Tom Murphy's Daughter

For 57 years I was Tom Murphy’s daughter.

Then one day, in May, I wasn’t anymore.

Thing is, I used the phrase “Tom Murphy’s daughter” often. I mostly said it to my husband when he would lovingly chide me over being ridiculously early, or adherent to the rules, or worrying about safety.

Because none of those are bad things- and are all too often rare things- I would explain myself proudly and with a smile: "I am Tom Murphy’s daughter.”

It’s Father’s Day and I am no longer Tom Murphy’s daughter. Not here. On this side. Here I am nobody’s daughter on a day that celebrates fathers. And I don’t have one. These holidays are heart skewering for the newly bereft. For anyone grieving, truly.

If you’ve never been Tom Murphy’s daughter you don’t know how special it is. When you’re little, it means you get to wear his supernaturally white t-shirts as pajamas and be called “pumpkin” and get to learn how to fish and tune up cars at the hand of a master.

When you’re Tom Murphy’s daughter, you grow up with the world’s greatest role model for work ethic. You learn the nobility of working hard to provide for your family. You never have to be told to show up early and stay late. You don’t have to be instructed on doing things fully and well. You see it in action so frequently that it becomes part of your DNA. You don’t even know what it looks like to coast. You can’t imagine being like that if you tried.

You learn to love rules when you’re Tom Murphy’s daughter. The world is full of them; both written and not. Rules bolster society, keep things polite, ensure whatever predictability or control we can muster stays intact, make us feel safe, and provide a set point for our moral compass. To his chagrin, Tom Murphy’s daughter spent the first few decades of her life averse to the rules. I course corrected, though. I know he was relieved.

When you’re Tom Murphy’s daughter, you get the privilege of witnessing a man who didn’t have a father become a great one, a man who never saw a good husband become the best one, a man who never really had a family create a solid one. That was all love in action. Tom Murphy didn’t talk about love. He embodied it. He wasn’t cards and flowers. He was presence and paychecks. And so much more.

As Tom Murphy’s daughter, I had a front row seat to someone fulfilling the harder part of his marriage vows. He dutifully attended to the worse, the poorer, and the sickness. It was honestly the most beautiful thing to watch him love my Mom through her cancer battle and the end of her life. It made me fall in love with my Dad and created the bond we shared till he left.

Tom Murphy was a truly good husband. He showed me what I could wish for and should expect. And when my man asked Tom Murphy for his daughter’s hand in marriage, having my Dad’s blessing meant everything. It also meant that he knew I was in good hands with my husband; someone who would be the kind of man to me that my Dad was to my Mom. Someone who has gotten me through every moment since I stopped being Tom Murphy’s daughter.

Being my father’s daughter has made me who I am. Tom Murphy gave me some of the best parts of myself, almost entirely through his example. I am proud of that. I’m proud that I know how to clean a fish and change spark plugs. I’m proud that I have an unflappable work ethic and sense of duty. I’m proud to have been raised by a good man who made sure I was betrothed to an equally good man. And I am proud I got to be by Tom Murphy’s side as he finished his race.

If Tom Murphy were still here, I would have given him a handwritten card today and told him how proud I am to have him as my Dad. I would have given him a gift he didn’t need, but hopefully would have used. I would have taken him out for Mexican food and made some spaghetti and meatballs or pot roast or meatloaf to fill up his fridge. And, having done all that, I would still feel like it fell short in communicating how much it meant to me to be Tom Murphy’s daughter.

But he knew. And he knows.

I miss him every day. Especially today.

Be gentle with people today. And, if your father is still here, please cherish that. So many of us would love just one more moment with our dads. One more moment of being someone’s daughter.

Xoxo, B