One sunset I photographed before the moment became a memory.
A good few months or so ago, I met a stranger on Substack.
His name was Sam.
And we really connected, because we shared a similar identity.
We were both fathers who wanted to leave something behind
for our children to understand us better.
Sam and I actually found each other on the same night.
I noticed him interacting with one of my notes,
so I clicked on his profile and started reading his writing.
And while I was leaving him a comment on one of his notes…
He was leaving me a comment on one of my blog posts.
Almost at the exact same time.
That was how we met.
And it was a night I probably won’t forget.
After that, Sam became a regular reader of my work,
and I became a reader of his.
I found out he grew up here in Oregon too,
before eventually moving to Washington.
But we have never met in person. Never shook hands.
Never sat across from each other and talked.
That is really it…
Still after a while, I got used to seeing his name show up.
A few days ago… I was having one of those nights.
I was missing Grandma and thinking about Sao’s upcoming birthday.
I also had not been as active on Substack lately.
But that night, I had finally finished a piece about my own insecurities with coming back… and somehow realizing that the writer in me still felt the same.
And like he had done so many times before…
Sam showed up in my comments.
And reminded me to keep writing.
At the time… it just felt like Sam being Sam.
I wasn’t on when this happened.
I didn’t know he was leaving…
and I am not even sure if he ever read my reply.
But before Sam left… he read my pinned piece about losing my grandma.
Left me a beautiful one sentence uplifting comment.
Then…
He restacked my latest piece with a note that hit on something I had been forgetting lately.
But I remember I read this note…. and closed Substack.
Only to open it back up a few minutes later….
And read it once again.
Sam’s goodbye to me before leaving Substack.
I sat with this note for a few days…
because I couldn’t understand why it made me think so much.
I was never good with saying goodbye one last time…
when I knew it was the last time.
I really do get attached to people.
And the boy in me probably still believes every goodbye
could somehow just be a temporary departure.
That perhaps one day…
our paths might cross again.
There was a lot in that note that got to me.
Him calling me a hell of a father.
Reminding me to keep writing.
Remembering that weird night when we somehow…
found each other at almost the exact same time.
But there was one part I kept going back to.
“If you reach even one soul, your work holds value.”
Then…
“You reached mine.”
It was as if Sam knew how worried…
I had been worrying about my writing.
And how none of this mattered to me before I started writing…
That somewhere along the way…
numbers found their way into something
that was never really about numbers.
And on his way out…
Sam made sure to remind me of this.
One person was always enough.
I am a little better at goodbyes by now.
But this goodbye felt different.
Because maybe not everything that ends
has to have something broken behind it.
Sometimes the time you had with someone is simply…
the time you had with them.
My sons…
There is something about this I want you to understand one day.
Something that your dad…
at this point in his life is still trying to understand too.
Every single thing in your life…
will not stay.
You are going to meet people who become part of your world for a while.
And then one day… they will be gone.
Sometimes you will know why…
And often times… you won’t have an answer.
The boy in Dad… used to think that if something really mattered…
you were supposed to find a way to hold onto it.
But… Dad is not so sure anymore.
One day my sons…
you are going to understand this in ways I wish you never had to.
So maybe I am learning something from Sam leaving.
Learning that maybe…
loving something is not always about finding a way to keep it.
But sometimes…
just recognizing that it was here.
Like a timestamp left on an old photograph…
proof that for one moment in time…
it was here.
And somehow…
the memory can outlive us all.
And there’s something beautiful about just appreciating that you got to have it at all.
Sam and I did not know each other for very long.
But he was here. We connected.
And it didn’t really matter whether it was for a short time or a long while.
I read his words. He read mine.
And for a little while…
two fathers sitting somewhere on opposite
sides of a screen understood each other.
Sam…
You told me that I reached one soul.
You reached mine.
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