Super Bowl Sunday

8 February 2026:

My grief for my father hits me in strange ways sometimes. 

This evening, after a quiet but good day of getting lots of work done and feeling fine (even good!), I find myself tearing up. 

It’s Super Bowl Sunday. I don’t really care about football and won’t be watching the game. But I started thinking about how my mom and dad watched every year, sometimes hosting my siblings and sometimes going over to their houses. I would sometimes call and do the whole “phone passed around” thing. 

And he’s not there this year. 

I felt similarly on New Year’s Eve, though it resonated in a different way. I thought, “This is my first New Year’s Eve without my dad being alive.” And I have so many memories of New Year’s Eves in the past. 

Again, what do I care about the Super Bowl? Why am I crying about him missing get-togethers that I never went to? That he and my mom usually left by halftime? I know the answers are right there and not very deep. Because he’s gone and it’s really hard and sad. 

(My mom told me yesterday that Chris and Jennifer—bless them!—were going to come by the house, bring some food, and watch the first half there.)