Life with My Two Girls, but without My Dad

I miss him so very much. Simply, truly, utterly miss him.  22084_10207138223763852_6344124416553023342_nThe depth of this pain and hurt reaches well below a shallow facade; these emotions reside deep inside, resting in an unsecured space where they are easily retrieved and returned to the surface without invitation. These feelings and this hurt – they are quietly stronger than anything I’ve felt before; at their core, they remain unexplored, yet deeply personal and infinitely vast. This hurt, as if lonely in its own right, often shares its space with other new occupants, emptiness and sadness. These thoughts, these words… this isn’t some surprising revelation that is suddenly emerging, begging to be shared publicly at this very moment in time. These are deeply rooted emotions that have remained true in my heart, planted months before my daddy passed away in June, nurtured by the impact of seeing first-hand the progressive and horrific effects of ALS on someone you love beyond words.  But now, they are more than just emotions; they exist as part of my new life, the one without my dad. The one I didn’t prepare to live at this point in our life. What I also didn’t prepare for was how life without my dad would change life with my two girls.

There is one very important understanding of my girls that I have come to know and accept. Life without my dad is a very different journey for me than it is for them. That journey, still in its infancy, has not been free from certain thoughts and feelings that were not revealed, until now.  Deep within me, during my saddest and loneliest days, lived a bit of suppressed and deliberately unspoken disappointment, a longing for them to feel exactly what I was feeling, and for it to unveil the same way, in sadness and tears, however unhealthy those thoughts were. I didn’t understand why it wouldn’t look the same on them. Feel the same. Impact the same. What I couldn’t see then, through the foggy landscape of pain, sadness and uncertainty, is that even if they were feeling the exact same sadness that I was, we are each unique human beings and what’s inside of us won’t necessarily manifest in the same or similar ways. What I also came to realize is that while I lost my dad, a quiet but incredible force in my life, the man responsible for so much of who I am, of what I expect of myself, and what I expect of others, the man who had been there for me at every turn for the entirety of my fifty years… they lost someone else. They lost their grandfather, and however deeply they loved and cherished him, it’s not the same relationship.

Once I let go of the completely unrealistic expectations I had for their feelings, I began to see the very 10854888_10204572412703568_5734814614171829922_ospecial ways in which they were touched by my dad, in his life and death. It’s the little things you hear, the unexpected comments they make that lay open a world of feelings that might otherwise remain unknown. One of the greatest revelations came from an outsider, someone able to share with me how much my child was deeply affected by the year-long experience of watching her grandmother and mother care for her grandfather, seeing their pain and sadness through her own eyes, but sharing the depth of that impact on her with no one, until an exploration invited it to the surface.

In that very moment of truth revealed, I came to understand that our journey was actually not ours at all. It was theirs and mine individually, and it wasn’t necessarily destined for the same arrival time, nor the same ending location. What mattered was that because of the love they each hold in their hearts for him, there was undoubtedly a journey of healing upon which each had embarked, and their individual traveling preferences, routes and methods of transportation were clearly not for me to choose nor judge.

Perhaps, after much thought and deeper reflection, life with my two girls, but not my dad, is a misconception. In actuality, life with my two girls has continued to include my dad. Our life always was and always will be layered with his presence, his influence, his knowledge, his many talents, and most notably, his unwavering love for each of us.

Daddy, they love you beyond anTheir girlsy words I could possibly express. Without a single doubt, you live in their hearts. Every time one of them mentions one of the many things you knew or did so well, your light shines brightly in their faces. I see your legacy, your lasting impressions with every sentence they utter that begins with “PawPaw could have…” or “PawPaw would have”. Accompanied by a genuine smile, their words are a testament to how much they respected, needed, admired and will always love you…almost as infinitely much as I do.

In memory of my dad

Thomas Francis Sterken, Sr.

April 4, 1937 – June 14, 2015

10 thoughts on “Life with My Two Girls, but without My Dad

  1. Kerrie, God has given you a wonderful talent in your abilitity to share life with your written words. Thank you so much for this latest chapter. Interesting that I read it on the day that my dad was born 105 years ago. Still miss him almost 50 years after his death. Love you and yours.

  2. Kerrie, I feel fortunate to have the opportunity to glimpse into ‘life with your two girls’ and I always take something incredibly valuable away with me. You have a beautiful, amazing writing ability. Thanks for sharing your journey…

  3. Dear Kerrie,

    My name is Ashlee. I’m co-founder of the Youshare Project, with the mission to connect people around the world through true, personal stories. I recently stumbled across your blog and read the above post entitled “Life With My Two Girls, But Without My Dad.” It’s so honest and compelling. I think it would make a wonderful youshare, because I would imagine other people around the world have experienced similar feelings but perhaps aren’t able to voice them. Perhaps they can find comfort in your story.

    If this sounds interesting to you, I would love to email you directly with more information and formally invite you to adapt your story to youshare and share it with the project. You have my email address and website. I hope to hear from you soon.


    • Ashlee,
      Thank you for your comments and your interest in my story. I will connect with you directly via e-mail as I am very interested in sharing the article with others.
      Kerrie Loyde

    • Thank you for reading and responding. It’s been a couple years or so since I’ve last read it and your comment encouraged me to revisit it. The pain of his loss remains. Let’s continue to shine that light.

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