How Do You Apologize to Someone Who's No Longer Here?

June 6th is forever the worst day of my life. It’s the date my father passed away. I was 27 years old when it happened and some years, I've done nothing on this day - just turned everything off and disappeared. Other years, I've kept myself frantically busy, desperate not to think about it - out of sight, out of mind.

But this year, I’m choosing to share (some) of those feelings. The truth is, my Dad and I had a complicated relationship when he passed. I was barely on speaking terms with him for a number of reasons I won’t get into right now because this story is about my actions - the choices I made nine years ago and the shame I still feel about my behavior the very last day I saw him.

It was Memorial Day weekend, 2016. I was only two years removed from winning Miss America, and everything in my life still felt surreal and new. Don’t get me wrong, my family still had issues, but no one knew that from the outside. And luckily, I thought I had escaped that. My sister and I had just moved to New York City a year prior, and we were living our best single girl lives.

My parents had come to visit us in NYC that weekend and looking back, I can see how my Dad was trying to make an effort to connect with me - to apologize for the very things I was mad at him for. But at the time, I thought to myself, I’m not ready to forgive him, so I don’t have to.

I remember the last interaction with my Dad clearly. He had a few hours before his train and my Dad ever so kindly (there was always charm about him) asked me to get lunch with him. Just the two of us. It should have been a simple yes - I knew he had good intentions and I could see him tiptoeing around me, risking a harsh rejection.

Which is exactly what I did. I was mad. Upset. Holding onto anger that felt justified at the time but now feels so small in comparison to what I lost.

Instead of saying yes to lunch with my father, I shook my head in a firm ‘NO’ and told him I had “important plans". Meanwhile, my plans involved a date with some guy I hardly knew at a shitty mexican joint. Someone who wasn't even worth my time, let alone worth choosing over my dad.

I still remember the deflated look on my Dad’s face, but him calmly saying, “okay.” I watched him get into an Uber with his backpack, and I remember having this feeling I'd never experienced before in my life. It was unsettling in a way I couldn't name - like the looming feeling that something bad was happening…is happening. That something was wrong. That this could be the last time I see him.

I ignored it. I told myself I was being paranoid. That I was crazy. I shoved the feeling down and went to get a manicure, put on some “hot girl makeup” and left for my date in what are now probably considered basic bitch Louboutin heels.

Two days later, I got the call. My Dad had a brain aneurysm and was in the hospital.

That decision - to blow him off for a meaningless date - is something I regret more than anything else in my life. There's so much more to our story, so many complications and reasons why we weren't really on speaking terms. But in that moment, when he reached out, when he asked to just get a sandwich, I chose wrong.

Here's what I've learned about grief and regret: they're messy and painful, especially when the relationship was complicated to begin with. But what I wish I had then - what I wish I could tell my 27 year old self - is that you can hold space for both things. You can be angry about someone's choices and still show up for them. Our culture is all about setting boundaries (which believe me, I’m the queen of doing), but you can set boundaries and still choose love in small moments.

If you're in a phase of your life where all you want to do is be with your friends, go out, date people, escape your family—I get it. I was there. But I wish I had better communication tools then. I wish I'd been able to talk openly with my family when something was wrong. So take the time to work on those feelings now.

Maybe if I hadn't been holding all that anger so tightly, I would have been able to have one last lunch with my Dad. I don't know. But I wish I'd tried.

🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

This is a safe space, so please share in the comments below or feel free to respond to this email 💕