10.22

It doesn't matter if it's the date.

Sometimes it's my total.

When those two numbers, 10 and 22, team up, I wince.

My dad was born on October 22, 1964.

I never called him "dad" and nowadays I usually say "my late father" (Father is so formal). I called him "dad-DEE" until I was 17 years young. That's when he died, suddenly, one Sunday before our family's very eyes.

But back to the wince v. winced drama, I no longer feel the need to recover those feelings of grief, shock and void. I cling to keeping his legacy alive. Even in his death, I've found breadcrumbs leading me to the character Michael Ramon Herring (and my mama) envisioned for me.

A man demanding of excellence, I find myself giggling in his absence as I catch myself overthinking a personal or work project that I just know can be just a bit better. Through his work, words and actions, he taught me how to:

• connect with people

• improvise

• be honest

• give back

• focus on a goal

• try new things

• grow my community with great people of integrity

• trust God

Obviously, the last isn't least here and this is no exhaustive list. I'm grateful.

In my work as a journalist, I feel more prepared for difficult and exciting stories thanks to my dad. At 43 years old, he died. But he continued teaching me -- perhaps, non-consensually -- the most powerful lessons on empathy, humility, love and suffering. It's why I care so much about accurate news and storytelling, even the more heartbreaking headlines. No matter the story, I know each person is dealing with, or dealt with, something I have absolutely no idea about.

So, I try to bring grace along daily.

My dad traveled the world and climbed corporate ladders, despite adversity, and definitely loved family. I miss him, but I'm healing and remembering his repeated catchphrase of "Believe/Achieve" this Thursday afternoon.

Marvis