Love Leaves Fingerprints

As Father’s Day approaches, I find myself thinking about my dad more than usual.

I lost him almost 11 years ago, and in many ways, I still feel like that little girl who adored her father.

I was a daddy’s girl through and through.

He taught me things that seemed ordinary at the time but became the foundation of who I am today. He taught me how to drive a stick shift. How to use tools. How to stand up for myself. How to help people when they are in need. My mom helped shape that strength too, but my dad showed me what quiet service looked like.

He taught me that showing up matters.

As life moved forward, I built on those lessons.

I became a nurse who deeply cares for people, not just physically, but emotionally. I became a mother who raised an incredible daughter mostly on my own. Somewhere along the way, our life grew into a loud, blended, imperfect, beautiful family with three bonus kids I love fiercely.

I am not afraid of failure.

I will fight for the people I love.

And despite everything life has thrown my way, I am proud of the woman I have become.

There are moments I wish my dad could see my life now. Not just who I became, but who my daughter became too. I think he would have been overjoyed watching our family grow. I think he would have loved seeing me step into the version of myself that life forced me to become.

The truth is, I still miss him.

That part never goes away.

I do not believe grief disappears. I do not think we “move on” from losing people we deeply love. I think grief changes shape over time. It settles into us. We learn how to carry it while continuing to live our lives.

Some days it is quiet.

Other days it feels just as sharp as it did years ago.

But love leaves fingerprints on us. The people we lose continue to exist in the way we speak, the way we protect others, the lessons we pass down, the traditions we keep alive, and even in the small habits we never realized we inherited from them.

We carry them with us.

Always.

Father’s Day can be complicated.

For some, it is beautiful.
For others, it is painful.
And for many, it is both at the same time.

Maybe you lost your father.
Maybe you never had the relationship you deserved.
Maybe you are grieving a child.
Maybe you are grieving the family you hoped for but never had.
Maybe you are carrying emotions you cannot fully explain yet.

Whatever your story looks like, please know this:

You are not alone.

Everyone is carrying something.

Some people have simply learned how to hide it better than others.

So if this season feels heavy for you, give yourself permission to feel that. You do not need to rush your grief. You do not need to “fix” yourself. Sometimes surviving the day is enough.

And sometimes honoring the people we love simply means continuing to live in a way that would make them proud.

With hope and encouragement,
Dawn

Over Abundance of Light