Goodnight, Minkie

A Birthday Surprise

I woke up on my birthday with a familiar heaviness in my chest. It was the kind of weight that comes from missing someone so deeply, especially on a day they always made special. This was my first birthday without my dad here to call me. All day, I felt the silence where his voice used to be, trying to smile through the ache.

Then in the afternoon, I saw I had a voicemail waiting. It was from Kathleen--my bonus mom, the best one I could ever ask for. I don't live close to my parents, but we've always stayed close. Her message was warm and kind, and a voice I needed to hear today. Her soft voice gently letting me know to check my email when I had a chance as she found something I had been looking for. I didn't know what it could be. I thought maybe an old photo or a handwritten letter. But when I opened my inbox and hit play on the file, I froze. It was a recording--a song.

The first few notes of Billy Joel's "Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel)" struck a chord in my heart before I even knew what it was. And then I heard it--my dad's voice, singing. That beautiful tenor tone I knew so well, rich and soft, carried through my headphones and wrapped around me like a warm memory. I sat there in stunned silence, tears rushing down my face as I listened to him sing the lullaby.

He had the most beautiful tenor voice--clear, emotional, and full of soul. He could harmonize so effortlessly, something I always admired about him. Hearing that voice again-his voice--was like being wrapped in love I hadn't realized I still needed so badly.

And at the very end--just as the final note faded--he added something more. His voice, tender and familiar, quietly said "Goodnight, Minkie."

It stopped me in my tracks. Like somehow, he had known I'd need to hear it again one day. Like he had recorded it not just for our father daughter dance, but for a moment like this--when he wouldn't be able to call or say it in person anymore. A time when he'd be gone from this world and resting in Christ, and I'd be left here missing him in every corner of my day.

I never thought I'd lose him so suddenly. I was 37 when he passed. Today, I turned 38. And even though he isn't here in body, this lullaby...this message...it gave me a moment with him again. And I will carry that with me for the rest of my life.

Not long ago, just the other day in fact, I wrote in this very blog that I wished I could hear my dad say "minkie" one more time. It was a quiet longing I carried inside--a simple, aching wish. And somehow, today, that wish was granted.

As I sat alone, listening to the recording over and over, I cried hard. I didn't try to stop the tears. They weren't just grief--they were gratitude. To hear him say my name, in his voice, with all the love that only a father could hold--it was a moment I'll never forget. A piece of my heart that had been missing clicked into place.

This lullaby is now a thread between this world and the next. A reminder that love, real love, doesn't end. It shifts, it echoes, and sometimes--on the days you need it the most--it finds a way back to you.

So tonight, I end this birthday not just a year older, but full of something deeper: connection. Grace. Peace. And my dad's voice in my heart once more.

Thank you Kathleen, for finding it.

Thank you for finding it. For holding onto it. For knowing exactly what it would mean to me. You gave me a moment with my dad, on a day I missed him the most. That lullaby was a gift, but your love--the thoughtfulness, the timing, the care behind it--that was the real miracle. You didn't just send me a file. You gave me back a piece of him. And I'll tresure it, and you, forever.

This wasn't the birthday I imagined. But it gave me something I didn't know my heart still needed. A lullaby. A voice. A goodbye that somehow felt like a hello. It brought me the one thing I didn't know I'd get--his voice. His love. That soft, familiar "Goodnight, Minkie" that felt like a hug from heaven.

It cracked me open in the most beautiful way. Because grief doesn't go away, but today..love reached through it. And it found me.

Thank you, Daddy. I heard you. I felt you. I miss you more than words will ever say. Kathleen...thank you from the bottom of my heart, for giving me the gift my heart didn't know it was still waiting for. You gave me a moment with him I thought I'd never have again. I will never forget this. I love you so deeply for that.

To my husband, thank you for tring to make today feel special in all the ways you could. I know its not always easy, but your effort meant a lot to me. I saw it. I felt it. Thank you for being part of this day, and for helping me carry the hard parts.

To my kids, my family and the friends who reach out with love--you made me feel remembered. Held. Loved. I felt it in eery message, every call, every hug. And I needed it more than I can say.

Thank you for seeing me today. All of me.

Heres to Chapter 38. It's started with tears, with longing, with missing someone who should still be here. But it also started with love. With his voice. With a gift I never expected but needed more than anything. As I close out my birthday with tears on my cheeks and love in my heart. I'm so grateful that even in his absence, Dad still found a way to sing me to sleep.