A Father’s Day Reflection: Six Years of Missing My Dad
On Missing My Dad
My father, Greg Jordan, was the definition of a salt of the earth guy. He was a lover of Shakespeare. A highly skilled painter and sketch artist, but also a killer criminal defense attorney. But as intellectual as he was, he also had this hilariously dry sense of humor that fit him perfectly. He enjoyed a good beer every now and again, a nice cigar, and spending time with his family. He was in Intelligence in the Army back in the day, played basketball in college, and loved exploring the world.
Our dog, Princess—who I lost less than a year after my mom and dad—was the second daughter he never had. They were truly besties.
There are constantly both small and big moments I continue to return to when it comes to my dad. He always encouraged my imagination and playtime. As a young girl, I would pretend to be his hairdresser and cut his hair with pine tree stems under the trees in our front yard. Or play “teacher” and he would be my student, even down to making him take a test. He was always such a good sport about letting my mind explore. I feel like as we get older, that’s hard sometimes, you know?
That’s not always encouraged in the way a parent can do it, or even encouraged like when we were younger, freer. We went on a father/daughter trip many times over the years, but our biggest trip was to Ireland. To have a father that prioritized trips like that is something I will never, ever forget.
Now, I feel like it’s this era of motherhood I’m in that I’m missing him in a way I never have before. He’ll never be here, in the physical world, knowing me as a mom. That is profoundly heartbreaking to me for many reasons, but also because he was THE BEST girl dad.
I mean, when you think of a parent looking at their child with complete and utter adoration and unconditional love, that is how my dad saw me. I know he would have seen my daughter that way, too. I feel SO incredibly robbed of that. It’s like this internal child in me kicking and screaming, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”. That’s how I feel at times.
On Life Without Him
In the time since he died, I can’t help but wonder what he would think of where his death–and my mom’s death–have led me. Would he ever seen me hosting a grief podcast? Coaching and guiding others through their losses, too? Working on exciting new projects all because he left the physical world when I was 29? It’s interesting being a little more removed from the loss now, because I’m able to look back and see all the ways I’ve grown and evolved. So much of that is because of his passing, and it’s wild to think about where I’d be today if they were still here.
Don’t get me wrong, if I could be the woman I am now AND still have them here… god, what a dream that would be. Because honestly? I can’t deny that their deaths have brought out qualities in me that I probably wouldn’t have to the extent I do now. An additional level of compassion, empathy, understanding, patience… all qualities he had, but qualities that loss can really put into perspective for us, too. Because we simply don’t see the world the way we once did.
On a day-to-day basis, I honestly just miss his wisdom and our chats. He was the most beautiful listener. Such a great listener, in fact, that sometimes he didn’t have as much to say in response and I actually wanted to get a little more out of him! That’s really where my mom came in. But I say this all the time, and I mean it with every fiber of my being: they just don’t make them like my dad anymore.
He was born in 1944, and by the time I made my appearance earthside in 1991, he was 47—arguably older than the other dads of girls my age. There was a story he told me about Easter one year, and I was probably 2-3 years old. They took me to an Easter egg hunt, and apparently, all of the other dads were helping their toddlers pick up their eggs. In other words, not really letting them explore and do it themselves. He was the only one to let me do that, and I felt like that was such a theme throughout my life.
My parents did a phenomenal job in giving me everything I could have needed in whatever way they could. Even things I never really needed, but wanted (hello, unnecessarily expensive Anthropologie shirts). Especially as an only child, it could have been very easy to spoil me. But they also instilled a work ethic in me that has far outlasted their time on this earth.
My dad, along with my mom, encouraged me to get a job at 16 if I wanted certain things, for example. Growing up with multiple siblings each, they didn’t have things readily handed to them. While I might have been less than enthusiastic about that at the time, I’m deeply grateful for it now.
It’s all of these little qualities and nuances he imparted on me that made an impact, I’m realizing those things more and more as time goes on.
The thing about my dad is he was always, always there to help me and bail me out, so to speak. Very much a, “I’m not going to let you drown—you can always count on me being there—but I have to teach you how to swim, too” mentality.
When my dad died, I did feel like I was drowning. The only liferaft I had other than my mom was gone, and more than ever I felt as though I had to fend for myself against the waves. Nothing can truly prepare you for not having that anymore. I’m grateful he (and my mom) did an admirable job in helping me learn how to tread the water, though. You better believe that’s something I’m going to do for my daughter, too.
On Motherhood Without Him
What does it feel like to parent without being parented by him? What’s the specific ache in that?
Honestly, parenthood without my dad here genuinely breaks my heart more than not having him here only for me, if that makes sense. I want him here for my daughter just as much as I want him here for myself. I’m so, so sad they’re both missing out on that, and frankly I’m sad for myself, too.
This isn’t eloquent… but I hate it. I would have taken even a year with him here at the same time as Audrey (our daughter). Literally anything. She wouldn’t remember it, but he would get that experience, even a little. He wanted that, and he deserved that. He was the best girl dad. I mean, truly top tier. To be able to see him impart his love and wisdom on Audrey would have filled my heart in a way that’s difficult to describe.
My grandfather, my dad’s father, died before I was born and I never got to meet him. All I know of him is what family has told me, and some very minimal family videos here and there. He sounds like a beautiful, kind, intelligent, wonderful man, and I’m so happy to call someone like that my grandfather. But I never got to really understand the essence of him, and knowing Audrey will now have to deal with this, too… it just bums me out, truthfully.
Nothing can make that better at the end of the day. If you’re reading this and know this feeling as well, I’m sending you the biggest virtual hug right now. I wish there was a way to fix it for all of us. I guess that would involve our loved ones coming back from the dead, right? (Sorry, I lean into dark humor at times).
There’s also a gift that parenthood has given me too, though, and it’s the ability to understand him differently. I’m only two years in, but I can begin to imagine the love, the trials, the sacrifices, the stressors, and the joy he experienced, too. There are genuinely countless things I wish I could ask him about parenthood from a father’s perspective.
Even get his perspective on the nuances of a father/daughter relationship so I can better understand how my husband may hold that space for our daughter, too, you know? Because it really is such a special bond. And it’s funny, because the standard in which my dad parented me definitely raised the bar for what I’ve looked for in a husband, too.
Was my dad perfect? No, and no one is, of course. But I’ve learned so much from what he did do, and even the things I haven’t yet realized. I think that’s really where I am six years out from his death now. Understanding that I will continuously learn things about my dad as I get older, and coping with the fact that I won’t be able to acknowledge them—or thank him—here in the physical world for that.
As much as I try to keep that bond alive and truly believe his soul is around me and my little family, watching our lives unfold, it doesn’t make up for his absence in my life. And for that, I will always grieve to some degree.
So if you find yourself there today too, my friend, please know I see you. You’re not alone in missing him.