Generational Gratitude: A Letter to My Girls

Thank you for your time, and the opportunities to begin again

Yesterday, I moved away from my girls. Again.

The first time was November 2023.

My ex and I unexpectedly separated, and I was hurt. And in a rush to distance myself, I relocated almost 40 minutes away in a matter of days.

Married to Gratitude: A Letter to My Ex

Then, in September of last year, I was laid off and lost my source of income, apartment, and—largely—my direction in life.

Without a second thought, my ex offered her spare bedroom as a temporary respite. The very same one I used to work from before moving out only a few short months earlier.

Since then, I’ve worked through immense pain, and tremendous beauty has unfolded.

Most exquisite of all, though, has been reconnecting with my daughters. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing them for who they are instead of seeing them through a lens of sadness. And they’ve gotten to know who their father is when he’s not acting from a place of self-hatred.

Granted, I’m now only 15 minutes away. However, moving out from under their roof again resurfaced a lot of sadness I still hadn’t faced.

The difference? Instead of running, this version of Derek leans into his pain, asks what it can teach, and then compassionately releases clinging to it.

And this letter is a manifestation of that self-healing.

May it honor the two most in-tune humans ever to grace this planet, and my blossoming relationship with them.

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To My Babies,

I’m so sorry.

For not addressing my mental health struggles earlier.

For destabilizing you, and not being emotionally available when you needed me in response.

For scaring you, when I should have scooped you into my arms and held you tightly.

For considering it a chore to rub your back.

In all the ways I abandoned your mother, I recognize that I abandoned you even more.

Because you were both so young and couldn’t make sense of my chaos. Or how it was extinguishing your inner lights.

Or why it felt so damn awful.

I suffocate under the weight of the millions of miraculous moments I let slip through my fingers over the years. And I recognize that nothing I write here can make up for these misdeeds.

However, this is a time of new beginnings. An era of renewal brought about by shifted perspectives.

So, instead of ruminating about what has been, in this letter, I choose to express my gratitude to you both for these last eight and a half months and lean into what will be:

Thank you for 256 nights of getting to say “good night.”

Thank you for 256 mornings of sending you off to school.

Thank you for 256 afternoons of watching you come home.

Thank you for thousands of little moments—the fleeting seconds—in between.

For the hundreds of smiles. Laughing with you. The hugs.

For the dozens of “can you please keep it down” in the middle of naps.

The many, many eye rolls.

Over the course of 256 days, I watched friends—and boyfriends—come and go.

And I witnessed two independent, breathtaking young women step into their authenticity when faced with these challenges, and then meet them with emotional grace.

At this point in my journey, I recognize that the most precious gift we can give to anyone is our time. So, thank you for gifting me these past 256 days with you.

If nothing else, I want you both to know that I now see you: Your light. Your kindness, compassion, and empathy. Your limitless promise.

I see that you are miracles. You are love, expressed. And you are reflections of everything good in this world.

Never again will I allow you to forget these truths. Nor for your lights to be dimmed.

Instead of saddling each of you with the weight of generational trauma, I will—for the remainder of my life—only equip you with the freedom of generational gratitude.

So, thank you.

Thank you.

Thank.

You.

Now, I might be a little farther away geographically, but I’ve never been closer emotionally.

I love you both more than you will ever know,

Dad