Every July feels heavy ❤️
It’s not just because of the 27th. July holds so much of our family’s story. We celebrate my
birthday, then Dad’s birthday, and before the month is over, we’re remembering the day we had
to say goodbye to him. A month that should be filled with celebration somehow always ends in
heartbreak. That’s why July has never felt like an ordinary month to us.
No matter how many years pass, July always takes us back to the day our lives changed
forever. This year marks 10 years since we said goodbye to our Dad, and somehow it still feels
like yesterday.
People often think it gets easier with time. I don’t think it does. You just learn to carry the grief
differently. It becomes part of who you are. Even on the happiest days, there’s always a part of
your heart quietly wishing one person was still here.
Unless you’ve lost a parent, it’s hard to explain that feeling. One day you have two parents who
love you, guide you, and cheer you on through every season of life. Then, in what feels like the
blink of an eye, one of them is gone. Life keeps moving, but your heart never quite feels
complete again. One parent is left to hold your family together whilst staying sane.
Thank you Mum. Our beautiful Matriarch.
One thing I’ve realised since losing Dad is that someone else’s grief can awaken your own.
I never thought it would happen to me again. But watching my best friend lose her Manamea,
and my husband lose his beloved grandma, took me straight back to 2016. It reminded me of
the unbearable feeling of losing Dad. A pain so deep you would never wish it on anyone.
What has been hardest is watching your own children experience grief. How do you explain
something you’re still learning to live with yourself? How do you tell them it’s okay to cry when
you’re trying to hold back your own tears?
Through it all, one thing has never failed me: prayer. It hasn’t erased the pain, but it has given
me peace in the middle of it. It has reminded me that even on the hardest days, God is still
close.
On the 27th of July, 2016, we said our hardest goodbye to our Dad.
He was stubborn, strong-willed, talented, and the rock of our family. Through 7 years of battling
cancer, he never let his faith in God stop. Even when his body was tired, his spirit never was.
Right until the end, he reminded us to trust God, stay connected to Him, and never lose our
faith. He lived what he believed.
Dad wasn’t just our father—he was our biggest supporter, our protector, and the one who taught
us what resilience looked like. He always wanted the best for us and constantly reminded us to
never give up on our dreams or ourselves.
One of the greatest gifts he gave our family was music. Music has always been part of who we are.
Zephaniah (I even named my son after it) was the name of our family band. IYKYK. Dad had
me and my siblings performing everywhere—weddings, socials, pō siva… you name it. Looking
back, we probably complained at the time, but those are some of my favourite memories now.
Dad wasn’t a man of many words, but he had the biggest heart for his family. He showed his
love in the way he brought us together, and music was always at the Centre of it.
After Dad passed away, music became my healing. It became the place where I could grieve,
remember, and feel close to him again. Now, it’s how our family copes. We laugh together,
worship together and remember him through every song we sing.
Every harmony shared between my siblings carries a little piece of Dad. I truly believe music is
one of the ways God has carried us through our grief. His love for music lives on in each of us,
and every time we sing or play together, it feels like he’s still right there with us.
Life has gotten busy, and we don’t get to play together as often these days. But I hold onto the
hope that one day our kids will sing together the way we did. That they’ll know where it all
began, who their Papa was, and how his legacy wasn’t just the music—it was the love, faith,
and family he built through it.
Some legacies aren’t measured by what you leave behind. They’re measured by what continues
to live on through the people you love. ❤️
Now that I have a family of my own, I understand his love even more. I wish my children had
more time with their Grandpa Misi. I wish he was here to celebrate every milestone, every
birthday, every achievement, and to spoil his grandchildren the way only he could.
Mum turning 65. Watching our families grow. Celebrating life’s blessings. These are beautiful
moments, but they always come with a quiet ache because we’ll always notice who’s missing.
We’ll forever miss our Jackie Chan lookalike. His strength. His wisdom. His awkward smiles. His
faith.
Dad, thank you for teaching us to trust God, love deeply, and lean on one another. We hope
we’re making you proud.
Ten years without you, yet your legacy lives on—in our faith, in our family, and in our love for
music.
We love you. We miss you. And we’ll carry you with us for the rest of our lives, until we meet
again.
“Dad, Fa’afetai mo mea uma. E tumau pea lou alofa ma lou fa’amanuiaga I totonu o
matou loto. Alofa atu pea, se’ia toe feiloa’i.” ❤️
Thank you, my beautiful bestie, for allowing me to share my perspective on grief. With grief you
never heal, your heart just learns to live differently without your loved one. A heartache that
never goes away but one thing’s for sure – God always carries us through.
-MS xx
29 & Widowed 