On August 1st, 2026, Larry would have turned 76. It’s hard to find many pictures of my dad. He was always the one behind the camera. When we do find photos of him, he’s either making a silly face, or it was a candid shot. Dad didn’t particularly enjoy posing. He felt it more compelling to document life as it happened.
This is a post about grieving my dad.
It’s hard to believe that this year marks 14 (wtf?) years without him. His passing was unexpected. When I received the news, I remember collapsing and crying out for my mom. I immediately began wondering how I was supposed to go a day without talking to him, much less the rest of my life? I was only 25! It was too painful to imagine a future without his steady presence. I didn’t want to move on. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind.
At my dad’s funeral, it was standing room only. I met so many people who had been positively impacted by his kindness. I knew nothing of the charitable, selfless things he’d been quietly doing. Why would I? He was a salt-of-the-earth, Christian man from Colorado. He didn’t advertise his goodness. He simply lived it.
One man shared that my dad saw him riding his bike home in the rain, befriended him, and helped him find the community he felt he’d been missing in his life. A young woman he worked with shared that she didn’t have a father in her life, and when dad heard she would be buying her first car, he offered to go car shopping with her so she wouldn’t be taken advantage of.
Story after story, I discovered that the pieces of my father I loved so much were extended beyond his family, into the community. Dad’s acts of kindness had an enormous reach. I am so proud to be his daughter.
My dad was my best friend. When he passed, I quickly realized that I had two choices for the trajectory of my life. Languish in despair, or turn my grief into something bigger than myself. I chose the latter, in part to honor his innate resilience and kindness. After some therapy, I finally embarked on my journey to become a therapist. I’d always considered therapy as a profession, but I always found reasons not to do it. When dad died, my excuses became irrelevant; worldly barriers felt artificial in the face of the one reality we all share: life is finite.
In time, I realized something beautiful about grief. Dad has been with me every step of the way. I call on his wisdom all of the time. The relationship we built didn’t end when his life did. It transformed.
I felt robbed when I lost my dad, and sometimes those feelings still show up. That’s grief for you. Time has allowed me to find the gratitude. I can now focus on how incredibly lucky I was to have him. I got the quality experience of an excellent and involved father. I would not trade that for 100 years with a lesser dad. We got to be with each other, and that can be enough.
When we face a loss, we don’t truly leave our loved ones behind. They just come with us in different forms. Larry is still here. He’s present when I play with the girls and pass down his wisdom. He’s present when I’m in sessions or teaching my students how to sit with peoples pain. He’s around when I listen to the music he taught me to cherish. He’s definitely there when I visit my siblings.. chuckling and rolling his eyes because he’s part of the knowing looks we give one another. He is there when I grieve the losses that have come after him. He’s with me when the sunset makes me cry or nature takes my breath away. He’s with me as I write this post, honoring him with my strongest asset: my voice
Happy Birthday, Dad. You will never be forgotten. Your legacy is beautiful, it lives on in your grandchildren who never met you but miss you just the same.
Love endures.
“I opened my mouth, what came out was a song And you knew every word, and we all sang along. To a melody played on the strings of our souls. And a rhythm that rattled us down to the bone. Our love for each other, will live on forever! In every beat of my proud corazón!” -Coco
I love you dad, with each and every beat of my proud corazón.
