Father’s Day always stirs up memories, and for me, they’re bittersweet. My dad passed away in early 2001, just a few years after he retired. I was in my early 30s, unmarried, and had no kids yet. He didn’t live long enough to see me become a parent or build my own career. But even now, more than two decades later, I feel his influence in the most unexpected and meaningful ways.

He was an Air Force officer — analytical, level-headed, and thoughtful — the kind of man who always got picked for jury duty because he was smart, fair, and practical. After his military service, he transitioned into civilian life and worked hard until Parkinson’s began to take its toll. It was a long and difficult journey, but through it all, he was a trooper, and my mom was right there beside him.

I remember when my now-husband, Kevin, met my dad. Kevin had flown out from Detroit to visit, and we spent an afternoon looking at my dad’s old backpacking slides. Even though my dad could no longer speak, when Kevin correctly guessed the location of one of the photos, my dad gave him a thumbs-up and smiled. That moment — that silent gesture — was all the blessing I needed. He didn’t get to walk me down the aisle, but he met Kevin, and that meant everything.

My dad taught me so much about values, even after he passed. He was the executor of my grandmother’s estate and, true to form, handled everything meticulously, even though it all could’ve legally gone to him. Instead, he followed the wishes of the will and distributed the estate fairly among his brother and the grandkids. I remember receiving my 10%, about $30,000. It was the foundation for my first investment account and eventually helped fund the down payment for my first home. That legacy of thoughtfulness and integrity lives on.

He also patiently worked with me on college essays, attended law school fairs with me, and always talked about the power of having your own business. I think, in many ways, he quietly influenced my journey into estate planning — even if he never said it outright.

And now, as a mom, I see his fingerprints on my kids, too. My son, Matthew, never met him, yet he’s always been drawn to the military. He’s in ROTC, preparing for the Navy, and shows leadership that reminds me so much of my dad. When Matthew was just 5, we visited the cemetery, and he looked up and said, “I wish I could’ve known Grandpa Tom.” He never met him, but he knows him. That’s legacy.

Here’s the thing: Legacy isn’t just about money or titles. My dad left behind stacks of photographs, a love of Sunday drives, and a sense of adventure I didn’t appreciate then, but treasure now. Those weekend road trips, whether to see wild poppies in Lancaster or explore a new trail, are the memories that stuck.

So, this Father’s Day, I’m thinking about legacy. Not just the kind you put in a trust or a will, but the kind that lives on through stories, values, photographs, and small traditions. And maybe that’s something we can all reflect on — whether we’re parents now, hoping to be, or honoring those who came before us. Legacy is more than what we leave for our families. It’s what we leave in them.