12/08/2025
Five years. It’s hard to believe that much time has passed since we lost you. Five years without hearing your voice on our awkward phone calls where we don’t really know what to say to each other, without one of your honestly dumb jokes or pranks that always seemed to brighten everyone’s day, without the steady presence that shaped so much of who I am. Even though you were a pilot and we’re gone for days on end, I can’t think back and think of a time you weren’t there for me, or missed anything. You showed up to every tennis match to every taekwondo tournament into every Christmas and Thanksgiving.
I think about you every single day. Not just in the heavy moments, but in the small, unexpected ones that catch me off guard. Now that I’m a dad myself, there are so many questions I wish I could ask you. And it’s not even the big questions that get me the most — it’s the little ones. The tiny, insignificant curiosities that pop into my head and make me wish I could just pick up the phone and ask, “Hey, what did you do when…?” Or “was I like this at this age and how did you handle it?
Arlington is almost three now, and Harris is four months old. Both carry your name as their middle name — Austin. Instead of the family tradition of Joseph (A middle name in our family that hasn’t changed since the civil war), but I figured if there was any Stahl that I would want to honor it was you. I wish you could see them. You were so good with kids, even though you always seemed terrified of the idea of having grandkids. I think deep down you were just scared of your kids growing up and having kids of our own.
I see you in the way I try to father them. In the way I care for people. In the way I try to show up. You taught me how to care, how to pay attention, how to put others first. My “why” comes from you. From watching you help people without needing any credit. From the quiet strength you somehow carried everywhere you went lifting everyone around you.
You never got to see the life Elizabeth and I have tried to build or the man I’ve become, but everything I do still feels connected to you. Every accomplishment, every step forward, every moment with my boys — I carry you with me.
I miss you more than I will ever be able to put into words. I hope I’m living a life that makes you proud. I hope I’m giving my boys the same love, strength, and gentleness you gave me. I told Elizabeth recently, I don’t know if I will ever be a better man than you are but I can try to be as good of a father as you were.
Five years without you, but I feel you with me every day. And by the way, I know what I would say if we had another one of those awkward phone calls. I love you dad, and I miss you.