Daniel Nock

Dear Daddy, 1 year. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes. That’s how long a year is. That’s how long we have had to figure out how to navigate this new world without you. Every minute feels like an hour. Every hour feels like a day. Every day feels like a week. Every week feels like a month. And this whole year has felt like an eternity. Who I was a year ago is not the same person who I am today. I am more forgetful and more broken than I knew I could be. I keep waiting for that moment when the death of one of your favorite people turns you into this stronger version of yourself that you didn’t know existed, but I think I’ll be waiting a little longer for that. Last year at your funeral, so many people shared stories with us about how you treated them. I wasn’t surprised to hear that you were kind, but I was surprised to hear just how many people shared such special one on one moments with you. Because of your example, I’ve wanted to create more moments like that in my own life with the people I love. You may not have left us with endless financial wealth, but you left us with the wealth of memories that money could never buy. You left us with the ability to smile and ache for you when we think of you and talk about you. When these chapters end on all of us at some point, all we leave behind is how we made each other feel seen and heard. All we leave behind are the memories we took the time to create. All we leave behind is the love we made each other feel. The absence of your presence has reminded me of the importance of making and creating meaningful memories with those I love. I’ve tried to be more present at recitals, holidays, birthdays, and vacations. I’ve tried to have more phone calls with Donnie, go to as many games as possible for Alana, and be more present in my regular every day conversations with Rocky. All of that was done with you in mind…just to be a little more like you in small ways. Mom asked me to draw a photo of you for this weekend. I knew how emotional it was going to be, and I kept putting it off. Once I started, I realized I was drawing you how I thought you should look. This first drawing almost looked like you - if you were Conan O’Brien - but it definitely wasn’t you. I was nervous about adding the shadows, because I thought it would ruin the drawing. That’s when I realized I had to take out my own expectations of what I wanted, and draw you as you were…shadows and all. You may not have been an artist, but you recognized that the shadows weren’t flaws, and even if they were flaws, they made us who we are. You loved us anyway. You never tried to erase those shadows. You took each of us in as we were and created each memory with careful strokes. I hope you are able to take a step back from the work you did with us and be proud of the family you created with Mom. Even with all the shadows that your death has cast upon our lives, the memories you made with and for us have been the highlights. After your funeral, when little things happened that we felt came from you, we started calling them “Daddy Hugs”. We have shared most of those in our group chat every time we get one. Before coming to Utah last week, I selfishly asked you to send me snow, and as we were finishing family pictures yesterday, it snowed for literally 2 seconds. Thank you for my “Daddy Hug” this weekend. Speaking of “2 seconds”, I read recently that if Earth’s entire 4.5 billion-year history were compressed into 24 hours, modern humans would appear at 11:59 and 58 seconds…just 2 seconds before midnight. Maybe that is why this year has felt like an eternity, and maybe that is why we feel like the luckiest of modern humans to have been yours. Even though I wish this nap was shorter, I hope you continue to rest peacefully. I love you, Daddy. I’ll see you again in just a second.