Letter to My Dad

Dad,

Sometimes I can still feel you here, like you’re quietly standing just over my shoulder, making sure I don’t lose my way. And maybe you are—because the way life has unfolded lately feels like it has your hand in it.

Your colleagues—your friends—are building a softgel facility in your honor. These men who worked beside you for decades, who knew your strength, your humor, your loyalty… they loved you enough to carry your name forward. And somehow, I get to be a part of it.

I didn’t get this because of anyone else. I got it because of you. Because of who you were and the respect you earned. Because of the way you left pieces of yourself with the people who mattered, and now they’re giving a piece of that back.

Dad, I wish you could see it. I wish you could see how much they still talk about you with admiration in their voices. I wish you could see how proud I am—not just of what they’re building, but of you. You deserve this. You deserve every bit of it.

And I know you’d tell me to keep my head high, to step into this with confidence, because I’ve earned my place too. I hear you, even now:
“This is where you’re supposed to be. I’m proud of you. Keep going.”

This isn’t about anyone else. It’s not about the noise or the drama. This is your moment, Dad. Your name. Your legacy. And I promise I will guard it, honor it, and build on it in a way that would make you proud.

I miss you. But I carry you with me in this. And I think that’s why this feels so right—because it’s ours.

I love you, Dad. Always.