Still Here

I want to tell you about my dad—not the huge milestones or achievements, not the stuff you’d see on his resume or the awards he won, but the things that made him who he was. The things you’d notice in a room, the things that stick with you years later, even when he’s gone.

He loved his people so much. His little family meant the absolute world to him, and you never questioned his love. He didn’t even have to say it—the way he’d light up when you walked in the house, or the way he’d call just to ask what you were having for dinner. It was the way he showed up, no matter what.

He loved to dance and sing. If there was a microphone, he was going to karaoke—and if he didn’t know the words, he’d just make them up as he went. He’d sing about anything, just to get a good laugh or cheer someone up. That laugh of his—the kind that made you laugh too—is something I hear in my head every single day now.

He loved sports and 4-H. He coached all of us kids and helped us every night in the barn, perfecting free throws or whatever we needed to work on. He loved when we tried something new, but he also made sure we knew we weren’t quitters: if we started something, we’d finish it. He was the loud parent in the stands, and even if he wasn’t coaching, he’d be coaching from the bleachers anyway.

He was always the first to show up when someone needed help, and likely the last to leave to make sure it was done right. He was the one offering to build something, mow the grass, or volunteer his time. He was the first one at the euchre table and the funniest in the room. He was funny and loud, and also the one person you could go to when you needed to talk about anything, because you knew he’d never judge you. He gave the best advice and was the best listener.

He wasn’t perfect. But he had this quiet way of making you feel like you mattered, like your small joys and worries were important. And he was a fighter—not just against cancer, but in life, in love, and in his way of being fully present, fully alive.

He may be gone, but the love he gave—and the ways he shaped me—keep me still here.