Loss is a tax we all pay.

The loss of my father was an unexpected one. My father was the hardest working man I knew. I so rarely saw him out of his uniform white shirt and gray pants that, when he did wear jeans or a T-shirt, I would have to take a second glance to make sure he was, in fact, the mahogany man who brought me into this world.

His one comfort about working so hard was that he would some day retire. Dad had it planned out to the day. “When I retire,” he’d say, “I’m going to rest, baby. When I retire, I’m gonna be free.” But, cancer came before retirement. And an accident that paralyzed him came before cancer. My hard-working father was a quadriplegic with a cancer diagnosis. Yet, he never complained. He remained patient and positive through treatments, procedures, complications, medications, and the constant wave of bad news. I never witnessed him frown or cry.

I cried on my way to the hospital to see him, but never in front of him. Instead of crying, I spent those difficult days with him — watching cartoons, laughing, and eating his favorite foods , as prepared by my dedicated mother. Dad was so happy, surrounded by his “fantastic four,” which is what he called his children. There was not one day when we were not by his bedside. The staff knew our names and even secretly let us stay beyond hospital hours to comfort him. The nurses said he was their favorite patient, and the doctors said they wished everyone in their care was like him. When I brought him water, he would smile at me as if I had given him a million dollars. When I held his hand, that he worked so hard to regain feeling in, he tried to caress me. He always sought to soothe us through his words and actions. After my mother would wash his hair or give him a facial, he’d say, “I’m looking good, baby.” I’d reply, “So good, Daddy.”

We were not surprised when the hospital informed us that we had reached his last days. When the doctors told us it was time for hospice, Dad wanted to make sure we were okay; he wanted to know if he had been a great husband and father. I thought of every breakfast he made me before going to work. I thought of every comic book character or sci-fi show he introduced me to as a curious child. Our memories together were not like sand castles, because I knew they would never be washed away by the tide of death.

When his time on earth was ending, Dad and I didn’t talk about life insurance, retirement packages, or possessions because those conversations had already happened. We didn’t talk about past mistakes or future moments he would miss. We lived fully in the moments we had together. We enjoyed the gift of the present, where we were united.

As a parent, I spend time with my children and prioritize them above work, just like my father did with me. When my terrific three lose me, I want them to have so much joy built up in their love bank, that they can afford to pay the tax of loss. Generational wealth was the love, peace of mind, and quality time my dad and I got to share together. To this day, I have never felt as rich as I did having two living parents.

I’m grateful to my fabulous father for showing us that every day is a chance to make a love deposit. True love compounds over time. All we have to do is to learn to invest time into one another.