. I never doubted that. But my journey with grief began long before he passed away. When my parents divorced, and I was just seven years old. At such a tender age, I couldn’t fully grasp what was happening, but I knew one thing for sure: my dad wasn’t going to be around as much anymore. That reality carved a deep void in my young heart, a grief of absence that has followed me my whole life.

My Turbulent Past With My Parents Divorce

I remember the turbulence of those early years. My parents didn’t get along; their fights were loud and unforgettable. The sight of shoes flying across the living room etched into my memory. It’s not the kind of thing you want to carry with you, but it’s there nonetheless.

The Scary Vivid Moments You Don’t Forget

One memory stands out vividly: the night our family was heading to my uncle’s house on a dark cold night. My parents were arguing in the car, voices raised and tempers flaring. Suddenly, my dad stopped the car, and my mom got out grasping our little hands in hers. As we walked on a backroad in Olympia his car sped away, leaving us behind. The sting of that night lingered for a long time—a painful reminder of the cracks in our family and the instability that marked my childhood.

I blamed myself for their arguments at times, as children often do. I thought that maybe if I had been quieter or better behaved, things would have been different. The constant fear of what might happen next created an anxiety in me that I still carry today.

I was always scared as a child, not knowing what would happen next, and that uncertainty left its mark. But now I understand that it was never my fault. It was just the difficult dynamic between two people trying to navigate their own pain.

When they divorced, I saw my dad every other weekend. It wasn’t enough. I missed him terribly.

“Grieving a parent who is still alive—but no longer present in your life in the way they once were—is a complex and often unspoken form of grief. This type of grief is called ambiguous loss, and it can feel just as raw and disorienting as mourning someone who has passed away.”

Lisa Marinkovich

Reflecting On The Good Times

Despite the challenges, my dad tried to make our time together special. Some of my best memories are from those weekends. Camping trips where we listened and sang to 8-track tapes of The Carpenters, John Denver, and Neil Diamond. Long bike rides through the countryside. And the joy of playing with Sassy, the pony our little pony. At his house, he had acreage and a stable with Sassy and Charlie the goat.

He taught me how to drive a stick shift from the passenger seat of the car. It was those moments were a balm for my aching heart, a glimpse of the love he always had for us, even if he couldn’t be there as much as I wanted.

But as life went on, my dad’s presence remained fragmented. He married three more times (five it total) He married women who had children of their own. I had to share him with other kids.

I often wondered how he felt about that. Did he ever miss the sense of completeness that comes with seeing your own children grow up every day? Did he wish for more unbroken time with us, the way I did with him?

As I grew older, I began to see my dad in a new light. He took the time to share stories about his difficult childhood. For the first time, I started to understand the experiences that shaped him and made him the person he was.

Learning about his childhood trauma he endured gave me a clearer picture of the man he became. I won’t share those details here—they are his stories to tell, even if he’s no longer with us. But it all made sense why he chose to become a psychiatrist. Perhaps, in helping others untangle their pain, he was searching for a way to untangle his own.

Digging into my dad’s past has taught me an important lesson: understanding the “why” behind someone’s actions can change everything.

People are shaped by their experiences, by the love they’ve received and the pain they’ve endured. When we take the time to learn more about why people are the way they are, we can find a way to love and accept them for who they are, not just who we wish they would be. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it. And for my dad, it’s helped me find a deeper sense of compassion and forgiveness.

One Of The Many Gifts My Dad Shared With Me

My dad gave me many gifts in his lifetime, but one of the most precious ones was the photos he captured throughout my life. Each photograph is a tangible piece of love, a window into the moments we shared and the memories he wanted to preserve.

From candid snapshots of me as a child riding bikes to carefully posed family portraits, every photo tells a story of his presence and care. Even when life pulled us in different directions, those images were a reminder of how much he loved us and wanted to hold on to the time we had together.

Looking back at those pictures now, I see not just the moments themselves but the effort he put into capturing them. He wanted to remember, to celebrate, to create keepsakes that would outlast the fleeting nature of life. These photos are more than just images; they are his way of saying, “I see you, I cherish you, and I want to remember you.”

In a way, those pictures have become a part of his legacy. They connect me to him in ways words sometimes can’t. Through the lens of his camera, I see the world as he saw it—filled with beauty, love, and moments worth holding onto. It’s a gift I treasure deeply, one that continues to remind me of the love we shared and the memories that will always be ours.

Reflecting On My Dad’s Life

He was a complicated person, hard to understand. I wish my boys knew him better too. But through it all, I never doubted his love for me. It was a quiet, steady kind of love—not perfect, but always there. I felt it in his hugs, in the way he beamed with pride when talking about his kids, and in the little moments we shared that I still hold close to my heart.

Now, as I navigate life without him, I find myself picking up the pieces of his story, my story, our story. Grief has so many layers, and with my dad, it feels like I’ve been peeling them back for years. I’ve grieved the father I missed in my childhood, the man who struggled to overcome his own past, and now, the dad who is no longer here.

Yet, even in the sadness, there is gratitude. Gratitude for the love I always knew was there, even when life made it hard to feel. Gratitude for the memories of road trips and pony rides, for the laughter and the music we shared. And gratitude for the understanding that has come with time—that my dad loved me to my soul, in the best way he knew how.

Having The Grace To Forgive and Understand

I’ve also learned that we must forgive those who have hurt us, even when the pain feels overwhelming. We carry that hurt otherwise, and it becomes a part of us. Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting; it means releasing ourselves from the weight of resentment. I forgive him for the pain he may have caused. I’ve come to see that my dad was doing the best he could with the tools he had. He wasn’t perfect, but neither am I. We all learn, in our own ways, to be better and to try our best.

Losing a parent is never easy. Whether it’s through a divorce, the kind of emotional distance life brings, or ultimately death itself, the loss of a father or mother is a deeply personal and painful experience.

But as I reflect on the big lessons he taught me, I realize there are so many different ways to carry love forward. My dad’s journey wasn’t perfect, but neither is life. And perhaps that’s the only way to find peace—by embracing the imperfection, by loving in our own way, and by remembering that even the broken pieces can hold beauty.

Father’s Day will always feel a little bit different now. They’ll be reminders of the important people who shaped me, even in their absence. But I find comfort in the thought of a Heavenly Father watching over us all and in knowing that my dad’s spirit lives on in the memories we hold dear.

In the end, I’ve learned that love is rarely perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s the trying, the showing up in whatever way you can, that matters most. And my dad? He tried. He showed up. And I will carry that love with me, always.