2012 was a banner year for me. It went like this: I completed my master’s degree in London, returned to Ghana for the second time, my mom was declared to be in remission from breast cancer, and at 69, my dad died from metastatic malignant melanoma—just another way of saying skin cancer—two years after being misdiagnosed twice. I was 23.

By any measure, my life is profoundly good. I realized my dream of living in Ghana as an educator, traversed across West Africa, and earned admission into a doctoral program to study my deepest academic passions. These milestones were achieved after my dad’s passing, yet his presence remains my guiding force. His archive of handwritten and typed letters to me spans over five years and has become my treasure trove. These letters are imbued with his vitality, voice, and wisdom. On April 17, 2008, he writes, “Going off to school is a great way to learn to be on your own and how to manage all the issues and challenges life can throw at you. And make no mistake, life will throw you some interesting situations as you traverse along its path. That’s what you’ll call experience sometime in the future. It’s really fun. Or as they say, if it doesn’t kill you, it’ll make you a better and stronger person. Stay well and always take good care of yourself. You deserve it.” And again, on October 16, 2011, “Take good care of yourself and enjoy what’s before you.”

In the ring, the demands are extraordinary. Boxing requires self-discipline, resilience, and an unwavering commitment to move forward. It demands one become an unstoppable force. This decree beckons me. Boxing has provided a path forward, as I practice enjoying what’s before me without my dad. The boxing community has cradled me more than could ever possibly be known. My gratitude to this community is eternal.

The peculiarity of loss often feels like a leg ripped from a table I am still meant to make do with, leaving it shaky and unstable. Yet, it has imparted me with the missive that life is precious and frivolous. My dad’s death, a constant presence of his absence, marked and made me. Just as permanently, and like boxing, it teaches me to move on not from his memory, but forward with his legacy.

For my dad, Roy Siegel. Ever forward, ever onwards.

Thank you for your support.