The Loss of My Father: Grief, Love, and the Man Who Was My Everything

Losing my dad shattered something in me that I’m still trying to piece together. He wasn’t just my father—he was my whole world. The funniest, kindest, most loving and caring man I’ve ever known. His presence filled every room, and his absence now echoes in ways I never imagined possible.

He had this way of making everything feel safe. He could turn an ordinary moment into a lifelong memory—through laughter, stories, or just his quiet way of being there.

I miss the smell of his cigars. I didn’t think I would, but now I crave that familiar scent because it meant he was near. I miss his soup—deeply. Growing up in a Jamaican household, soup wasn’t just a meal, it was an experience. And his? Always a 10 out of 10. No matter how many times I try, I can never quite perfect that recipe. But I think he’d be proud that I’ve learned to make dumplings—something he always said made the soup complete. It’s my little way of keeping him close.

I miss the endless stories—some repeated, some wildly exaggerated, but always captivating. If I could go back in time, I’d pick the days when he used to meet me at the bus stop after school. He’d be waiting, smile on his face, asking how my day went. We'd walk home, hand in hand, talking about everything and nothing. I still remember the coarse texture of his hands—rough from work but gentle with me. I’d give anything to feel that again. I miss helping him shave his bald head, the way he'd trust me with the razor, joking the whole time.

Now, I know some of my siblings might be mad when I say this—but was I my dad’s favorite? Yes. Was I his world? Yes. Don’t take that up with me, take it up with your dad. That’s the kind of bond we had. And I’ll cherish it always.

Since he passed, I’ve moved through the stages of grief like waves crashing over me.

Denial. In the beginning, I kept thinking, “He’ll call any minute.” I would forget for a split second and then it would hit me again like a wave: he’s really gone.

Anger. I was angry at the world. Angry at time for being too short. Angry that someone so good could be taken away.

Bargaining. I thought, “If I could just have one more day, one more hug, one more chance to say ‘I love you.’”

Depression. There were days where getting out of bed felt impossible. His absence was a weight I didn’t know how to carry.

Acceptance. I’m still learning what this means. It doesn’t mean I’m “over it.” It means I’m learning to live with the loss, to carry it with me as I move forward.

One verse that comforts me deeply is Isaiah 41:10:

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

That promise reminds me that even in this sorrow, I am not alone. My dad may be gone from this world, but his love surrounds me still—in my memories, in the way I love others, and in the strength he passed on to me.

He was my everything. And he always will be.

To anyone else who’s grieving the loss of a parent—your pain is real, and your love is valid. Grief is not a sign of weakness; it’s a reflection of how deeply you loved. Take your time. Cry if you need to. Smile when the memories come. And most of all, remember that you are not alone. In every laugh, every tear, every act of kindness you carry forward. That’s their legacy—and it’s beautiful.

Unapologetically Black Muva🖤