If this column can help even just one person know they are not alone in their grief, then I’ve fulfilled the purpose of writing it.

Just over a year ago, I was faced with an unfortunate reality: your life can change in an instant.

On January 13, 2022, my family was given the news my father had passed away. Since that day, I have had to deal with a pain I wish no one would have to feel.

Writing this column is something I never wanted to do. I don’t enjoy writing, and I don’t like talking about myself or my life, but helping those around me is one of my passions. If this column can help even just one person know they are not alone in their grief, then I’ve fulfilled the purpose of writing it.

Nothing can ever prepare you for a loss like this. The changes in my life, the tears I’ve shed and the longing to talk to my dad again are endless.

It’s now been a little over a year since my dad passed, but I want people to understand the hurt of losing him has not gone away with time. The grief I experience is ever-changing. Sometimes, it is extremely evident and I work to hide it. I shut down my feelings and withdraw. When I cry, it is at home away from everyone. Unfortunately, crying seems to be the only grief people, who haven’t experienced a loss like mine, recognize.

In my experience, the outward grief seems to be the easiest part of grief to go through. It is the silent or “should’ve been” grief which hurts the most. The moments no one sees but I feel, which hit me the hardest. This is when I, and those experiencing grief like mine, need support the most.

All I yearn for is to talk or hear about my dad. When I’ve sat in class listening to conversations my classmates have about their own fathers, I should have been able to join in, but couldn’t, because people react with silence.

My dad should’ve been here for college visits and to help me decide where to go to college. He should have been on the lake with us this summer, or grilling steaks on the back patio for our family dinners. He should have attended football games this year and walked me out on senior night. I have an endless list of past events he missed, and future events he should be able to share with me, but now I have to cope with the reality that he won’t.

I’ll never know why this happened. I think about my dad every single day, and constantly wonder why my mom, siblings and I have to go the rest of our lives without him. I question if my purpose is to use my loss to advocate for mental health and suicide awareness, but why did I have to experience such a substantial loss to serve that purpose?

Since my dad’s passing, I have become hyper aware of the language people use around me, and when it lacks empathy. You can never know for certain what someone is going through, but I hope to use my experience to help promote that empathy which is so often lacking. As a survivor of suicide loss, hearing my peers so effortlessly making jokes about mental health and suicide feels like a punch to the stomach. Those “jokes” can devalue the feelings someone may have or the trauma someone may be experiencing after a loss like mine.

I want you to understand my fathers passing doesn’t define the person he was.

My dad was the best teacher. He taught my siblings and I how to be independent and what it means to be a leader. He taught us to love with all we have and we learned by his example.

He loved rocking his grandkids to sleep and spending countless summer days on the lake with our family. He served our community on many boards and delivered meals to those in need on Thanksgiving. My dad was always lending a hand to help when something broke, or there to make my siblings and I laugh about something that was typically followed by, “don’t tell Mom!”

He was full of love; everyone who knew him knows that. I hope the light that he was to our family and friends shines through me.

A phrase my dad very frequently said was “glad you got to see me.” I know without hesitation everyone who knew my dad was glad to see him because of the love which radiated through him and his unforgettable smile.

Seventeen years with my dad was not long enough. I am thankful for every moment I had with him because I wouldn’t be who I am today without him.

Dad, I love you, and I’ll forever be glad for every second I had with you. I’ll always be your Clara Bell.