Hey Daddio, it's me.

Well, Daddio, here we are. Year 5 without you. Can you believe it has been five years? 1,825 days without you. Without that warm smile, those welcoming hugs, or hearing your wisdom and advice. I hear your voice in my head often, Dad. It has become a harmony that replays constantly.

There are days when it feels like I haven’t seen you in decades. There are days when I feel like I just hugged you. There are days when the hospice stay haunts me. There are days I forget you’re not here anymore and only remember when you don’t answer my call.

Even with the time of 5 years, I still look for you in the corners of this world. I try to find you in everything, and everywhere I go. I look for you in the crowds and try to hear you in the silent nights.

I have learned that grief is unstructured yet scheduled. It is quiet yet loud. It is a place of anger, yet a place of love. It is paralyzing yet motivating. I’ve learned that grief is a curse, yet a blessing. Grief is like a storm, yet a soothing wind that comforts a person. Some days the curse feels heavier, and some days, the blessings trump it. That’s grief. It comes in waves and crashes as it pleases. There is no rhyme or reason for grief. I'd be enjoying a car ride with music and friends, and grief hits me. Nothing triggered it, but suddenly I felt a pit in my stomach that was cursed by sorrow that you, Dad, are no longer here.

When I wanted to turn around my life and start healthier practices, you were the first to support me and go on the journey. You didn't even think twice. "Banuta, we can do it together. Find a gym you like, and we can sign up together." Grief takes me back immediately to the day you were sitting on the couch listening to my cries. You bought NutriSystem for us; little did I know you hated it. You did a good job hiding it and only showed me happiness and willingness to do it with me.

When the doctors thought I couldn't have kids, you were the only calming voice I needed. You immediately comforted me, saying, "I always got you; no need to worry." I will never forget that moment. I came home an emotional wreck, and you knew exactly what I needed to hear. You sat on the couch, in your spot, and made me feel like no matter what happens, I'll be okay. Remember what you said to me? "Whatever it is, IVF, adoption, we will make it happen for you." And like a snap of a finger, I felt safe. I felt like I wasn't alone.

I witnessed my first taste of racism in the educational system and challenged an administrator (not in the best way, but we've grown from there, Dad, I promise); I got fired. You were my first phone call, and like always, you said, "No worries, Banuta, you got me. Proud of you". You followed up with a text to reiterate that it was the right thing to do and that, yet again, you always got me.

After I graduated from the Master's program, you were the first supporter for me to continue my education and chase that Ph.D. dream. When I was met with opposing opinions, you were that positive and motivational voice that made me believe I could achieve it. Here we are, Dad. We are doing it. I have my first dissertation defense today, and you have been that silver lining to the journey.

When my friends couldn't bring home the person they were dating, you were the first person they turned to. You had this magical way of bringing people together and perfectly mediating the situation. When our friends needed a listener, they would bike to our home and join you on the couch. When strangers needed help to stay clean, you would offer them a job and a place of love that they needed. I mean, the list goes on, Dad. Except I never knew how much you did for others until your passing when people told us stories about how they felt touched and loved by you. You never bragged about the role you played in people's lives.

You were always there. You were the smiling face in the back of the room. You were cheering (and arguing with the refs) on the sidelines. You were there on the couch, comforting us in a moment of sadness. You were the phone call we needed to make to calm down. You were the voice we needed to hear to put our minds at ease.

Those are a small fraction of why you are missed so much. You were my person, from minor things like an oil change to the bigger things like marriage and health. You were that to many people, whether they were family, friends, or even strangers. To have known you, Dad, was the ultimate blessing. In you, we had a dad, a best friend, a constant supporter, and the definition of unconditional love.

Daddio, you are my heart's sweetest, most precious memory. You are the purest form of love and care I have ever been blessed with. I will keep you safely in my heart and take you along this journey in life.

I hope Heaven has been good to you. I hope you are walking the golden path with the Angels, and I know you are making everyone up there laugh until their stomachs hurt.

Love always,

Your best girl.

Your pain in the ass.

Your Banuta.