My six-year-old asked me today if he is related to my father. Dad died a couple of months after he was born, they never met. Then he asked me to play the songs I used to listen to with my father when I was a child. So we did. And tonight I read your poem, with your father’s song in it. It touched me. Thank you.
This really moved me. Thank you for sharing it. I love that your son wanted to know his connection to your father, and that the music became a bridge between them. X
Oh! My dad loves old spice as well. Whenever I catch a whip of it in the store, I think of him. For the moment is still here. But one day I know I will echo your words, and those touched me.
Beautiful. I can hear your love for him in your voice. The exceptional woman you have become is a living testament to the caliber of father he was he was and brought John Mayer's song 'Daughters' to mind...
"I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left
Cleaning up the mess he made
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Boys, you can break
You find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without the warmth from
A woman's good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the God and the weight of her world
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
So mothers, be good to your daughters too" ~ John Mayer
Claire, the repeated sunsets, midnights, and sunrises give this poem its ache: time keeps arriving while grief is still standing in yesterday’s doorway. The sky blue fleece, Old Spice, Elvis song, your name, his eyes, and the hand at your back make your father present through the smallest survivals of memory. The line about the fleece smelling less like him holds a whole fear, that love can remain fierce while the sensory traces begin to thin. You honor him without polishing the pain, and the final line lets the reader feel how grief keeps meeting a calendar that never asks permission.
Beautiful, Claire. The fleece, losing the smell, it’s like grief and how it slowly fades, yet has its intense motives. I still feel like this about my mom and she passed in 2009. I lost my dad at 22 and sadly, he was an emotionally absent father. My feelings about him were complicated. But I had a couple of very older brothers that filled some gaps. Lovely Claire, as always thanks for stirring the emotions and memories ❤️
Some people leave this world, yet never leave the places they built inside us. Your poem carries grief with remarkable tenderness, without ever forcing it. The closing lines will stay with me. Thank you for this beautiful piece, Claire.
This is beautiful, Claire - I too lost my dad in April of 2021. He still lives in me. I hear his voice and speak his words everyday. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you so much, Marilyn. There's something about April, isn't there? A season so full of new life, yet for both of us it also carries such profound loss. I'm glad you feel your dad still lives on in your words and voice. X
Gosh, how lovely. I remember my Dad as I read your words. And I can inhale the Old Spice of his hugs and how we too danced together and how, as long as I live, he'll never be gone. I'm sure you can feel that too...
Prue... that line has completely undone me. "As long as I live, he'll never be gone." I actually had to stop and read it again. You're right. They live on in our voices, our memories, our gestures, in the way we laugh, the words we choose, even in the scent of Old Spice that catches us completely by surprise. Thank you for giving me those words today. X
Wow, it was 17 years ago when my dad died, and I thought I'd be fine reading this. But I was so touched, it's the little things, the old spice and hand at your back guiding you, and the ability to pick up the phone. I've got tears streaming down my face as I write this. I'm sorry for your loss Claire, thank you for sharing this, and reminding me of how much I loved my dad x
Oh, Melissa... isn't it extraordinary how two people who have never met can find themselves crying together over words, carrying that feeling? I'm so sorry you lost your dad too. I think that's the extraordinary thing about grief, it doesn't measure itself in years. If my poem brought him back to you, even for a few moments, then sharing it was worth every precious word. Thank you for telling me. 🤍 X
This is deeply moving...thank you for trusting us with something so personal. Wishing you peace as you continue carrying your dad with you 🫂
Thank you so much. I think we carry the people we love in a thousand small ways, and somehow they keep walking beside us. X
You’ll always have silver linings, love how you have that in common ✨
He always found the light. I definitely learned that from him. X
My six-year-old asked me today if he is related to my father. Dad died a couple of months after he was born, they never met. Then he asked me to play the songs I used to listen to with my father when I was a child. So we did. And tonight I read your poem, with your father’s song in it. It touched me. Thank you.
This really moved me. Thank you for sharing it. I love that your son wanted to know his connection to your father, and that the music became a bridge between them. X
Oh! My dad loves old spice as well. Whenever I catch a whip of it in the store, I think of him. For the moment is still here. But one day I know I will echo your words, and those touched me.
“I missed you today,” ❤️
Beautiful. I can hear your love for him in your voice. The exceptional woman you have become is a living testament to the caliber of father he was he was and brought John Mayer's song 'Daughters' to mind...
"I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left
Cleaning up the mess he made
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Boys, you can break
You find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without the warmth from
A woman's good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the God and the weight of her world
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
So mothers, be good to your daughters too" ~ John Mayer
Beautiful Claire, he is with you, looking through the eyes he gave you each time you look in the mirror 🩵✨🩵
Claire, the repeated sunsets, midnights, and sunrises give this poem its ache: time keeps arriving while grief is still standing in yesterday’s doorway. The sky blue fleece, Old Spice, Elvis song, your name, his eyes, and the hand at your back make your father present through the smallest survivals of memory. The line about the fleece smelling less like him holds a whole fear, that love can remain fierce while the sensory traces begin to thin. You honor him without polishing the pain, and the final line lets the reader feel how grief keeps meeting a calendar that never asks permission.
Beautiful, Claire. The fleece, losing the smell, it’s like grief and how it slowly fades, yet has its intense motives. I still feel like this about my mom and she passed in 2009. I lost my dad at 22 and sadly, he was an emotionally absent father. My feelings about him were complicated. But I had a couple of very older brothers that filled some gaps. Lovely Claire, as always thanks for stirring the emotions and memories ❤️
Some people leave this world, yet never leave the places they built inside us. Your poem carries grief with remarkable tenderness, without ever forcing it. The closing lines will stay with me. Thank you for this beautiful piece, Claire.
Thanks Antonio. I think the people we love become part of the landscape of who we are, and in that way, I suppose they never really leave us. X
This is so deeply moving, the grief, the meaningful way you express it. I am touched. Thank you for sharing this.
This is beautiful, Claire - I too lost my dad in April of 2021. He still lives in me. I hear his voice and speak his words everyday. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you so much, Marilyn. There's something about April, isn't there? A season so full of new life, yet for both of us it also carries such profound loss. I'm glad you feel your dad still lives on in your words and voice. X
Gosh, how lovely. I remember my Dad as I read your words. And I can inhale the Old Spice of his hugs and how we too danced together and how, as long as I live, he'll never be gone. I'm sure you can feel that too...
Prue... that line has completely undone me. "As long as I live, he'll never be gone." I actually had to stop and read it again. You're right. They live on in our voices, our memories, our gestures, in the way we laugh, the words we choose, even in the scent of Old Spice that catches us completely by surprise. Thank you for giving me those words today. X
Wow, it was 17 years ago when my dad died, and I thought I'd be fine reading this. But I was so touched, it's the little things, the old spice and hand at your back guiding you, and the ability to pick up the phone. I've got tears streaming down my face as I write this. I'm sorry for your loss Claire, thank you for sharing this, and reminding me of how much I loved my dad x
Oh, Melissa... isn't it extraordinary how two people who have never met can find themselves crying together over words, carrying that feeling? I'm so sorry you lost your dad too. I think that's the extraordinary thing about grief, it doesn't measure itself in years. If my poem brought him back to you, even for a few moments, then sharing it was worth every precious word. Thank you for telling me. 🤍 X