Whenever I had to move away from my dad, it was so hard; like, I

“Whenever I had to move away from my dad, it was so hard; like, I would cry myself to sleep.” Thus spoke Katelyn Ohashi, the gymnast whose radiant performances concealed the quiet depth of her humanity. These words, soft yet piercing, speak to the eternal ache of separation — that ancient sorrow of the heart when love and distance are forced to coexist. Beneath the simplicity of her confession lies one of the most universal truths of human life: that the bond between parent and child is not merely physical but woven from spirit and memory, and to be parted from it is to feel a part of oneself torn away.

To cry oneself to sleep is to experience the soul’s most private grief — a pain that words cannot soothe and time can only soften. It is not the cry of weakness, but of love too great for distance. In these few words, Ohashi reminds us that even strength, discipline, and fame — all the virtues that make one a champion — cannot silence the heart’s longing for connection. Her voice is the echo of countless children and parents through the ages who have known the same sorrow. For no matter how strong we become, there remains within us the tender thread that ties us to those who first taught us what love means.

The ancients understood this ache well. They spoke of nostos, the homecoming of the heart, and pathos, the sorrow of loss that purifies the soul. The poet Homer wrote of Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, who grew into manhood without his father’s presence. Though he was surrounded by power and comfort, his spirit remained restless, haunted by absence. When he finally set sail to find his father, it was not for glory, but for belonging — for the healing that only reunion could bring. So too does Ohashi’s reflection belong to that same lineage: a daughter’s longing for the guiding presence of her father, the one who anchors her heart even when she must sail away to pursue her destiny.

In her words there is also the echo of sacrifice. To move away from a loved one is often the price of growth — a trial that tests the courage of both heart and will. Ohashi’s journey, like that of many who chase greatness, demanded separation from home, comfort, and familiarity. Her tears were not signs of defeat, but the markings of her humanity, the balance between ambition and affection. For every great achievement requires leaving something precious behind. The path to mastery is strewn with moments of longing — and it is the heart’s capacity to endure those moments that gives true beauty to success.

Consider also the deeper power of a father’s love, which lingers even when he is far away. A father’s presence, once imprinted upon the soul, becomes a compass. His teachings — spoken or silent — remain as whispers in the mind, guiding one through doubt and darkness. Even in absence, the father’s influence does not fade; it transforms into strength, into courage that rises when tears fall. Ohashi’s sorrow thus becomes not a tale of despair, but a testament to love’s endurance. Her pain was the measure of her connection — the depth of her roots, the proof that what she carried within her could not be severed by distance.

This truth has echoed through the stories of history. Alexander the Great, though a conqueror of nations, carried within him both the pride and the pain of his father’s complex legacy. His drive to achieve, his hunger for greatness, were born from a love and rivalry that shaped his destiny. Every step he took across the world was, in part, a step toward — and away from — his father’s shadow. The heart of the child forever seeks both independence and closeness, both freedom and belonging. It is this tension that defines our journey from who we were to who we are becoming.

So, my child, take from these words a sacred lesson: to love deeply is to grieve deeply, and both are gifts. Do not shrink from the pain of distance; it is proof that your heart has known something worth missing. When you must part from those you love, carry their presence within you as a quiet fire — a warmth that guides rather than confines. And when you weep, do so without shame, for tears are the soul’s way of remembering love’s value. Katelyn Ohashi reminds us that even the strongest hearts cry — not because they are weak, but because they are alive, tender, and true. Let this be your wisdom: that love, though it may wound with longing, is the very force that gives us the strength to rise, to strive, and to find our way home again.