Coping with Grief: Jada Strother’s Heartfelt Open Letter to Her Father

Dear Dad, 

As you know, I enjoy being full of love. I enjoy being happy; I enjoy taking the time to live life. But lately, it feels like I lost my sparkle. 

I know I want to work. I want to finish the goals you and I talked about. But I’m only 19, and all I can think about is how much life I have left to live without you. 

You had me when you were only 23 years old. While becoming a father scared you, you genuinely loved being a dad and did it very well. There is not one memory I have of you that explains our relationship. What I love is that we have so many memories because you spent so much time with me and poured so much wisdom into me.

I’m only 19, and all I can think about is how much life I have left to live without you. 

We rode bikes, drove around the neighborhood, took long walks, and went out to dinner. If there were something new I wanted to learn, you would show me how or point me in the right direction. You never let me believe that anything was impossible. I wanted to learn how to cook. So, we started with HelloFresh because it gave us a set list of instructions, which we needed because you were also learning along with my sister and me. You got really good at making salmon and, like me, loved cooking on the grill. Eventually, you gave us a little more room in the kitchen, and you would take us to the grocery store, and we would cook everything. It would be a feast. You always emphasized to us sitting down and eating dinner as a family. After homework and dinner, we’d watch a movie every single night. 

I am a sensitive person, and I think that I got that from you. Sometimes, a moment would feel overwhelming, and I wouldn’t know what to do with my emotions. You would make a simple joke so I could let out that emotion as laughter.  

I felt so understood by you, even when it came to experiences you couldn’t possibly know much about. When my cycle came, you would leave me water, Tylenol, and chocolate or take me to the store and tell me to get whatever I needed. 

You made me feel safe in this world as if I was always protected. Even when I had to do stuff on my own, you made me feel like I was never alone. 

Then, on August 24, 2019, my little sister and I were staying with you. It was the third day of my freshman year, and I randomly woke up at 3:27 am. I felt frantic and out of it. Your room was across the hall from mine, and within five minutes of waking up, I heard you scream. You passed out on the floor and started seizing. I learned from Grey’s Anatomy what to do when someone is seizing, so I turned you on your side and called 911.

Doctors found a brain tumor right away, but they did not know if it was cancerous. Even so, when I looked over at you in the hospital bed, you were smiling like nothing had happened, and seeing you so positive made me feel better. But days later, after your surgery to remove the tumor, you sat me down at home and told me the tumor was cancerous. You told me I was not going to give up on any of my goals. On my own, I looked up the survival rate for your cancer, Glioblastoma, and it wasn’t good. But you made us feel like this was not permanent and it was just a challenge we were dealing with right now. 

The next two and a half years flashed before my eyes. It felt like I blinked and my favorite person was gone. We had so many ups and downs with your cancer. Even so, you never changed who you were as a person or as a father. 

We had countless conversations in the middle of the night, where I would go upstairs to your room and cry because of what was going on. I knew what was happening but didn’t know what to do with these emotions. 

You raised thousands of dollars riding your bike in the Great Cycle Challenge to fundraise for children with cancer because you didn’t want any child to go through all that you had to endure. 

You tried your best to live life to the fullest, experiencing as much life as possible while still showing compassion and supporting others.  The day of my first lacrosse game, you weren’t supposed to leave the house because you were so sick, but you wanted to come. I scored a goal, and you were so proud and happy. 

Eventually, the Cleveland Clinic told you there was nothing more they could do for you, and you decided to travel once a week to Penn Medicine in Philadelphia for a clinical trial. You didn’t want to pass because you had four daughters you wanted to take care of. 

I tried to see you every single day. And during COVID, I didn’t socialize with my friends because I knew you were immunocompromised. I cooked and did what I could at home to help. During your illness, I showed up for you the way you showed up for me, not to pay you back but because my love for you is so deep and knows no bounds. 

The tumor, combined with a stroke, eventually impacted your motor skills, and you could no longer talk after October 2021. I read to you and tried to help you learn words again. With your family by your side, you passed on June 12, 2022, four months after your 40th birthday. I was 17 years old. 

Dad, it’s been hard, really hard, without you. Once everybody in school knew what was happening, they all thought I would give up. But I knew you wouldn’t want that. You would always tell me, “When you’re tired and feel like you want to give up, you always have a little more fight left.”  So, I still overachieved. I graduated with honors, went to prom, and am now in college. I continued my plan just like I promised you I would. My goal is to become a software solutions engineer just like you. I even want to work at the same company you did. Right now, I am studying to get my degree at Cincinnati and have a co-op opportunity this summer.  

You are my motivation in life, and honestly, nothing in life scares me anymore because nothing can hurt me as much as losing you did. I have a tattoo of your face on my arm and a picture of you as my screensaver. People always ask, “Is that your Dad?” And they are always talking about how you’re a fine man. However, I tell them you were a genuine and amazing person and dad. 

Nothing in life scares me anymore because nothing can hurt me as much as losing you did.

I have a boyfriend, and in little ways, he reminds me of you. And don’t worry about me dating; you set a standard of not only how a man should treat me but how anyone should treat me. And I don’t accept anything less.

Dad, it’s almost three years since you passed. You’d be really proud of my resilience and maturity. You would be proud of my growth and my ability to bounce back. But what I think would make you most proud is that all the values, lessons, and morals you instilled in me stuck. My head is on straight, and Dad, I am not giving up. 

I’m not going to lie. Some days, it feels like somebody took my heart out of my chest and wrung it out. It feels like I was pushed out into the world and am on my own now. However, I have learned that life doesn’t stop because you’re going through something. So, I keep taking life one day at a time, leaning on friends and family, and doing the best I can. 

It’s impossible to do anything without being reminded of you. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Dad, I would pick you to be my dad in every lifetime and every realm. And as much as I miss you, I know you are an angel on my shoulder, following and watching me. Deep down, I know that I am highly protected and favored. 

My emotions are stronger now because I have had time to process my grief.  And while I can’t seem to find the same joy in life I once did, I know in time I will. I know I will get my sparkle back because, within me, there is so much of you. 

Dad, I will forever love you and carry your legacy with me.