Four years ago, my daddy passed away. It feels like yesterday and forever at the same time. I distinctly remember getting a phone call repeatedly – from a number that I didn’t recognize – and upon answering, being asked to confirm my identity and then being told apologetically, that my father was deceased.

I was at work. It was a Friday afternoon. After answering the phone, it felt like the world paused, I rushed to the office where my teammates were, and I shoved the phone into the hands of my coworker and friend and came back to my office and cried and cried and cried. My coworker calmly took all the information from the first responders, called my mama and told her, and then called Preacherman. After Preacherman arrived, they helped me pack up my things and made sure I was okay to drive home.

That was four years ago, and it feels like yesterday and forever at the same time.

Over the years, there were points where my relationship with my father was shaky at best. In those years, we “talked” sporadically at best, frequently through voicemails and perfunctory polite conversations – and at times, I can convince myself that is the season that we’re in. But then there are jarring reminders that it’s not my reality – when I want to call or text about the Luther Vandross documentary, or when I find a lump in my throat and on the verge of tears while on a Peloton ride because Whitney Houston’s, “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” is on the list and I remember the little girl who danced around the living room to that song with her daddy. She is I and I am her.

There’s the missed moments. And the reality that every day I get farther away from the last time we spoke; that while it hurts different, it doesn’t hurt less, and that as time passes, there are fewer and fewer people who know (knew) my daddy – and have the ability to help him be known to me in the ways that your parents become known to you as full people (beyond being your parents) as you get older. In many ways, there are times when his existence feels very real and big to me – and also full of gaps and questions that need answers.

After four years, I still find myself minding the grief gap – managing the space between what was and what is and trying to give myself grace in the process. Grace as I manage the wondering and what ifs. Grace as I try to figure out how to share him with my boys. How do you make someone real to others who have no concept of their existence?

Four years. Yesterday and forever. Big existence and big gaps. Questions that need (and probably won’t get) answers. Minding the growing gap. Giving myself grace. Sharing him with others.

On the day that he passed away, I shared the following on Instagram:

“His life has built much resilience and compassion within me, it has strengthened my faith and expanded my capacity to love my neighbor as myself. His soul is now at rest and is free.”

I am comforted in knowing that he is experiencing the freedom now that he so deeply sought on this side – through many broken and dangerous pursuits – and resting in the love and glory of our Savior. His life and his memory are a blessing.

Until next time…be encouraged! Peace and Blessings!