Knowing Tim

A Daughter’s Grief

I want to tell you about my dad. All of him. Not to excuse him. Not to condemn him. Just to name him.

My dad had a big heart.
He cared a lot, sometimes too much.

He was small in stature but somehow larger than life. He laughed loudly, took up space, made sure you knew he was there. He was funny. Goofy. He could talk to anyone. He was a salesman, but not the car dealer type. More like the street dealer type. Charismatic. Convincing. Magnetic.

People liked him. People knew him. He had a lot of friends and he loved to have fun.

He was a fun dad.

He played. He joked. He made moments feel exciting. When he was good, he was really good. When he smiled at you, you felt chosen. When he laughed, the whole room shifted.

That was my dad.

My dad lies and cheats.
My dad screams and beats.

My dad is scary and weak at the same time.

The world was always against my dad. Or at least that’s how it felt living inside his orbit. Nothing ever worked out for him. Nothing ever went right. He carried anger like armor and pain like proof.

My dad was a sad man. An unhealed man.

He was not a present dad. Not in the way a child needs. He was physically there, but emotionally unreachable. He was unpredictable. Explosive. Tender one moment and terrifying the next.

My dad was a tortured soul, and that torture spilled into how he treated his family, his friends, and himself.

Loving him felt confusing.
Missing him started before he was gone.

My dad is dead.

And that sentence still doesn’t land right in my body.

He had two sides, and I hold both of them at the same time. The good memories and the painful ones. The laughter and the fear. The love and the damage.

I wish I had my dad today. I wish we could have had the relationship I always hoped for. The one where I felt safe. The one where love didn’t hurt. The one where I didn’t have to earn it.

I know he wished for this too.

My dad was proud of me. I believe that with my whole heart. My dad loved me. He just wasn’t capable of showing it in the right way.

And that truth still breaks my heart.

I love my dad.
I miss my dad.

I carry parts of my dad in me. Some I am unlearning. Some I am forgiving. Some I am keeping. Loving him now means choosing differently, even while missing him. Even while wishing things had been different.