Stand By Me

to the dad I almost lost, and the one I didn't get to keep

As I sit down to write this, I feel frozen. Scared and unsure of how to even begin to approach the feelings that have been bubbling up for weeks in anticipation of today. Fathers Day. A Holiday. All over the world people are celebrating their dads. Hugging their grandpas.

But there’s another side of days like today. A darker side. A heaviness felt only by some. A painful reminder of those that we’ve lost. That’s the side I’m sitting on today. My heart is as heavy as it is full. Simultaneously broken and healed.

In 2021, my dad barely survived the same illness that took my step dad’s life. In a matter of months, I went from having two father figures, to one. I’m still reckoning with the aftershocks of that loss.

I started writing that story today. All of it. A play-by-play that starts on the Oregon coast with an unexpected phone call from my brother-in-law. But as I wrote, tears falling onto my typing fingers, I realized this wasn’t the place for that story. Not here. Not yet. I think that story belongs between two covers in a book and that time will come.

Today, my dad is strong. Unrecognizable from the man he was in the ICU. His voice is still raspy, but his cheeks are no longer hollow. His eyes are bright again, that sparkling blue that I didn’t inherit. Full of love for sweet little life he gets to live. Tonight he’ll be surrounded by his kids, playing with his grandkids. Showered in the love that he deeply deserves.

And I’m so thankful for that. Far beyond what words could ever adequately describe. I’m thankful for every hug I get from him. Every new memory we get to make. I try not to any moment with him for granted, even the small ones that feel insignificant. Even now, when the memories of almost losing him have faded. When those months he spent clinging desperately to his life feel so far away. I still remember how it felt to wonder if I would ever get to say goodbye.

I remember holding his frail hand in mine. My fingers sweaty under the PPE gloves. The plastic face shield fogging from my streaming tears. He was unconscious, but I had to believe that he could hear me. Hear the apologies. The stories. The forgiveness. The songs. The encouragement. I had to believe he could hear me, because I still had so much left to say.

I remember singing quietly, over and over again, in his room in the ICU. Words to a song me, him, and my little brother sang on repeat as we roadtripped down the Oregon coast years before. An Imagine Dragons cover of Blank Space by Taylor Swift, infused with melodies and lyrics from an old classic, Stand By Me by Ben King.

When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

No, I won't be afraid

Oh, I won't be afraid

Just as long as you stand

Stand by me

My dad has been by my side my entire life. He’s watched me grow from the tiniest most fragile little version of me, into the strong and devoted woman I am today. I know he’s reading this, but I can only hope he knows how much I love him.

One of my most treasured childhood memories is with him. A summer day. Outside in the backyard. Just a little moment. Swinging on swings. Laughing. Singing our song together, “Just the two of us, we can make it if we try.”

Thank you for fighting Dad. It feels like we made it. I love you. Always have and always will. I can’t wait to keep making more memories with you.

Months later, when my dad was safely recovering at home, my world started to fall apart all over again.

A different hospital with different hallways, a different ICU. The same illness. My stepdad had better odds, an immune system to help him fight. We all believed he would make it. I never let myself believe that he wouldn’t. But my stepdad’s fight didn’t last long. He was here for Thanksgiving but gone the day after Christmas.

In the grand scheme of things, the time I got with him feels finite. Small but precious. He was there in the tender moments. He saw me lose myself in love. He helped put me back together when I felt like I wasn’t enough. The year before he passed, I spent almost every day with him and my mom. We shared long morning walks in the sun. I told him my dreams over morning coffee and he pushed me to chase them. He was as much of a friend as he was a dad. I miss him every single day.

Let’s raise a glass to all the dads today. The ones we have and the ones we didn’t get to keep. The ones who showed up and the ones who fell short. The dads that made us and the dads that took us in. The ones who taught us how to love, and the ones who broke us. The dads who survived and the dads who stepped up. The ones keeping us safe here, and the ones keeping guard from up above. We wouldn’t be here without them - would we?

To the dad I didn’t get to keep,

I see you in the biggest moments playing out in my head.

I see you there when I’m in my white dress and the moment I become a mom and while I’m learning how to be the woman you knew I would become. I see you, always cheering me on.

I see you in the little moments too.

I see you in the bird perching on my porch and the hawk flying overhead and the hummingbirds and butterflies that find me on the beach and in the mountains. I see you in the ocean, I feel you in the breeze and in the rising sun.

You were a father when I was too hurt to let the rest of the world in. You knew m for me. Not little girl me. Just growing me. Learning me. Still figuring out who she was me. You came in fast in the aftermath of my parents collapse and you showed me a kind of steady I didn’t know I needed.

I still need that steady. I’m still leaning on you, it just looks a little different these days.

I love you.

I miss you.

And I know you’re proud of me.

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LOVE ALWAYS,

Krista Marie