How Lucky Am I

Bill and Katherine Tatsuda co-hosts of the 2016 Diva and Divo show

As the anniversary of my dad’s death approaches, I’ve been noticing something quiet beneath the surface—

a simple recognition:

I miss him.

Not in a way that overwhelms me or disrupts my days.

Just a steady, underlying awareness that he’s gone.

I miss his logic.

His business mind.

The way he cared deeply for people—and yet remained emotionally unavailable at the same time.

I miss both his absence in the day-to-day

and his presence in the way he shaped how I move through the world.

We didn’t have a traditional father-daughter relationship.

I was never a daddy’s girl.

I didn’t call him when I needed help.

We didn’t spend time together just to spend time together.

We hardly hugged.

“I love you” wasn’t something he said.

He didn’t express pride in ways people typically recognize.

Relational closeness wasn’t his language.

And that’s okay.

There was a time in my life when I deeply needed those things.

But through years of therapy and personal work, I’ve come to understand him—and to love him for who he was.

I can see now what he did give.

He worked hard so we never had to worry about money.

We had food.

We had a home.

We had stability.

He parented my sister and me after my mom left when we were young—

carrying that responsibility in the only way he knew how.

He gave me a front-row seat to business—

opportunities to learn and grow in ways most people never experience.

Because of him, I think big.

I see systems.

I look for patterns.

I solve problems.

I hold both logic and emotion at the same time.

When he died, I felt something surprising.

I could see clearly that he had never been an emotional support for me.

And in many ways, I had already grieved that.

That grief came years earlier—

with the loss of Tatsuda’s.

That moment didn’t just take our business.

It changed the entire architecture of our relationship.

We were navigating something massive—

from completely different life stages,

different risk tolerances,

different personalities,

and fundamentally different ways of seeing the world.

We didn’t know how to meet each other there.

I needed a traditional father figure.

He knew how to be a business partner.

And we didn’t know how to bridge that gap.

So when he died, it wasn’t an emotional upheaval.

Our relationship had been built over decades—

working side by side,

solving problems,

attending conferences,

living inside the rhythm of a grocery store.

That was our foundation.

And we did great things in business together.

How lucky am I to have had that.

In his later years, something unexpected happened.

Our work together expanded into entertainment.

In 2016, we were invited to co-host First City Players’ Diva and Divo show.

I had experience on stage, running a show.

He had none.

And preparing for that show?

It was painful.

We were both used to being the boss.

Trying to agree on a script, timing, roles—it created more conflict than either of us expected.

But then we stepped onto the stage.

And everything just… clicked.

I found my lane.

He found his.

I carried the structure.

He brought the humor.

And he was funny.

Natural. Effortless. Magnetic.

Our chemistry was undeniable.

It was fun—and he fell in love with it.

He told me many times that hosting that show was one of the best experiences of his life.

And it didn’t stop there.

He and I hosted more events together,

And he stepped out as a solo act.

Competing in the Diva/Divo show—twice.

In 2018… and again in 2019.

He won the crown his second time.

And he wore it proudly.

The following year, he returned to say goodbye to it—

standing on stage one more time.

We co-hosted again in 2022.

By then, we had found our rhythm.

And he had fully embraced what it meant to stand behind a microphone

and be met with laughter.

Part of my job was to rein him in.

My dad was funny.

He was smart.

Thoughtful.

Balanced.

A true entrepreneur.

He carried responsibility like it mattered—because it did.

So many of my core values come from him:

Taking care of people.

Stewardship.

Integrity.

Holding responsibility.

Treating people with dignity and respect.

I miss my dad.

I miss working with him.

I miss our conversations.

I miss cooking him prime rib and pineapple upside-down cake on his birthday.

Attending community events together.

Celebrating my kids’ birthdays and graduations.

And I am so thankful.

Thankful for the life I shared with him.

Thankful that I got to sit at his bedside—

hold his hand—

and speak words of love and release into his head and heart

as he took his final breaths.

How lucky am I.