Tag Archives: father

by | February 4, 2018 · 4:39 pm

DADDY | A STAR

Yesterday, our Dad became a star. There’s still a lifetime of things to say, but here is step 1…

Today I fly to India to join the strongest person I know, my mom, and a community of friends and family, to help the world say goodbye to his body. His light. His love. His spirit. His crappy jokes. His absolute moral perfection and purity. Those will live on forever. Envelop us from moment-to-moment. Protect us. Remind us. Break us but only momentarily. Because his strength and resilience are also with us forever.

#iamgrateful and #iamthankful to have called you Daddy for 42 years, and now, to close my eyes, or to look at the sky, or to look at your grandkids, and be reminded and fully inspired to do the same. Forever. I will see your body soon. I will do my best to live in a way that makes you proud and is worthy of your legacy. See you soon, Daddy. You’d be proud and brought to tears if you heard Anaiya explain her love for you, and, how she knows you’ll always be with us. I’ll whisper it in your ear when I see you. ❤

Also, go Eagles. You earned this Super Bowl run with a near lifetime of dedicated fandom. 🙂

Thank you all for your love and support. It’s a testament to the person he will always be and the person my mom is. Send love. Send strength. Shed no tears. Channel that emotion deeply and powerfully toward the people you love.

Note: I’ve collected all the posts and thoughts I’ve shared about my Daddy’s death in one place. Some people have found it helpful as they’ve navigated through their own experiences, or, as they’ve had to step in to support others. This is one in a series, and you can find the full list of posts here.

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by | August 30, 2014 · 2:07 pm

TMLFYI… | Sleepless

World, if you’re reading this, I’ve got a question? How jealous are you of me in this picture?

Sleep

Let’s talk about origin, Anaiya.

Maybe it’s because your teething. Maybe it’s because we woke you up early. Maybe it’s because we pushed you past your normal limits on the sleep front. But on Saturday afternoon, at your brother Hukam’s first birthday party, you were not going to be put to bed the normal way.

Your mom is much more gracious about all of this. She’s got an amazing calm with you. You can read older posts if you’re curious. But we all know that the fact that she’s home and with you is the reason you are the amazing child that you are.

I’m different. I get anxious. I hear you squeal and I want to fix something. I see you squirm and I get anxious when whoever’s holding you doesn’t accommodate. I’m sure I do a better job than not of masking my instinctive reaction. I’m also sure your mom has the same impulses. But this isn’t about her. Look at that picture. I’m fine with saying it. This post? Totally about me.

See, I’m a Dad. What I don’t have in the way of biological connections to you I compensate for in as many ways as possible.

So on Saturday afternoon, when I spent an hour trying to put you to down for your afternoon nap, you and I knew three things quickly:

  • You were exhausted
  • You weren’t going to make it easy on us (we deserved it)
  • I wasn’t going to give up (it’s my job, and I won’t, ever, on you)

I fed you. I massaged you. I burped you. We read Where the Wild Things Are on my phone. We listened to lullabies. We listened to Billy Joel (I have no idea why you were so into Allentown this weekend, by the way.) I tried to let you cry it out. I sat up and held you. I tried laying you down and patting you in the crib. Everything.

An hour. A whole hour. And every time you would get close to sleeping, in my arms, I’d lean over to put you into your crib and you’d grab a hold of my shirt for dear life. The greatest feeling ever, mind you (and my first memory of a baby is a similar one, of your Sohum Kaka.)

But we found a happy place. On the floor. On my back. You on my chest. Any attempts to alter this position resulted in you simply not having it. So we slept there. With a birthday party going on around us, and with neither one of us wanting to be anywhere else. At some point soon, that’s going to change for you. Just know, it never will for me.

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by | June 16, 2014 · 12:06 am

My $.02 | No Father’s Day Required

I’m happy to share one and celebrate one on everyone else’s behalf, but I don’t want one. I don’t need one. I don’t deserve one. What’s more important is how we interact with each other every single day for the rest of our lives. How I make you feel. How you feel because of how you’re treated and loved. And the highest expectations in the world that I hope you have of me.

  • Tell me when you don’t feel as loved as you need to feel, munchkin. And I’ll listen. If I’m being consistent and transparent about my love for you, I will know, based on the confidence you have in yourself and in everything you do.
  • Tell me when I’m putting too much pressure on you, munchkin. And I’ll listen. If I’m being fair with you, I will know, based on the happiness you express in your smile and your actions every single day.
  • Tell me when I’m being too easy on you, munchkin. And I’ll listen. If I am inspiring you to be better, then I’ll know by the goals and standards you set for yourself.
  • Tell me when I’m being too hard on you, munchkin. And I’ll listen. If I’m supporting you the right way, then I’ll know by the manner in which you do the things you do.
  • Tell me when I’ve disappointed you, munchkin. And I’ll listen. If I want you to trust me, I will know, based on the increasing faith you place in my perspective and counsel.

I don’t need a Father’s Day. I don’t want a Father’s Day. I want you to have the ability to tell me, every single day, where and how I can be a better Father. And I will celebrate you as a daughter, an exceptionally loved daughter, every single day, based on the baby, girl, and woman you become over the years.

No day required. Just you. Just this.

Tutu

 

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