Andie Hancock: I never met my dad, but I miss him because 'I do know him'

Related: Bill Haisten: A struggle to process the magnitude of the 2001 tragedy 'He's always there': Two decades after the 2001 OSU basketball tragedy, here's the story of Will and Karen Hancock Editor's note: This story originally published in January 2021.

It's being re-issued today on the 24th anniversary of the 2001 plane crash that killed 10 people associated with the OSU basketball program.

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My father, Will Hancock, was one of them.

I was two months old.

People have often asked me, How can you miss someone you never knew? Its a fair question, one I myself have thought long and hard about, and I know it might not make sense to anyone who isnt in my shoes.

Its easy to say what I miss specifically is our lost opportunities.

Its true, Id miss him when my preschool had a Fathers Day lunch, Id miss him when Id play in high school orchestra concerts that he couldnt hear, and sometimes Id miss him when I was just lounging around the house with my mom, wishing he was there with us.

I missed him an awful lot when I left Stillwater for college and he wasnt there to watch me go, and Ill miss him an awful lot on my wedding day when he wont be there to walk me down the aisle.

And while I certainly do grieve for those lost moments, its not the only thing I lament, because heres the thing: When people ask, How can you miss someone you never knew, the answer isnt just I miss him because I feel his absence.

The answer is, Well, actually, I miss him because I do know him.

I know him through the stories Ive been told by his coworkers, his friends, and our family throughout my life.

I know him when I go to the Royals Opening Day with his buddies from high school, taking part in the same tradition he once cherished.

I know him when strangers reach out to me on social media just to say, I knew your dad, and he was a great man, and I wish you the best.

I know him when my uncle plays me a record he loved.

I know him when I make a bad joke and my mom laughs and says, You sound like your dad.

I know him when someone tells me I have his smile.

I know that Dad was clever and thoughtful, hard-working and complex, and always endlessly kind; I know these things because through all the ways his memory persists, I know him.

After the crash, the university made a promise: We Will Remember.

In the past two decades, people have made good on that promise every year without fail.

This week, I know in the midst of all the pain my family and I will feel, countless people will reach out and help us through with their kindness, just as they have every year.

And when the Pokes play Arkansas this weekend and everyone in Gallagher-Iba takes a moment of silence before the game, students will be upholding an oath made before many of them were even born.

To me, a daughter who knows her dad only through the memories of others, it will always mean the world.

Andie Hancock, 20, is majoring in journalism and getting a minor in political science at Northwestern.

This article has been shared from the original article on tulsaworld, here is the link to the original article.