Today I went to the memorial service for a friend of 18 years - he was a neighbor, but more importantly, he was my daughter's dear friend's father. Since our girls were toddlers they've shuffled back and forth between our two houses, with countless sleepovers and playdates. They've shared every single birthday, one quincenera, two graduations. The parents drove them to roller skating, birthday parties, pools, ice skating. There were more shared meals than I could possibly count - because at the end of the playdate, wouldn't it be nice if you just stayed over? There were Halloween parties annually, and one memorable snowy Christmas where we got snowed in but since we could walk to each others' homes we shared our celebrations. It wasn't just the girls going back and forth - it was their parents, too, mothers and fathers meeting at the rink, or in the living room, or the trailhead, and enjoying our daughters but enjoying each others' company, too.
It's hard to believe that this loving, warm, funny, and crazy-smart father is gone.
He gave me a gift before he left.
The last time he was in my house, it was for a dinner party. I was in the kitchen, and he followed me there, and gave me a small speech about how much it meant to him that I had been such a big part of his daughter's life, and how much he appreciated my support of her, and my presence in his own parenting journey. He told me how much I meant to him.
It was the last time we ever spoke - I had no idea (and nor did he) that these would be his parting words to me.
His daughter is in my home right now, after a day of attending his memorial - our two girls are snuggled under fuzzy blankets on the sofa, eating the snacks of their childhoods, laughing at a movie they're watching together. The movies have changed, but their friendship and connection hasn't changed, and having them here together feels as natural as breathing, even though my daughter's just finished her sophomore year of college and his daughter is a dancer in NYC, even though they sold their home near ours a year ago, even though there have been life struggles and changes that those little sparkly toddlers couldn't have imagined.
But I keep thinking about that conversation, and how he pulled me aside and looked me in the eye and told me how important I was in his daughter's life, and how much she needed that, and how much he appreciated me. In hindsight, it seems like foreshadowing of a request. He loved his daughter deeply and well, and while there are many people in her life who love her, he passed some part of that torch to me. His final words were about the importance of my presence in her life... and I am thinking about them.
20 is still far too young to lose a parent. Isn't 20 really just a kid?
I'm committed to helping that kid navigate life without her father. I'm committed to being a loving a solid presence in her life.
Old friend, I miss you. I fear I took you for granted, never fully understanding your brilliance, athleticism, depth. I admired you, but I think there was so much more to know, and in that way, I feel the failure of missing out. But this I will not fail in: I will love your daughter, be part of her circle of wellness, safety, refuge. I will never be her parent, but I will take your words as a reminder of where I am needed and show up every time. Thank you for the parting gift of your great kindness, of your acknowledgement of all that we have shared in our parenting journey. I'm so grateful that I knew you, and I'll keep doing the joyful work of being in your daughter's life. I promise.
In loving memory of JS - gone too soon.
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