Three Years Without My Dad: What Grief Has Taught Me

November 23rd will never be a regular day for me again. It marks three years since my dad passed, and even now, the weight of that loss sits with me like it happened yesterday. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline, and it doesn’t care about how busy your life is. It just… lives with you. Some days it whispers. Some days it roars. But every year, when this date comes around, my heart remembers.
When my dad died, my world paused. My sparkle dimmed. I lost my first love, my protector, my favorite person. And even though life kept moving, I had to learn how to move with it—hurt, healing, and all.

Over the past three years, my life has transformed in ways I wish he could have seen. I’ve turned “Mo on the Go” into something real, something that gives me purpose, joy, and sometimes even peace. Traveling became a big part of my healing. This year alone, I lived between London, Milan, and Paris, walking through cities full of beauty and possibility. And honestly, there were moments when I felt closest to him at 30,000 feet, somewhere between clouds and silence. Grief has a way of meeting you in unexpected places.

Business has been a journey of its own. There have been incredible highs: press features, collaborations, new doors opening and moments where I felt like giving up. There were days when grief made it hard to think, work, or even trust my own talent. I dropped balls. Missed deadlines. Felt exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. But I kept going, because that’s who my dad raised me to be. Resilient. Persistent. Soft but steady.

And y’all, the work is working. Herald Beauty continues to grow. Professional Pretty is reaching more women. So many Black women tell me they feel seen, uplifted, or inspired by what I share. That means everything to me, because my dad is the one who poured so much of that confidence and compassion into me. When people say I make them feel worthy and powerful, I hear his voice in the background saying, “That’s my girl.”

Grief hasn’t faded, but it has shifted. It doesn’t crush me like it used to, but it still taps me on the shoulder at random moments, passing TSA (where I still say hi to him every time), hearing a song he loved, celebrating something big and wishing I could call him. That’s the thing about losing someone who mattered that much: the love doesn’t go anywhere, and neither does the ache.
But I’m learning myself again. I finally started therapy this year, which has grounded me in ways I didn’t expect. Pilates has become my moving meditation. Traveling keeps me breathing. And the love from my community, my friends, and my mom has been life-saving.

Speaking of my mom, she misses him every single day, but she’s stronger than she gives herself credit for. Watching her navigate life after him has shown me a different kind of courage. And Ralph? Still spoiled, still living his little best life.

More than anything, these last three years have taught me how to carry love and loss at the same time. They’ve taught me how to keep going even when the version of life I imagined disappeared. They’ve taught me that legacy isn’t about perfection, it’s about impact. My dad’s impact is still unfolding through me.

I wish he could see 2025 Morgan. But since he can’t, I honor him by living fully, traveling boldly, loving deeply, and helping other women feel powerful in their own skin. That’s my way of keeping him close.
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If you’re grieving someone, I hope you know you’re not alone. We learn to carry it, messy, beautifully, imperfectly. And somehow, we keep moving forward.