By Natasha Smith 
I found my graduation picture in my dad’s wallet.
It’s one of the last things I physically have of his since he died. Somehow, one of the most powerful. I brought it home from the hospital the day he passed, but I haven’t been able to go through everything. Not yet.
In fact, I still have some of his belongings in the trunk of my husband’s car. That time, nine years ago, my hubby and I were looking for a new car that fit our newly growing family of six. Our youngest was only a few months old. It was such a hard, disorienting time.
Navigating the grief of losing my dad to the dreaded “c-word” disease that I dare not name . . . while homeschooling two kids and nursing a baby. It was all overwhelming. My sister and my mom went through Dad’s stuff at my childhood home; I just couldn’t do it.
But the wallet. I saw it. I opened it. And there I was.
Tucked behind the plastic window was a photo of me in my cap and gown. Smiling with a diploma in hand. That’s the kind of dad he was. He kept his kids and grandkids close to his heart. And I just miss him.
His birthday and Father’s Day are within a week of each other, and this time of year aches in a way that words can’t quite hold.
There’s a scene in Frozen 2 where Anna and Elsa are in the woods, and they see statues formed by ice from memories of the past. They’re confused and ask, “What is this?” Olaf answers, “Water has memory.”
And so does the heart.
So many memories. From childhood to now. You hear of people saying their whole lives flashed before their eyes. I can imagine this, as it’s easy to recall the years when the heart is shocked with grief. The years of memories flash back somehow.
He called just to say he loved me. He waited at the edge of the driveway to see me coming down the road, and to wave goodbye when I left. He sang “Happy Birthday” every year without fail. He wrote me letters in college, back when snail mail was still a thing.
He taught me how to crochet. He watched movies with us, cooked with us, and popped popcorn kernels with us.
Blockbuster and Little Caesars on Friday nights? A whole vibe. He bought us little gifts on Valentine’s Day and presents on Easter.
I never had to question my dad’s love.
Not once.
He was a girl dad through and through. And really, he still is. Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he’s not still our dad. I’ll always be a daddy’s girl.
I remember his laugh and jokes. I remember his stern look and the voice that could shake the whole house when he was mad. I remember the warmth of knowing I was deeply loved.
I imagine that’s why it’s been easy for me to know the love of God as Father because my earthly father gave me such a clear picture of it. I know that’s not everyone’s story.
Some of us carry wounds instead of warmth. Silence instead of songs. If that’s you, please know this: You are loved by Father God in heaven. Deeply. Always. Unconditionally.
I’ve learned grief is like a thousand little memories pocketed in time, unfolding as life continues. It’s often said grief is love with nowhere to go.
But sometimes it finds a place, in a wallet, in a memory, in the steady truth that love like that never really leaves. And I carry that love with me, always.
If you’re missing your dad this Father’s Day, I see you. You are not alone.
Sitting with you,
Natasha
by Liz Newman 
by Jenny Rapson 
by Kailyn McMahon-Boggess 
