Dear Batman

I learned from you what it means to live in service.

Not the loud kind. The quiet kind.

The kind that shows up every day without needing recognition.

You served what you loved most—fully, faithfully, without complaint, without rest, without hesitation. This is how you loved my mother, your truest love. And this is how you loved us girls too. Steady. Present. Unassuming. Complete.

I hold so many memories of you—moments that shaped how I move through the world—but what I want to name most clearly is this: I saw you.

I saw the sacrifices.

I saw you when you were sad. When you were frustrated, overwhelmed, overworked, underappreciated. I saw you searching. And still, you chose steadiness. You put on confidence. You protected joy. You carried what was heavy as if it were yours alone to bear.

I didn’t know how to help you then.

The closest I could come was joining you in your angry cleaning—no questions, no explanations. Just stepping in beside you. I understand now that this, too, was love. To notice what needs doing. To share the work without being asked. To enter quietly into the service of another.

Thank you for being my Batman.

Thank you for being my safe place.

Thank you for being my Dad—for shielding me from the ugliness and dangers of the world for as long as you could. And when you couldn’t anymore, for standing with me, trusting me, and teaching me how to be resilient in my own body and life.

What you gave was never just labor—it was nourishment. And it taught me that love is something you tend, daily, until it feeds others.

🌱Good Beet Reflection:

What kind of love are you tending right now? What small, daily acts keep it alive and feeding others?

What has fed you without being named as love? How might honoring it change the way you offer care going forward?