Sunday Thoughts: A Letter To Dad

For those who find themselves fatherless on Father's Day

June 21, 2026

Dad,

Happy Father’s Day.

You know, I can still see you, lying back in your blue recliner. Smoking a Vantage cigarette outside. Laughing, that booming laugh that rolled through your whole chest, and vibrated through everyone from a mile away. I remember you shirtless in the sun, baking and brown, the smell of coconut Banana Boat oil wafting off from you. You would lie there for hours, baking, as if you were challenging the sun in some sort of duel that only you two understood.

Man, I miss you. I don’t go a day without thinking about you. Your absence these past five years has been the most severe learning experience I’ve ever had. I never knew I’d learn so much from someone being absent from my life. But I have.

I’d be the first to admit to you that I didn’t always take these lessons well. I’ve not been a perfect student, but I’m happy to report I’m turning a corner. Here are a few of the things I’ve learned.

1. Fatherhood is one of the greatest joys in life. Your grandsons, Dad. My God. I know you see them, but they amaze me every single day. Jack has grown so tall, his voice so deep. He will be taller, smarter, and more handsome than either of us, and that is great. He’s going to do things I can’t even imagine, and I can’t wait to see it.
   
   Teddy is the kindest person that I know, Dad. He has said things that have gutted me, truths and insights that cut to the core of the issue, a simplicity that is foundational from a loving, pure heart that challenges me to be a better person.
   
   I know you are so very proud of both of them. I also know that this is the best thing I’ll ever do with my life.
   
   Thank you so, so much for doing it well when you raised Olivia and me.
   

2. The cycle of losing, gaining, and losing again never ends. So it’s important to enjoy the ride.
   
   I don’t know if you remember, but the last time we spent time together was at Betty’s funeral. She was one of your favorite aunts. You looked at me after the service and asked if I wanted to head back home for a beer.
   
   And of course, I told you no. I told you I had somewhere to be, something to do, someone else to see. I was busy, and there were things for me to go and do.
   
   Dad, I know you didn’t care, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that invitation and how much I hated myself for not going back home to have a beer with you. I would empty every damn dollar from my bank account just to have that beer in the garage, just you and me.
   
   I know you would tell me that it’s okay. And I know that it is, and also that it isn’t. There are some things in life that can never be fixed or mended. But Life is so precious. You’ve taught me to enjoy it while you have it, and I think I’ve started to learn not to take it for granted.
   

3. Yard work isn’t that important, but gardening is. I’ve got to confess something to you, Dad. I’ve outsourced my lawn-mowing. I know you’d be ashamed to learn that, but it’s true. Now, before you get on to me about that, you’d be amazed to see my garden. Well, Janet’s garden, but it’s a joint project. I know you got to see the fence I installed and the raised beds, but Dad, you should see the garden now. It’s beautiful. We’ve got overflowing trellises of tomatoes, squash, and zucchini. We’re growing sweet potatoes and carrots. You’d be real impressed, Dad.
   
   I’ve never learned how to successfully sow grass, and you aren’t here to teach me, so I’ll probably work to outsource that too. I did, however, buy, haul, and spread my own mulch this year. I hope, on the whole, you’ll take this development as a wash. I’ll keep working on it when things get less busy, if they ever do.
   

4. I do my best to hold you and your lessons in my heart. The boys are in Scouts, Dad. J just went to camp today, and we dropped him off with a gaggle of others as they went to conquer the wild blue yonder. He’s already Second Class, and I’m hoping he’ll be an Eagle before his 18th birthday. Next year, I’ll be the Cubmaster for T’s pack, and I’m worried about how in the world I’ll stay organized enough to do it. I’m going to trust that you’ll be there, somehow, to help me.
   
   We still go to church, Dad. We don’t go every Sunday, but we still hold Christ and his teachings high in our hearts, and do our best to live like we think He would. Like you did.
   
   I was there with Pawpaw when he passed this year. I tried my best to do what I thought you would do. I kept him as comfortable as I could, and was with him when he left. I did all that I thought you would do if you were here, but, for once, I’m glad it was me and not you.
   

5. Mom misses you every day. She’ll never get over you not being here. I don’t think any of us will.

Dad. Have a beer today in heaven. You did it so well. You left your mark on all of us. We were so very lucky to have you.

Your proud son,

Seth