I hope you are doing well and taking care in this season of your life.
The last 6 months have held a lot for me.
Most importantly, my partner Sun's father, Bob, passed away in May. The grief and intensity of this loss have been immense. I am grateful for the friends and loved ones who have held my partner and me through this season.
Speaking about Bob's passing has felt intimidating - I still cannot speak of him without crying. It's felt too big to share and too big to ignore.
I want to share some moments from my relationship with him. Not because I have to; I know I don't owe anyone these precious stories. But I'm giving myself permission, with my partner's blessing, because I need it.
So if you have a moment to be with this story, I invite you to help me honor Bob English Sr. and his legacy of love.
On a Friday in April, Sun, my partner of ten years, called me and told me that their Dad had been given days to weeks to live.
I immediately drove the hour and a half to where they live.
The next day was one of the most profoundly sacred days of my life.
In the morning, Bob was sitting on the couch, covered in blankets. Linda (Sun's mom) was in the kitchen cooking.
Sun grabbed the microphone for the karaoke sound system and began to sing to their dad.
Bob's singing voice - and spirit - was legendary. He played the lion in The Wiz on Broadway. His voice was part of his ministry. It was how he loved. When he became a father to Sun, he left the theater, and the world became his stage. There were dozens of stories of Bob breaking into song in public - and people being moved to tears as a result.
Sun inherited Bob's gift. They have the kind of voice that makes walls tremble, and everybody stand still.
So that morning, they sang to their dad for the last time.
After a few songs, they asked me if I wanted to sing too.
In 2024, when I lost another loved one, this song Space and Time by S.G. Goodman was a huge comfort.
That day, I kneeled down in front of Bob and sang it to him from the depths of my soul. Through sobs. Through caresses of his hand. Looking into his eyes.
"I never wanna leave this world
Without saying I love you
Without saying what you mean to me
You know it makes me happy
Oh, when we share this space and time
Want you to know you shaped this heart of mine
And I never wanna leave this world
Oh, without saying I love you"
Afterwards, I was able to speak with him one last time.
As always, he shared his love effusively.
He called me his Little Giant.
He shared stories I had never heard before.
He reminded me that I'm part of their family. And he wants me to feel welcome on their land for the rest of my life. He made sure I knew the truth of his love.
The first time I met Bob in 2017, I had been with my partner for a year or so. I flew to Virginia from California, and when I began hearing stories from Bob's life, I was in awe. A fellow Leo, he was a storyteller. It seemed he had lived 50 lives.
During that trip, I got a call that my Dad had had a heart attack. After I hung up the call, I'll never forget how Bob shepherded my grief. Sun, Bob and I sat on Sun's bed as a stream of light came through the window. When I began to cry, Bob began thanking God for my expression.
Let it out, baby.
Thank you, God, for these tears.
He beckoned the fullness of my expression.
He created a sacred space for my sorrow.
He knew that my tears were born from love.
I had never given myself permission to cry like that.
Over the years, I experienced a kind of love from him that I had craved my whole life.
He was bold and undeniably expressive in his love for me.
He saw my soul and encouraged it.
He listened to my stories.
He honored my healing.
He saw me challenge injustice, sometimes intensely, whenever I encountered it, even in him.
He told me countless times how much he loves me. He never played it cool in expressing his love.
He tried to draw me close - making it clear how much he wanted me in the family and on the land.
He looked out for me: wanting to know I was safe, asking for confirmation when I arrived, giving me pepper spray, car tools, asking me when my last oil change was, reminding me he always had my back.
It was a privilege to be loved by him. To become his family.
And now that he's left his body, I can still feel his love.
During his funeral, the front row of the church only had three spots, where my partner and their brother sat next to their mom. I ended up smashed in the next church row next to Bob's estranged sister and his great-grandchildren.
As the sorrow moved through me, with no one to comfort me, I gave myself permission to express it.
I let my sounds be heard.
I remembered Bob holding me in my grief.
Let it out baby.
Thank you, God, for these tears.
My face is covered with tears right now.
I still hear him welcoming it all.
He knows it is love.
Bob, thank you for loving me. Thank you for your giant soul. Thank you for your songs and your stories. Thank you for letting me know you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
I will continue your legacy of love.
I created this video that played at his funeral to honor his life. If you have a moment to fully witness it, you are invited to honor him with me.
