Dear Dad,

It’s been ten years since you left us. In 2017, I wrote a letter to you about remembering you and the grief that I live with. I now want to catch you up on the last ten years to help with that grief that I still carry.

I Remember You, Dad. I remember our last conversation on March 7th, 2014 at 1 in the morning when I got home from hanging out with Phillip and Baaba. I remember the next day, we didn’t get a chance to speak because you let me sleep in before work, you were thoughtful in that way. I remember March 8th, 2014 as if it happened yesterday because not only did you die, but a significant part of me did too. Now it is ten years later, and you’ve missed so much…

In the last ten years, some of the institutions you built have crumbled because no one loved them in the way you did. In the last ten years, I discovered why you pushed me so hard when my health was kicking my ass. You were training me to be without you. I failed… In the last ten years, I fell in love and told that boy after he told me. It was something you would’ve loved. In the last ten years, I graduated with two degrees, which I know you would’ve been overcome with joy because you loved education. I did both of those for you and me. In the last ten years, I’ve never needed you more. The thought of so many of these moments happening in my life, and you can’t be a part of them is what takes the cake. In the last ten years, I still haven’t gotten over it.

In the last ten years, I’ve started to forget the sound of your voice. That same voice that would encourage me at every stage of my life, that same voice that would uplift me. That same voice that would sing R&B or Gospel like he was at the Apollo. That same voice that would be the most passionate about family game night. That same voice who often reminded me how proud of me he was. That same voice that nudges me every time I forget who I am.

The things that remain are the fragments of me that were left behind after we buried you. I haven’t been the same since. 10 years is a long time, but 26 wasn’t enough.

I’ve been told by people who loved you that I embody you in a way. I love that comparison because it’s you showing yourself through me. There’s a saying that grief is all the unexpressed love, and I have so much in me to spare. Even though parts of you have faded in my memory, I still remember you.

-Shawn