Ask my daughter who her favorite person in the world is, and she won’t skip a beat. It’s not me. Not her dad. It’s her grandpa—without question.
The second she sees him, everything else fades. She sprints to him with arms outstretched, like she’s been waiting forever—even if it’s only been a couple of days. She clings to his every word, mirrors his every move, and won’t sit anywhere at the table unless it’s right beside him.
She’s picked up all his little mannerisms too—the precise way he dips his chips in salsa, how he clears his throat before launching into a story, even the way he folds his arms while deep in thought. And Grandpa? He lives for it. He lets her swipe his glasses to “read” menus, holds her hand like she’s the center of his world, and tells the same goofy jokes again and again—just to hear her laughter.
When I watch them together, my heart overflows. Their bond is more than special—it’s love in its most unfiltered, beautiful form.
One weekend, after staying at my parents’ place, I watched my daughter hug my dad goodbye. There weren’t any words—just a quiet embrace, her cheek resting on his, and a gentle smile on his face that looked softer than usual. My dad has always been strong, steady, not one to show emotion. But in that moment, I saw it—how deeply he feels this connection.
As I drove us home, a wave of gratitude hit me. This man—my dad—had shaped my childhood with his wisdom and steady presence. And now, I was witnessing him pass that same love and warmth on to my daughter. It felt like a gift I didn’t know how to deserve. But tucked within that gratitude was a quiet ache I couldn’t shake. What if something happened to him? What if this beautiful relationship was taken away too soon, before my daughter could understand just how much it meant?
I didn’t want to dwell on it, but I knew life had already taught me how quickly things can change. I’ve lost people before. I’ve faced storms I never saw coming. But the idea of losing him—especially now—was a thought too heavy to carry.
A few weeks later, my phone rang. It was my mom. And before she even spoke, I knew something was wrong. Her voice trembled as she said, “Your dad’s not feeling well. He has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, but… I think we should be ready for anything.”
Her words landed like a stone in my chest. I dropped everything and rushed to their house. My dad sat in his usual chair, looking composed, as always. But something in him had shifted. His light—his spark—felt dimmer. And for the first time, I saw the weight he was carrying too…
