My Daughter’s Greatest Gift

As I walked today, I found myself texting a dear friend, trying to unpack the sadness that has been lingering in me. At first, I thought it was just about Bacon Bits—about the weight she’s going through, her loneliness, and the pain of not having her family intact. But then it hit me.

I’m not just sad for her; I’m sad because I know that emptiness. I know what it feels like to want someone and not have them there. That loneliness isn’t foreign to me—it’s a wound I’ve carried for a long time, one I didn’t fully recognize until now.

When I think back to my childhood, Sundays were my sanctuary. My grandfathers were my safety net, my constants. They were there, grounding me and giving me a sense of stability and love. And when they were gone, that safety net was ripped away. That’s when the darkness crept in when the depression took root—the feeling of being left behind, unmoored, alone.

Today, that memory touched my soul in a way I didn’t expect. It’s as if I finally saw the starting point, the origin of the sadness I’ve carried for so many years. And now, seeing Bacon Bits’ pain, I realize how much of myself I see in her. It’s heartbreaking to witness, but it also gives me clarity.

This is a moment where I have the power to do something different. I can’t erase Bacon Bits’ pain or undo the losses she’s endured, but I can be present for her in a way I wish someone had been for me. I can be her safety net. I can show her that even in the midst of loneliness, she is not alone.

And maybe, just maybe, as I work to support and heal her, I’ll find a way to offer that same love and understanding to the boy I used to be—the one who felt abandoned when his grandfathers were no longer there.

This isn’t just about Bacon Bits; it’s about breaking the cycle of loneliness and creating something new and healing for both of us.