the father who still raises me.

Eight years ago, we lost our dad.

And yet, every decision I make still brings me back to my dad.

Before I take my next step, I find myself asking what he would have done. I try to live by the wisdom he taught us through the way he loved, worked, and showed up for the people around him.

Every accomplishment still makes me wonder, "Would he be proud?"

Every heartbreak makes me wish he were here to comfort me. I still wonder, "What would he say to make everything feel okay again?"

His love, his wisdom, and the lessons he left behind continue to shape who I am. They guide my choices, challenge me still, and remind me of the kind of person I want to become.

Over these last eight years, I've learned that grief isn't a chapter you finish or a ladder you climb until you're finally "over it." It doesn't shrink or become weightless. You simply learn to carry it differently.

People often expect grief to hurt most on birthdays, holidays, or anniversaries. Sometimes it does.

But more often, it arrives on random Tuesdays.

It shows up while you're laughing at girl’s night. While you're driving with the windows down and his favorite song comes on. When you see a father-daughter duo at breakfast.

Grief has a bittersweet way of reminding you that love never really leaves. And even after eight years, I've realized that's not a sign that I'm stuck.

It's a sign that I was loved by someone whose influence didn't end when his life did.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see pieces of him looking back, not just in appearance, but in my values, my reactions, and my heart.

Of all the lessons my dad has taught me, the one that has shaped the way I live the most is this: life is short. Love loudly and forgive often. Tell your people you love them, tell them often, and never go to bed angry.

Although he is no longer with us, he continues to influence me, guide me, and shape me into the best version of myself.

Eight years later, he still raises me. Thank God for that.