“Is this dad?” a resident assistant asked by nodding at my Uncle Dwayne as we rolled my cart filled with dorm essentials and storage bins toward my new home in Virginia-Snider Commons.

“No,” I said and smiled awkwardly while my uncle corrected him.

Two days earlier, I flew into Dallas from Aldan, Pennsylvania, for my freshman move-in at Southern Methodist University. Like many students, going to a school where I virtually knew no one was a leap of faith. I packed my life into a giant hard-shell suitcase and traded cold, gloomy Pennsylvania winters for hot, sunny Texas summers.

When I said goodbye to my mom, I also said goodbye to my childhood home, which was going up for sale. My dad died two years earlier, and without him, keeping the house was not sustainable.

In my basement-level room at Virginia-Snider, my uncle, my mom’s brother, and I unpacked endless Target shipments my mom ordered for me. She was across the country at North Carolina A&T State University, helping Chase, my twin brother, move into his dorm.

Two twins, tag-teaming across the country with family for our move-ins— a day I looked forward to since I was young. But doing it without my dad felt surreal.

Eventually, it was time for my uncle to head back home. We hugged, and I was on my own for good. As I sat on my bed, I thought of the one person I always imagined would see this moment— my dad. Who knew three words, “Is this dad?” could pierce my heart so deep?

“That was my dad, the man”
My dad, Marc, was one of my best friends. We had the same initials, MSJ, which he wore proudly on his monogrammed Lands’ End sweaters. He had a shoe collection of loafers and neon colored sneakers that spanned the length of our entire staircase. He had dimples that shone anytime he smiled or laughed. He loved house music and sang and danced in the car, the living room and even the grocery store.

Known as “too cool” in his high school years for his preppy wardrobe and eye for fashion, he approached life with a sense of fun. That’s why three other words pierced my heart even deeper in March 2019, my freshman year of high school.

“I have cancer,” he said after a series of tests at the University of Pennsylvania’s Penn Presbyterian Medical Center. Doctors had found a rare neuroendocrine tumor in his gallbladder.

The symptoms and cancer diagnosis came out of nowhere, and gradually got aggressive. He was in and out of the hospital for treatments and visits, often staying overnight. Though he was 20 minutes away, the commute to University City in Philadelphia was hard to make on school nights because of traffic.

Seven months after my dad’s diagnosis, he was placed on home hospice when doctors realized the chemotherapy did more harm than good. No longer could he physically get up and dance around, but his love for music remained. I compiled a Spotify playlist with 19 songs for him to listen to over his treatment. Lalah Hathaway’s cover of “Angel” reminded us of the vocal run he’d attempt to sing when it came on the radio in the car, but hilariously failed. I included songs from our favorite electronic house duo, Disclosure, which made him bop his head, still dancing with limited mobility.

After 10 months of a mighty fight, he died on New Year’s Day in 2020. Every year since then, my family celebrates the joy a new year brings, but the complex sadness of yet another year without him.

“A human being so true”

My first week of freshman year at SMU was filled with excitement. I absolutely loved my roommate, enjoyed my classes and decided to run for a first-year senate seat in the Student Senate.

I updated my mom on everything through calls home, but I wanted to hear my dad’s voice as well. I wanted to tell him all about college. At the end of the week, I decided I would do just that.

On a walk through Snider Plaza towards Curtis Park, I listened to the Spotify playlist I made for him, and talked to him in my head. Since his death, music had been my way to connect with him. As I looked out at the nearby lake, I felt his presence with me. It’s a feeling that’s hard to explain, but I knew he was there.

“Song for My Father,” performed by jazz drummer Louis Hayes and jazz singer Gregory Porter, stuck out to me.

The song is a jazz standard originally performed by The Horace Silver Quintet in 1965. It blends piano with Brazilian and Cape Verdean influences as a dedication to his father, an immigrant from Cape Verde. Lyrics were later added by Ellen May Shashoyan, and many artists, including Hayes and Porter, have recorded the song with her lyrics. I enjoy the quintet’s instrumental version, but the lyrical version with Hayes and Porter is special.

“If there was ever a man who was generous, gracious and good, that was my dad, the man,” Porter sang.

This song encapsulates the loving character of the father I was lucky to have growing up.

“Always stand by me”

Rediscovering “Song for My Father” in my freshman year gave me a way to incorporate my dad into my daily life in college. It’s become a part of my life’s soundtrack. I listen to it while I walk to class and think about him, or cook dinner in my apartment and imagine he’s sitting on one of the barstools waiting to eat with me.

Since 2021, I’ve added 80 songs to my Spotify playlist, including “Song for My Father,” all of which carry a special memory of him.

When you lose a parent, especially when you’re young, grief comes in waves. My senior year in high school, I grew comfortable with his absence, but a profound sadness came over me as I started my life in college. My dad had been there for every life stage; now, I realized he couldn’t see the milestones that lay ahead of me.

With the support of my family and lifelong friends I’ve made at SMU, I’ve come to learn my dad’s presence is never truly gone. In all the SMU experiences I’ve celebrated, from study abroad adventures in South Africa and Denmark and interning at NBC News in Washington, D.C.— a dream I shared with him— I know he’s been with me.

While questions still linger in my mind of what he’d think of me at SMU or how life would look if he were here today, I know that I am becoming the young woman my mom and my dad nurtured and shaped me to be.