Grief That Grows With Us: Remembering My Father Through My Children

My father passed years ago. His number is still saved in my phone 📱.

He’s not someone I talk about often — not because I don’t think of him, but because I never really knew how.

Over a meal recently 🍽️, we were talking about what the kids should call their step-granddad.

A light, casual conversation — and then, quietly:

What would they have called my dad?

They never got the chance to meet him.

I paused. Sat with the thought.

And felt a quiet wave of sadness rise 🌊.

Sometimes, I imagine he would have liked my family — my husband, my children ❤️.

But truthfully, I don’t know if that’s true.

Grief can show up like that — unexpectedly, softly, even years later.

It doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

As a coach 🎭, I work with stories like these — the ones we carry quietly. The ones that shape how we parent, how we connect, how we grow 🌱.

Not everything needs fixing.

Some things just need witnessing.

And that, too, is powerful ✨.