There’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, especially with Father’s Day this weekend, as I reflect on all the posts I’ve shared over the years about hope, letting go without giving up, going where the love is, and #ThisDadWontQuit. So much of that writing, in one way or another, has been about being a dad. And I know that sometimes, especially after writing about letting go and choosing to keep living my life, people wonder what that really means. Some have questioned whether the love is still there. Others, in different ways, seem to question whether it should still be there at all. Whether after everything that has happened, I should just write them off, write off that part of my life, and move on as if it no longer matters.
But that is not how love works. At least not for me.
Letting go of the fight, or at least letting go of the need for the fight to define every day of my life, does not mean letting go of the love. It does not mean I write off my daughters, or the years we shared, or the father I was fortunate enough to be. It does not erase what I gave, what I lived, what I fought for, or what I still carry.
Despite how things ultimately turned out, despite the heartbreak, the alienation, and the years of fighting to stay connected to Dani and Niki’s lives, I still feel incredibly blessed that I got to be their dad. And part of that blessing was that, for the first years of their lives, we were a family together with their mom before the divorce. Those years matter deeply to me too. They are part of the story. Holidays, routines, vacations, dinners, laughter, exhaustion, traditions… all the ordinary moments that become priceless once enough time passes.
Then came the divorce and everything that followed.
What many people don’t understand is that there were plenty of moments over those next 15–18 years when people advised me to walk away. To stop fighting. To accept that the battle could never really be won against someone so committed to alienation and determined to keep me out of my daughters’ lives. But I couldn’t do that, because being their father was never something I was willing to casually surrender. So I fought to remain a regular part of their lives, and looking back now, I cherish not only the time I had with them, but also the fight itself. The fact that I refused to take the easy way out. The fact that I continued trying to suck as much living as I could out of being a dad.
And I mean really being their dad. Not just in title, but in practice. The pickups, the late-night talks, the vacations, the disagreements, the responsibility, the problem-solving, the laughter, the tears, and all the figuring-it-out-as-we-go moments that parenting is actually made of. Some moments I handled well… some I wish I could do over. That’s parenting too. But I showed up consistently, completely, and with love.
And although I have not spoken or truly communicated with either of them for many years now, they still surround me every day. Photos from so many stages of their lives are throughout my apartment. Photo books sit on tables. I still have books they loved, stuffed animals, gifts they made when they were little, and things that once mattered to them. One of the boogie boards we used years ago, with Niki’s name on it, still comes with me to Long Beach every summer.
Silence does not erase presence.
Some people have called it a shrine. I call it my history. I call it love. I call it proof that these relationships, these memories, and these years we shared were real, something I always carry with me. Because what we do, how we feel, and what we hold in our hearts is always ours to own and cherish… no one can take that away.
That’s something I first came to understand through the challenges I’ve experienced with my daughters since my divorce more than 20 years ago. But over time I’ve realized it applies to everything in life. The good things we hold in our hearts about family, friends, work, love, and life itself… those are ours. The memories are ours. The love is ours. The meaning is ours.
What I hold in my heart and memories are mine, and no one can take those from me.
And while there’s deep pain in where things stand today, there’s also something nobody can erase… I was there, I loved fully, and for a meaningful part of their lives, we shared something very real.
People sometimes think posts like mine about my daughters are only about loss. They’re not. They’re also about gratitude. Because as painful as this journey has been, I know how lucky I was to experience the joy, meaning, chaos, responsibility, and love that comes with truly being a dad. Somewhere along the way, #ThisDadWontQuit slowly evolved into #TheDadWhoWillAlwaysLove. Not because I gave up, but because I realized love itself was always the point. I’ve also learned that there is nourishment in the love we give, even when life doesn’t return it in the ways we hoped.
The memories are mine… The love is mine… The gratitude is mine… and despite everything, I still feel blessed that I got to be their dad. #TheDadWhoWillAlwaysLove