I Missed the Signs and I Am Still Her Dad

I missed the signs.
And I am still her dad.

Those two truths sit side by side.
They still do. More than 10 years after losing Maddie.

I remember a regular evening at home.
Nothing heavy.
Dinner dishes on the counter.
Phones out.
I asked how her day was.
She answered, “Fine,” and went quiet. Never looking up from her phone.

Her voice sounded flatter than usual.
I noticed it.
I did nothing with it.

There were more moments like that.
Shorter answers.
More time alone in her room.
Less eye contact.
A subtle pulling away.

I saw it happening.
I just did not understand what I was seeing.

As a parent, it is easy to explain those moments away.
Teenagers change.
They want space.
They test independence.

That explanation gave me comfort.
It let me believe everything was normal.

After Maddie died, those moments came back with force.
Grief replayed them over and over.
It asked hard questions.
Why did you not push more?
Why did you not ask better questions?
Why did you let it go?

That voice carries a lot of shame.

Many parents carry this same guilt.
You notice something feels off.
You sense a shift in tone or energy.
But life is full.
You are tired.
You do not want to overreact.

So you wait.

This makes sense.
Parents are trying to respect boundaries.
You do not want to interrogate your child.
You do not want to create conflict where there is none.

The intention is care.
The impact can feel very different for kids.

When a child pulls back and nothing changes around them, they can feel unseen.
They may hear silence as confirmation that their feelings are not worth naming.
Because they do not yet have the words.

I did not know that then.
I know it now.

Here is the part that took me the longest to accept.

Missing signs does not mean I did not love my daughter.
It means I am human.

Love does not make you all-seeing.
Parenting does not come with clear alerts.
You act based on what you understand in the moment.

Love is blind. Now I understand why.

That matters.

I am still her dad.
That did not end when Maddie died.

It lives in how I reflect now.
It lives in how I talk with other parents.
It lives in how I show up differently when I notice a shift.

If you notice a change in your child, you do not need a perfect response.
You can try one small thing.

Name what you see without judgement.
Say, “I’ve noticed you’ve been quieter lately.”
Then pause.
Let the silence do some of the work.

They may not open up right away.
That is to be expected.

Change like this is slow.
It happens in millimeters, not breakthroughs.

You might still miss things.
That does not make you a bad parent.

What matters is staying willing to notice.
To stay curious.
To stay present, even when it feels uncomfortable.

If this brings up guilt, sit with that gently.
Guilt shows that you care.

I missed signs.
I live with that truth.

I am still her dad.
I live with that truth too.

Both can exist.
And both can guide how you choose to see your child today.