The Sunshine He Left Behind
In loving memory of my dad, whose joy, creativity, and love of sunshine continue to light my path.
Sometimes the people we miss most never really leave us. They simply become part of the light we carry forward.
Five years.
I honestly don't know how that can be.
Some days it feels as though I just hugged my dad goodbye yesterday. Other days, it feels like I've spent a lifetime learning how to carry his absence.
September always brings me back to him.
Not because I want to stay in my sadness.
But because love has a way of remembering.
This year marks five years since my dad passed away, and while time has softened the sharp edges of grief, it hasn't diminished the space he still holds in my heart.
I miss him.
I imagine I always will.
But when I think about my dad these days, I don't immediately think about the hospital room or the goodbye.
I think about his laughter.
His creativity.
The jazz that always seemed to surround him.
The way he embraced life with a joy that couldn't be manufactured.
He was, in every sense of the phrase, a sun-child.
He was drawn to warmth.
To laughter.
To beauty.
To people.
He had a way of making life feel a little lighter simply by being himself.
And now, every time someone asks me why I love sunshine so much...
Why my brand is filled with sunflowers...
Why I believe so deeply in joy...
I smile.
Because somewhere along the way, I realized those weren't things I accidentally discovered.
They were gifts I inherited.
The older I become, the more I recognize pieces of my dad quietly showing up in my own life.
When I gather women around a table for meaningful conversation...
I see him.
When music fills my home while I'm writing or creating...
I hear him.
When I choose laughter in the middle of a difficult season...
I feel him.
When I spend a little too long outside simply soaking up the warmth of the sun...
I remember him.
It's funny how grief changes.
In the beginning, we often fear we'll forget.
We replay voices.
Search for photographs.
Hold tightly to memories because we're afraid, they'll fade.
But over time, something beautiful begins to happen.
The memories stop feeling like something we're trying to hold onto.
They become part of who we are.
I've come to believe that the people we love leave us far more than memories.
They leave us perspective.
Values.
Traditions.
Ways of seeing the world.
They shape how we love.
How we lead.
How we create.
How we comfort.
How we celebrate.
And perhaps most beautifully...
How we keep living.
There are still moments when I instinctively reach for my phone because I want to tell my dad something.
A project I've finished.
A client I got.
A funny story.
One of those moments that only a parent would fully appreciate.
Then, for just a second, my heart remembers before my mind does.
Five years.
How can something feel like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once?
I've stopped trying to answer that question.
Instead, I've started asking a different one.
How can I honor the life he lived?
For me, the answer isn't found in looking backward.
It's found in looking outward.
It's choosing joy.
Creating beauty.
Sharing laughter.
Making space for meaningful conversations.
Helping women reconnect with themselves.
Living with the kind of warmth that makes people feel seen.
Because those are the things he gave me.
And the most beautiful way I know to thank him is to keep passing them on.
As I sit here writing this, I can almost feel the September sunshine resting on my shoulders.
I like to think he'd smile knowing that his daughter built an entire life around light.
Around hope.
Around helping people remember the beauty that still exists, even after life changes in ways we never expected.
Five years have passed.
The ache isn't the same.
It's quieter now.
Less like crashing waves and more like a familiar song that still finds me every September.
I still miss him.
I probably always will.
But these days, when the sun warms my face...
When music fills the room...
When laughter lingers around the table...
When creativity flows through my hands...
I don't only feel the weight of his absence.
I feel the gift of his presence.
Because some people never really leave us.
They simply become part of the light we carry forward.
And if you've ever wondered why I believe so deeply in choosing joy, noticing beauty, and turning our faces toward the light...
Now you know.
Part of that sunshine has always belonged to him. 🌻💛
Continue the Journey
Spend time with the Heart Reset Reflection or The Aligned Life Journal as you reflect on the people whose love continues to shape your life.
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