Rambling on about the man who was my Daddy…

Yesterday marked what would have been my Daddy’s 98th birthday—a heavenly milestone that brought a bittersweet smile to my face as I imagined him reaching such a grand age. It’s been ten years since he left this world, ten years that have often felt longer than I ever could have anticipated. The ache of his absence lingers, quietly woven into the fabric of my days, sometimes soft and sometimes sharp, always present.

My sister and I talked yesterday, our conversation turned to memories of our parents, to the loss we feel and how we never really imagined this time, the years after they would be gone. It’s strange, almost dreamlike, how the loss still doesn’t feel entirely real. There are moments when I expect to hear his voice, to see my mother’s gentle smile, and the realization that they’re both gone comes anew, as if for the first time.

We all know, somewhere deep down, that loss is inevitable. We watch the years pass, we see the signs of time etched gently into the faces of those we love, and still, we hold onto the hope that the hardest goodbyes might somehow be deferred. There are days when I feel their presence so strongly—a sudden memory, the echo of their laughter, the scent of something familiar—and I realize that though they are gone, they remain deeply a part of who I am. Their lessons, their love, their quirks and stories are stitched into my heart. I find myself repeating their words, holding onto their traditions, longing for their advice when life feels overwhelming.

Oh Daddy, I miss our conversations… he and I could talk for hours about politics, the world, people, and we shared views about much of what life seems to throw at the world. My Daddy was a chiropractor, Dr. John Ellis Jr., a respected and kind doctor, he truly cared for his patients, every one of them. He was my go-to medical voice, when I was sick, hurt, and when I had my debilitating and disabling accident. It was my Daddy who never gave up on me, who etched into my mind that I must keep moving, can’t give up on myself. When doctors told me there was no hope, I would never walk again, Daddy told them, “We will be back when she can walk in here!” And then poured into me everything he had to help me come back to living.

My Daddy was not all sunshine and sweetness, he was a disciplinarian as well as a teacher, strong with me when I needed it, he taught me perseverance, reliance on myself, he helped me to learn about responsibility and was an example of these things. I smiled yesterday as I thought about him. I have been missing him for ten years now, ten long years it feels like. My Kid sister and I talked yesterday about them, my mom and dad. The loss of them still seems surreal at times. I know, I knew, that it was always going to happen at some point, we all reach our time to go on. But I never really thought hard on them being gone and what that would mean what the loss would be.

Yesterday, as I remembered my Daddy and the long years since he left, I felt gratitude for every moment we had—the laughter, the lessons, even the hard times that now shine brighter in memory. The journey of loss is long, but love endures, reaching across the distance between us, reminding me that I will always be their child, that their story continues through me.

So,  I smile, and I remember my Daddy, I love, and I miss him dearly. I am also glad at times that he is not here to see what this world has become in the last 10 years. It would kill him to know, to see the changes happening. Thank you, Daddy, for giving me a sound moral compass, for the stories my heart holds dear, and for my strength, I know it was rooted in the lessons I learned from you.