Kate's Club team member Courtney remembers her dad who died in honor of Father's Day
In April 2021, there was a trend going around Twitter that asked: “Who would play your parents in a biopic?”
I posted Sam Elliott.
A friend replied, “Honestly if you had showed me that pic and said it was your dad I would completely believe you.”
At the time, it was funny because it was true. My dad really did look like Sam Elliott - not just in a vague, “same type of man” kind of way. He had the salt-and-pepper hair, the mustache, the skin texture, the build, the whole presence. That weathered and steady look that belongs to men who seem like they know how to fix things, tell a story, make a joke at the exact right time, and quietly make you feel safe.
That same friend had also seen a very real version of who my dad was.
Remembering my dad who died
In 2015, she was one of a couple of friends who unexpectedly had to crash at my house after their ride back to college broke down. They were probably exhausted, stressed, and trying to figure out what to do next. But the next morning, bright and early, my dad came in with doughnuts.
She still remembers that.
And honestly, that is such a perfect snapshot of him. He was the kind of dad who showed up in small, practical, generous ways. The kind of person who did not make a big production out of taking care of people, but simply walked in with breakfast because there were kids in his house who needed it. It was thoughtful. It was funny in that dad way. And it was him.
Less than a month after that tweet, my dad died.
My dad, James Parsons, died on May 2, 2021, after being diagnosed with chronic eosinophilic leukemia in April 2020. So now, when I look back at that exchange, it feels strange. It was such a small, silly internet moment — one of those trends everyone participates in and forgets about a week later. But for me, it became frozen in time. A little accidental record of how other people saw him, too.
Watching Sam Elliott in Landman
And now there is Landman.
Seeing Sam Elliott in Landman was actually a surprise. I have avoided watching any of the Yellowstone series for years because I knew he was in the prequel, 1883. I knew seeing him would feel too close.
But Landman was different. I did not go into it looking for my dad. I was not bracing myself in the same way. And then suddenly, there he was.
And instead of feeling only painful, it felt comforting.
Not because Sam Elliott is my dad. Not because a TV show can replace a person. But because grief has a way of attaching itself to the most specific things. A voice. A face. A song. A line delivery. A pair of shoulders. A certain kind of dry humor. A man who looks like he has lived a whole life outside in the sun and still somehow knows exactly how to make you laugh.
When Sam Elliott is on the screen, it catches me off guard how much I see my dad - the texture of his skin, the way he carries himself, the expressions, the clothes, that roughness and warmth existing at the same time.
My dad was funny and silly and steady. He had nicknames for me that would make no sense to anyone else — including “stinkwater,” which still makes me laugh because it was so him. He loved music, especially gospel and classic rock. He could fix things around the house. He had a way of being dependable without needing to announce it. His love showed up in jokes and nicknames and practical things, like doughnuts in the morning for stranded college kids.
So watching Landman has become this unexpected grief ritual. I turn on a show, and there is something familiar enough that my heart recognizes it before my brain can catch up. I find myself smiling, and then missing him so sharply it hurts.
That is one of the hardest parts of grief to explain. Sometimes the things that comfort you are the same things that break your heart.
Father’s Day can be complicated when your dad is gone. It can feel like the whole world is celebrating something you are missing. It can make the absence feel louder. But it can also make you remember the fullness of what you had.
I had a dad worth missing.
A dad who was funny and strong and silly and steady. A dad who came in bright and early with doughnuts for my stranded college friends. A dad whose presence made things feel more okay, even when they were not.
Now, six years after his diagnosis and five years after his death, I still find him in unexpected places.
Lately, I find him in Landman.
Grief support after father loss
Kate’s Club empowers children and teens, their families, and young adults facing life after the death of a parent, sibling, caregiver or someone important to them. The organization builds healing communities through recreational and therapeutic group programs, education and advocacy. Since its founding in Metro Atlanta in 2003, Kate’s Club has served thousands of individuals who are grieving, through both member and outreach services. Kate's Club offers services in Metro Atlanta, Southwest Georgia, Northeast Georgia and Coastal Georgia.