Happy Birthday, Pops!

The first birthday without him...and the quiet ways he's still raising me up.

There’s something about the “firsts” that feels impossible to prepare for.

The first birthday without you.

I’ve been trying to rationalize my way through it—telling myself all the things I know are true:that you’re no longer in pain, that love doesn’t end just because a life does, that I carry you with me.

And I do.

But there’s still this quiet, aching truth: I just wish you were here.One more call.One more “happy birthday.”One more conversation that feels ordinary and everything at the same time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about a song lately—one I didn’t fully understand back then:

“You Raise Me Up,” sung by Josh Groban

It played at my wedding. Mom was insistent. I remember smiling, going along with it, even thinking: a five-minute song… for Dad and me to dance to?! We have to shorten it! Back then, it felt like just another detail in a day full of them.

But now… in my quiet reflection, it feels like a message I didn’t realize I was receiving.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains…”

I didn’t fully understand this once. But I do now.Everything I am standing on—my strength, my resilience, the way I move through this world—was built by you.

“You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas…”

You didn’t just show up for the big moments—you built the foundation that lets me stand in this one.In the storm of missing you.In the weight of a birthday that feels both full of love and impossibly empty.

Learning how to hold both love and loss at once—and keep moving forward anyway. Something I've written about before.

“When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary…”

There's a heaviness that comes with grief that words don't quite capture. It shows up in the quiet moments. Sometimes the weight of it settles in, and I can't quite shake it.

But somehow, even in this space, I can feel what you gave me.

“There is no life—no life without its hunger…”

I understand that line differently now.Grief comes at the price of loving deeply.And while I would give anything for “one more” anything, I also know I wouldn’t trade the love that came before it.

I'm learning that the "hunger" isn't something to quiet—it's what keeps the connection alive.It's what carries me forward.

“Each restless heart beats so imperfectly…”

There’s no perfect way to do this.No right way to celebrate, to grieve, to hold both at once.I'm learning to let it be messy. Sometimes, messy is okay.

“But when you come and I am filled with wonder…”

Sometimes it’s in the smallest things—a memory, a feeling, a moment that catches me off guard.And for a second, it doesn’t feel so heavy.

I can still hear your voice in the way I move through life—in the small decisions, the everyday moments, the ones that don't feel so small anymore.

You had this way about you—equal parts funny and strict.You could make me laugh and keep me in line in the very same breath.

Sometimes I wonder if I've lost a little bit of that—your humor, your edge, the way you carried yourself.

But maybe it's not lost. Maybe it's just finding its way back to me ... differently.

“Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity…”

In those moments, love feels bigger than loss. Like it didn’t end—it just changed form.

“You Raise Me Up.”

Not just then.Still.

In the way I show up.In the way I love my people.In the strength I didn't know I had until I needed it.

This birthday will be different.Bittersweet, yes—but also filled with everything you gave me.

Today isn't just about missing you—it's about celebrating you. The life you lived, and the way it still lives on in me.

Because even without you here, I am still standing—and maybe that's the greatest reflection of you there is.

I miss you.I carry you.

And today, I celebrate you.

Happy Birthday, Pops.

I hope somehow you know how much you're still part of this day.

I love you more—always.

Lyrics referenced are from "You Raise Me Up," written by Brendan Graham and Rolf Løvland, performed by Josh Groban. Played for the father/daughter dance at my wedding in 2005.