abbey hamilton

Exactly ten years ago today, I lost my dad. The man who was supposed to be my rock, my shoulder to cry on, my protector.

I still remember how tightly he hugged me the last time I saw him, how he whispered “I can’t wait to see what you’ll draw next”. I remember having moments when I’d finish a new piece and my first thought was to send it to him, and the jarring realization that I couldn’t. I remember having dreams about him, where it felt like we had some extra time together. His loss was too abrupt. A sentence that was cut off in the middle.

It’s weird that I’ve done most of my growing-up without him. At every big moment of my life, there was a small part of me that wished he could’ve been there to see it happen. This past year, I’ve felt his absence more deeply than usual. Moments like seeing fathers take their daughters on special outings, watching father-daughter dances at weddings, or scrolling past Father’s Day posts, things that rarely got to me before, hit a little harder this time. I didn’t even realize we were nearing ten years without him.

Ashton and I spent the night at a small villa we had stayed at on my birthday twelve years ago, to read the letters he left us. It was the only letter he’d ever written us. It felt surreal, but there was a steady peace that surrounded us as we sat together on the beach. I know I’ll never stop missing him, but I’m so grateful for my Heavenly Father who sees and meets us in our grief and pain.

If you’re feeling hopeless, please know that there are people who see you and care for you, and there’s a God who loves you very very much. <3