There’s this strange, beautiful thing that happens when your dad is gone. His voice—maybe not always loud when he was alive—suddenly becomes the loudest thing in your head.
Example: You're fixing something around the house, the kind of thing he could do with his eyes closed. You mess it up, of course. And suddenly there he is, chuckling somewhere deep in your brain: “Measure twice, cut once, son.”
He’s not being smug. Just... present. Like he always tried to be.
When I was growing up, my dad wasn’t one for long speeches. He wasn’t poetic. He wasn’t trying to go viral with his advice. He just said things. Short, often gruff or funny, always packed with more meaning than I realized at the time. Now, those phrases are little treasures I dig up without warning.
"Ya don't have to tell EVERYBODY everything you know....just shut up sometimes and listen."
"Show up on time. That’s 90% of life right there."
"Don’t say it unless you mean it—and mean it if you say it."
“Don't wait for someone to tell you what to do, if you see it needs to be done...do it!”
He’d drop those like he was ordering coffee. And I, being the kid with a PhD in knowing everything, would nod and forget them five minutes later. Or so I thought.
But here I am—dad to my own kids now and a Grampa...and his voice shows up uninvited but always welcome.
Grief is weird like that. It fades, softens... but it leaves behind echoes. Words that linger. Advice that has aged better than any of us.
And I’ve found that sometimes, when I’m talking to my kids, I say something and realize—oh man, that was him, I sound like DAD! His words. Out of my mouth.
It’s not spooky. It’s legacy.
I don’t remember every gift he ever gave me. I don’t remember every birthday or every joke. But I remember the way he said things. The look he gave me when he said them. The feeling behind the words.
I think that’s how dads keep showing up, long after they're gone. Not in the big, dramatic moments—but in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon when something breaks, or when your kid asks you a question you don’t totally know how to answer.
He’s there. So, if you’ve lost your dad—or even if he’s just grown quiet—try listening a little closer. His voice might still be right there, in your head or in your heart, offering a reminder, a warning, or just a bit of wisdom when you need it most.
And if you're a dad yourself now... be generous with your words. Your kids might not seem like they’re listening. But one day, they will.
And your voice will echo too.