On Loss and Legacy — Dr. Driver, Kamala Harris, and my dad.

Witnessing history without my dad, remembering the legacy of my grandfather.

Happy Friday, campers.

I've been putting off writing this week's newsletter, struggling to find the right words. For someone who usually has plenty to say, this silence was unsettling. As I sit here on Friday morning, I realize why: the comforting, hopeful messages I usually share feel distant. Grief, I’m learning, is an education in living without someone.

In the initial weeks after Dad’s passing, I was learning to live without him one day at a time. Now, as I return to “normal” life, I’m experiencing a different kind of grief—one that has no language. As I resume work, grocery shopping, errands, and social events, I feel a deep, bone-deep longing, a disbelief that the world continues to spin while everything inside me feels shattered and undone.

I’ve cried more in the past two weeks than I did in the immediate aftermath of Dad’s passing. It’s as if my endurance—the strength to live a life without my father, to keep breathing and moving forward—has worn thin. I’m realizing that there is no finish line, no endpoint to this grief. Every day, for the rest of my life, I’ll wake up to a world without my dad.

There have been several moments recently where I’ve felt a physical longing for him, moments where it’s so clear that he should be here with me—next to me, on the other end of the phone. These moments, like watching the father-daughter dance at a wedding last weekend or playing tennis on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, bring me to my knees, overwhelmed by the unbearable weight of this grief.

Last night was one of those moments. I sat on the couch watching Kamala Harris deliver her speech at the DNC. Dad would have been right there beside me, watching with me. He should have been there. The empty space on the couch felt so loud, almost drowning out the noise of the hopeful, boisterous crowd welcoming Harris into a historic moment.

Delivering History: The Story of Dr. Driver and Kamala Harris

This moment was particularly special for me and Dad because of our family’s connection to Kamala Harris. Brad’s father—my grandfather—Dr. Maynard Driver, was the first Black gynecologist in the Bay Area. He began his residency at Oakland’s Kaiser Hospital in 1963, just a year after Dad was born.

One of my grandfather’s patients was Shyamala Harris. And on October 12, 1964, my grandfather delivered Shyamala’s first child, Kamala Harris. On that day, the first Black gynecologist in the Bay Area brought into the world the woman who may become the first Black woman to hold the office of President of the United States. As I watched Kamala speak about her mother—about her legacy of ambition, loyalty, and fierce care for everyone in her orbit—I thought of Dad, and I thought of his dad, my grandfather, Dr. Maynard Driver.

My dad actually spoke to a few news outlets about his father after Harris was elected Vice President. He shared stories of my grandfather’s work, his dedication, and the legacy he left behind.

Watch the full interview: Link

Here’s a snippet from one of those interviews:

“After my dad met my mom, they opened a women’s shelter. He was the chief gynecologist at Cal for years. They always gave back, as did Kamala’s mom. You see that in Kamala a lot. It’s a legacy of hard work, higher education, excelling, and understanding the speed bumps and roadblocks that will be presented to us as Black people, even in a liberal place like the Bay Area.

Growing up, we’d walk around the hospital where Dad worked. The orderlies, the nurses, and staff loved him because he treated everyone with incredible respect, regardless of what they did or how much they made. He was always trying to help people make a better life. He not only wanted to take care of them medically, he wanted to empower them. He’d ask them, ‘Hey, how’s life? Is there anything I can do to help?’ When we walked around town, people would say to me, ‘Oh, wow—you’re Dr. Driver’s son, aren’t you?’”

My grandfather passed before I was born, so I never got to meet him. I’ve always felt a deep yearning to know him, to have met the man who raised my incredible dad. I grew up wishing, praying that my children wouldn’t experience the same longing—that they would grow up loving and being loved by their grandpa.

Though my children will never know my dad, my beautiful, loving father, I know that they can still find him through me. I know this because that’s what Dad did for us. He spoke about his father—my grandfather—from the earliest days I can remember. He shared stories of his life, his values, and his impact, and he made sure we knew him as a full person. Every year, on his birthday, Dad would send us a text to celebrate him.

When I moved back to the Bay Area, I rented an Airbnb in Oakland for Drew and me while we looked for apartments. The Airbnb was a few blocks from the Kaiser hospital where my grandfather worked. I would go on morning runs and time them for the shift change at the hospital. I watched the doctors finishing their night shifts cross paths with those starting their day, and it felt like I was glimpsing what my grandfather would have seen every morning after his shifts, 60 years earlier.

I know my dad is watching, with his dad and my grandmother, and they are beaming with pride and hope. I like to imagine their conversations—how astonished my grandfather would be that a Black woman is even nominated for President. It was only 60 years ago that my grandfather, a Black doctor, was given the least desirable shifts—those in the middle of the night—because of prejudice in his workplace. It was only 60 years ago that he was followed by police when he drove home from those shifts, often pulled over and questioned in front of his own home. He must be in joyful disbelief, a hope-filled disbelief that I know my father is embracing in full.

Let’s deliver on the hope that Dr. Maynard Driver brought into the world 60 years ago. Vote, donate, and take care of one another.

With love,
M

Read more: Inside Tennis “The Kamala Harris-Arthur Ashe Connection”