At HopeHealth’s Summer Evening of Hope & Remembrance, family member Anna Reddish gave a tribute to her late father and spoke about her grief journey so far. We are honored to share her words here.
Anna: I’ll be honest — when I was first asked to speak today, my first thought was “absolutely not.” Public speaking has never exactly been my thing.
But then I reminded myself that I gave my own dad’s eulogy. If I can do that, I can most certainly do this.
“My dad, Paul”
My story begins with my dad, Paul Reddish, who passed away at age 66 after a long and courageous battle with acute myeloid leukemia.
He was first diagnosed in 2019. He faced that initial battle completely alone up in Boston due to the pandemic, before returning home to Florida once he went into remission. That’s the kind of man my dad was: strong, resilient and unwavering even in the hardest of times.
There’s so much I could say about who my dad was, but if I had to boil it down to just a few words, he was full of life. He was the funniest person I have ever met without even trying. He was our protector, our biggest cheerleader, and a man who would give the shirt off his back for a stranger.
But most importantly, he was my dad. His heart was enormous, and he had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room.
He loved going boating on the weekends with his family, all things Boston sports, and of course Florida State football. Watching games with him was honestly an extreme sport in itself — he was competitive, loud and full of personality.
> Are you coping with grief and loss? HopeHealth offers free, virtual grief support groups.
A final battle
The last few years of my dad’s life, especially after the news of him being in remission, were filled with adventure. We traveled, laughed and made more memories than I could have ever imagined.
But in mid-August, he suddenly started feeling sick again, despite his May scans coming back perfect.
On Aug. 23, we learned that my dad’s cancer was back — and it came back very fast and aggressive. We packed our bags and flew from Florida to Boston for his treatment.
I spent nearly every single day in that ICU room with him, holding his hand, begging for more time. We thought we at least had a year left with him. Time to fight again. Time to hope.
But just four weeks later, my dad passed away on Sept. 25, 2023.
I remember walking out of Dana-Farber for the last time, feeling like I was leaving a piece of my heart behind — like I’d never be able to find joy again, let alone smile.
When the world felt dark
For weeks, even months, the world felt dark everywhere I turned. I would catch people looking at me and wonder, “Don’t they know that my dad just died?” It felt like everything kept moving while I was stuck in a place of deep sadness and disbelief.
That’s when HopeHealth’s grief support services came into my life. I remember the first phone call with my grief counselor, Olivia, like it was yesterday. I was so nervous before my very first session. But once I started, those one-on-ones were incredibly helpful. They gave me a safe space to open up and start processing everything.
And yet, after a while, the isolation of my loss really started to set in. I didn’t know anyone my age who had also lost a parent. I almost felt like an alien — like I was the only one navigating this painful, confusing space between grief and adulthood.
After spending lots of time searching with Olivia for resources for people my age going through a similar experience, we kept coming up empty.
That’s when the Young Adult Grief Support Group came to life — a new addition to HopeHealth’s grief support groups for the community.
A new grief support group, especially for young adults
Through the Young Adult Grief Support Group, HopeHealth didn’t just give me a place to grieve: It gave me connection, a voice, and a sense of purpose. Most of all, it gave me hope.
What started with just me is now a community of nearly 20 young adults, ages 20 to 35. It’s a space where we can cry, laugh, share memories, or just sit in silence and feel less alone.
Watching the group grow has been incredibly meaningful. Even more powerful are the connections that have formed beyond our sessions. These shared experiences remind us that there’s strength in vulnerability, and healing in shared pain.
If even one person feels less alone, then everything was worth it.
I sure know my dad would be proud of that.
And so I carry him with me in everything I do: In how I treat others, in how I laugh, and in how I cheer for the Boston teams as loudly as he did. (Well, maybe not quite as loud.)
I know that his legacy isn’t just in the big moments, either. It’s also in the quiet ones — the ones where I choose to be kind or brave or speak up for someone else, because that’s what he would have done.
Hopefully, that includes helping others who are hurting.
To anyone who’s hurting
For me, every day is still a journey with grief. It changes with time: Some days it feels like a wave crashing over you, other days it’s a soft ache that you carry quietly. Either way, it’s proof of how deeply you love someone. After all, grief is just love with nowhere to go.
If you’re hurting, please know that you’re not alone. It’s okay not to have all the answers. It’s okay to cry in the middle of the grocery store. And it’s okay to laugh again too. There’s no right way to grieve.
The only thing you really have to do is keep going. And you can keep going. You can do hard things. Even in your grief, there’s strength and there’s hope.
On the days that it feels impossible, lean on others. Reach out. Join the group. Share your story.
Because while our loved ones may be gone, their stories, their love and their light all live on within us.
Are you coping with grief and loss? Find a virtual grief support group or reach out at (888) 528-9077 or CenterforHopeandHealing@HopeHealthCo.org.