An Ode to My Father – Grief, Growth, and the Quiet Reality of Loss
Happy June. Summer has arrived—full of sunshine, celebration, and seasonal joy. But behind all that light, there are moments and months that hold a different kind of weight.
I decided to write this because I’ve been impacted by the stories of others—people who have bravely opened up about the ache of losing a parent and how grief doesn’t neatly follow a timeline. Reading their reflections reminded me that sometimes the most healing thing we can do is share. So this is mine—an offering, an ode.
Each year around this time—between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day—there’s a quiet heaviness that creeps in. While these holidays are beautiful tributes, they can also be tender reminders for those of us who are grieving. I lost my father at 20, and while time has softened the edges of that pain, it never fully goes away. And I’ve come to accept that it’s not supposed to.
Grief is not something you “get over.” It’s something you carry. It shifts, it surprises you, and it shows up when you least expect it—in the aisles of a store, during a family dinner, or in a simple question like, “What do your parents do?”
But what I’ve learned through my own journey is this: you are never truly alone in your grief. So many of us are walking around with quiet pain, trying to find language for it. I’ve connected with others, comforted friends, and even guided coworkers through moments of loss. Those conversations taught me that grief, while deeply personal, is also deeply communal. There’s power in saying, “Me too.”
The Original T
Here’s a photo of my dad, Terry Hare—aka “the original T” (my friends call me T too, and my brother’s middle name starts with a T, so it runs deep!). In his 20s, living his best life. He was never big on being in pictures, but somehow he kept everyone else’s in his photo albums. Maybe that’s where I get my love for capturing memories. He left us with so many, and now his children—and even his grandchild—carry his legacy forward. We miss him every day, but I know he’s proud. I feel him living through me always.
I honor my father now in small, meaningful ways: through the way I show up in the world, in the way I support others, and in the way I speak his name. His presence lives on in my growth, in my decisions, in the way I love.
If you're grieving a parent—or anyone—you’re not alone. Whether your loss was recent or decades ago, your feelings are valid. It's okay to feel joy and pain in the same breath. It's okay to celebrate what was and still ache for what could have been.
So here’s my invitation to you:
Reach out to someone who might be struggling this month. A simple “thinking of you” goes a long way.
Share your story—out loud, in a journal, or with someone who gets it.
And most importantly, give yourself permission to grieve how you need to. There is no right way—only your way.
