In 2017, I delivered the eulogy at my father's funeral. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do -- not only because of the loss, but because we had waited nearly two months before we were able to cremate his remains. That delay stretched the grief into something heavier, more surreal.

As a Buddhist, I've always carried the understanding that nothing in life is permanent. But nothing -- nothing -- can truly prepare you for the moment you're forced to say goodbye to a parent.

I don't remember what I said that day. What I do remember is standing there, crying through my words, watching my siblings and aunties cry with me. The shared sorrow in the room was both heartbreaking and strangely beautiful -- a reflection of how deeply my father was loved. 

I think of him often. On Father's Day. On his birthday. And in quiet, unexpected moments -- while driving, walking, or just sitting in stillness. Certain places and spaces stir his memory, and suddenly, he's with me again.

In those moments, I feel an overwhelming flood of emotions. Grief, yes -- but also gratitude. I remember his humanit -- his struggles, his wisdom, his laughter -- and how those parts of him live on in me. In the decisions I make. In the mission we pursue here at Legacies. He may no longer walk beside me, but his presence flows through my bloodstream and echoes in every heartbeat. His legacy lives on.

To all of you, my dear friends, who still have your father in your life -- especially those who are blessed with a loving relationship -- I gently encourage you: call him. Visit. Share a meal. Listen. Laugh. Even the ordinary moments can become the most sacred memories.

With love, remembrance, and hope,

Sera