Through Every Storm
I Will Stand By You
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Music
Music holds a special place in my life. There's something about a well-crafted song that can speak directly to the soul, wrapping its message in melodies and rhythms that linger long after the last note fades.
I find myself drawn to songs with meaning, the ones that carry a depth beyond just words and notes. These are the songs that resonate, that linger in my thoughts, and that hold a mirror up to the experiences and emotions we all face.
There's an undeniable power in music—something beyond mere entertainment. A good song has a way of reaching inside, touching on truths we might struggle to articulate ourselves.
It gives voice to feelings that sometimes go unspoken and brings clarity to the complicated emotions of life. And for me, as a father, certain songs seem to carry an even greater weight, reflecting the love, the worry, and the unwavering commitment I feel toward my children.
It’s in these moments of connection that I realize the value of these songs. They are more than entertainment—they impact, they empower, they remind us of what matters most.
And when I hear a song like I Won’t Let Go by Rascal Flatts, I’m reminded of my own promises as a father, and I find myself compelled to put those feelings into words. This piece is one such reflection, born from the melodies and meanings that continue to inspire me.
Through Every Storm
As a father, there are moments when I find myself reflecting deeply on the meaning behind certain words or lyrics, particularly those that seem to resonate with my role as a dad. I hear this song, and it feels like a conversation I might have with my children, preparing them for the inevitable storms of life.
"It's like a storm / That cuts a path / It breaks your will / It feels like that"
Life is like a storm, unpredictable and often harsh, tearing through all that stands in its path. I've seen it, lived it, and I know there will be moments when the strength within them falters. But even as I recognize the weight of this world, my heart remains anchored in a promise—one that I will always stand by them, no matter how fierce the storm becomes.
"You think you're lost / But you're not lost on your own / You're not alone"
When they feel lost, when life has taken its toll, I want them to remember that they are not alone. Though they may feel adrift, I will be there—whether as a presence in their lives or as the memory of a father who loved them unconditionally. They are not alone; I won’t allow them to be.
"I will stand by you / I will help you through / When you've done all you can do / If you can't cope"
I think about the times they might struggle, when their hearts are heavy, and when it seems like there's no more fight left in them. It pains me—deeply—to think of their suffering.
"I will dry your eyes / I will fight your fight / I will hold you tight / And I won't let go"
I wish I could shield them from every hurt, every tear, but I know that’s not possible. What I can do, though, is promise that I'll be there to dry those tears, to fight alongside them, and to hold them close when the darkness seems overwhelming.
"It hurts my heart / To see you cry / I know it's dark / This part of life"
My greatest fear as a father is seeing them in pain. It’s something I dread, but it's also a part of life I can’t control. What I can control is my response, my unwavering commitment to them. I will stand firm, be their refuge, and hold onto them when the world tries to break them.
"Don't be afraid to fall / I'm right here to catch you / I won't let you down / It won't get you down"
And I hope, in their darkest moments, they remember this: that it’s okay to fall. Falling doesn’t mean failure. It's a step in their journey, and I’ll be there to catch them, to lift them back up, to remind them that they’re stronger than they believe. Because they will make it through—I know they will. It’s not just a hope; it's a belief, rooted in my love for them.
As a father, my promise is simple. I will be there, through every storm, every struggle, every tear. I won’t let go—not now, not ever.
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I read your stuff, but I don't write often. It's difficult to see what a good father you are and think about what happened in my childhood. I was reminded, because of my EMDR therapy yesterday, of a moment when I kind of ran away (but only in an apartment building - not outside). I eventually went home because of learned helplessness, I realized nothing I could do would change anything. I was going to have to go to my dad's house for the weekend.
I was going to write here that it wasn't abusive, but I think it felt like neglect, and I should stop trying to minimize what I went through. It's just a different kind of abuse. It seems like that's a time when I should have been comforted, and maybe listened to, and maybe things could go differently. But I learned that it didn't matter how I felt, I just had to do it. I wish I had felt that kind of love you have for your children.
Beautifully written. I’m new to SubStack and you’ve given me another option of sharing my writing. I humbly thank you.