13/09/2026
I have a confession to make. This last Father’s Day hit me harder than I expected. This post is a little long, but I needed to explain.
It’s been two years since I lost Dad, two years.
Believe me when I say that it does not soften with time, the loss I mean. Somehow though you wish Fathers day comes and slips by without a blink but no. But it didn’t.
This year, something inside me cracked open, even my birthday was weird this year.
And I realised something about grief, I know it, of course with my skills and studies, but this time it was profound. I have been off point for a few weeks now.
It doesn’t follow a timeline, it doesn’t care how many birthdays have passed, it doesn’t care how many times you've told yourself, I’m okay now, it doesn’t care how much healing you’ve done.
Sometimes a date on a calendar, a smell, a song, a photograph, a familiar saying, or simply watching someone else with their Dad, and suddenly you’re right back there.
Missing them, wanting to pick up the phone, wanting to hear their voice, wanting just one more conversation, one more hug, one more chance to say the things you thought you would have more time to say.
And maybe that is what caught me this Father’s Day, because Dad isn’t coming back. and no amount of wishing, bargaining or pretending changes that. But I also believe that love doesn’t disappear when someone leaves this physical world.
The relationship changes, the conversations become quieter, the memories become louder, sometimes, you can feel them in the strangest places. This past week, I felt exhausted. Not just physically tired, soul tired, The kind of tired where you realise you've been carrying more than you thought you were.
And then something happened, the universe heard my call, the phone went strangely quiet for a while, no constant ringing, no endless notifications, no demands, just silence. Perhaps that was exactly what I needed.
A reminder to stop, to breathe, to listen, to recharge, the universe knows when we are running on empty, even before we admit it to ourselves.
So next weekend, something I planned months ago, I am finally going to do. I am unplugging.
From the 18th to the 21st, I’m stepping away from the noise.
The phone, the messages, the constant connection, the outside world, and I’m giving myself permission to simply be. Perhaps we don't always need another answer.
Sometimes we need silence long enough to hear what our own soul has been trying to tell us. Lately, I’ve been looking around and seeing others losing their Fathers.
Seeing their posts, seeing their pain, seeing that stunned look of someone trying to work out how the world is supposed to keep turning when the person who helped shape their world is suddenly no longer in it.
And to those of you walking through that right now, I see you, I may not know your Dad. I may not know your story. I may not know what your relationship was like. But I know something about that empty space. I know what it's like to have someone who was once there, suddenly become someone you can only reach through memory.
And if you're struggling, please don't let anyone tell you that you should be “over it” by now. There is no over it. There is only learning how to carry the love differently.
Some days you will laugh when you remember them, some days you will smile, some days you will be completely okay, then, without warning, you may break, and that's okay too. Grief is not weakness. grief is love with nowhere physical to go, so if you've lost your Dad, or Mum (I’ve lost both now) or someone who was your world, be gentle with yourself, take the day off if you need it, cry if you need to, talk to them if you need to.
Sit quietly, look at their photograph, tell them what has happened in your life, tell them you miss them, tell them you're angry, tell them you're okay, tell them you're not okay.
Just talk, because maybe the people we love never truly leave us. maybe they simply become part of the person we are becoming. and Dad, I miss you. More than I sometimes allow myself to admit, Father’s Day reminded me of that.
And perhaps that's okay, because if missing you hurts this much, it must mean that loving you mattered just as much, so for the next few weeks, I’m going to step away.
To breathe, to recharge, to listen, to remember, and maybe, just maybe, to hear that quiet voice within me reminding me that I am still here. Still growing, still learning, Still loving, and still carrying a little piece of you with me.
Healing is not the absence of pain. It is the courage to stand in the middle of it, to understand the lesson. And to emerge from it with an open heart, stronger than before.
Until we meet again, Dad. ###
See you all again soon.
Only Love
Johan xo
