Dear Grief
I turn twenty-six on Sunday. It doesn’t feel like a special birthday; it just feels like another year. But turning twenty-six means I’ve now lived thirteen years without my dad. Thirteen years with him, and thirteen without. It doesn’t seem right, does it? When my dad passed away, I didn’t know what grief was. Thirteen years later, I know it well. What I’ve learned is that grief doesn’t have a beginning or an end. It changes with each season. Some years and days are harder than others, but grief is always there. Once I realized I couldn’t fight or ignore it, I learned to embrace it—allowing myself to sit with it when it comes and share it with others. Grief hurts more when it’s hidden. This year, as I turn twenty-six, I’m leaning into it. I’m reflecting on the years I lived with my dad and the years I’ve lived without him. What a blessing to have both. So much has changed, but somewhere inside me is still that thirteen-year-old girl who secretly wanted to hold her dad’s hand and walk t...