August, it happens every year.

A year ago I made a post about significant events that have happened in my life in the month of August.

My father passed away on August 27, 2023.

I am bereft. I have been in mourning. Grief is the old friend waiting by the door.

My father gave me three things that I’ve held close all my life.

The first, he gave me my name. I am an End of Horn. His name is on my birth certificate. He told me about our family and the pride he held in being a descendant of Gall.

I have upheld our name to the best of my ability. Our name is in the alumni rolls of the University of North Dakota, mine next to his, for a bachelor’s and a master’s degree. He was so proud that I attended his alma mater.

I went on to obtain a doctorate. Our name is in the alumni rolls of the University of Pennsylvania, an Ivy League institution that has stood for 283 years.

I am now pursuing another master’s degree at John Hopkins University. He loved John Hopkins. I never fully understood why. His only response was because John Hopkins knows healthcare. Maybe that was enough. Our name will live on their alumni rolls.

I have published papers. I have presented at conferences. I am an expert in my field of study. Our name is known and will live on. That’s the legacy I have given to my father.

The second, he gave me direction. My father was a typical dad. He was not part of my childhood; he did not raise me. He once told me that he knew I had good grandparents. He knew I was raised well. He never felt the need to intrude or be involved. He spoke highly of my grandparents. He respected them. As such, he left me alone because he knew I would be cared for better than what he could provide. I respected and appreciated that. I know what he did in his life. I know of his past struggles. He would’ve stepped in if he had too, and my life would’ve been much different had that occurred.

When I graduated high school, I was top of my class and won numerous scholarships, but I was also being recruited by the military as I had high testing scores. I was being offered large sign on bonuses. When I told him, he said to me, “I served so you don’t have to.” He served in the Army. He was very proud of his service. He was a combat Veteran and had shrapnel embedded.

Not once had he interfered in my childhood or told my family how to raise me. This direction was the only direction he ever gave me. So, I listened. I accepted my scholarships, and I went to school and obtained an education.

Years later, while I was in graduate school, we discussed his lack of involvement in my childhood and life. It hurt knowing he was not involved but looking back, I am grateful he knew that my mom’s family was good to me. We spoke a lot about my half-siblings and how he viewed raising children.

Lastly, he gave me his truth. He was never a dad to me. He knew it, I knew it. He acknowledged he was my father; he acknowledged his own short comings. Our relationship was never that of parent and child, father-daughter, but more like distant relatives who saw each other every so often. More often our telephone conversations felt like old friends catching up rather than a parent speaking to their child, or daughter speaking to her dad.

I knew my father as much as he allowed me. I respected him. I uphold what he has given me, my life. All that he was is gone but a part of him lives on in me. I am his daughter; I look like him. I’ve been told many, many times I act like him. That includes stubbornness, frankness and an affinity for a little paranoia now and then.

He gave me what he could, and I am grateful. Wherever he is in his journey to the spirit world. I would want him to know, I am okay. I knew of him and his life, but I never knew him. Now, I never will and that’s okay. He taught me the hardest lesson I’ve ever had to learn. Blood isn’t family. Family are the people who nurtured you, taught you, stood by you, believed in you.

I may not have had him as my dad, but I did have uncles who did what he couldn’t. As I mourn the passing of my father, I find myself thinking of my uncles, my mother’s brothers and cousins. They acted as my father figures and words cannot express how much I miss them.

I have your name and your eyes. I see you when I look in the mirror. I am my father’s daughter. Thank you, dad. I have a good family. May you continue to rest peacefully.