One Year Later: Learning to Live with Grief, Gratitude, and Hope

There are some dates that forever change the way you experience time. July 13 will always be one of those dates for me. It's hard to believe that an entire year since my Dad has passed. Some days it feels like it happened yesterday, while other days it feels like I've somehow lived several different lives since then. Grief has a way of doing that; it completely changes your relationship with time. The days immediately after losing someone can feel endless, yet somehow you blink and realize a whole year has gone by.

As I have reflected over these last twelve months, one word keeps coming to mind: growth. Not the kind of growth that anyone would willingly choose, but the kind that only comes after walking through one of the hardest seasons of your life. This year has stretched me emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and even physically. It has challenged my faith, tested my resilience, and forced me to learn how to continue living while carrying the weight of missing someone I love every single day.

If I'm being honest, I think I've spent much of this past year living in a fog. Looking back, I realize that I was functioning more than I was truly living. I continued showing up to work, traveling, recording my podcast, spending time with friends and family, celebrating milestones, and trying to maintain some sense of normalcy. From the outside, life probably looked like it was moving forward. But internally, it often felt like I was simply trying to make it through each day. Grief has a quiet way of following you everywhere. It doesn't always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it simply sits beside you, making everything feel a little heavier than it once did.

Recently, though, something has begun to change. I don't know if it's permanent, and I've learned enough about grief to know that healing isn't a straight line. There will undoubtedly be difficult days ahead, and there will always be moments when I miss my Dad so much that it takes my breath away. But over the last few weeks, it has felt like some of that heaviness has lifted. The fog isn't completely gone, but it has started to clear enough for me to notice the sunshine again. I've found myself laughing more freely, dreaming about the future again, and feeling excited about possibilities that had been tucked away while I focused on simply surviving. For however long this feeling lasts, I'm choosing to embrace it. I've learned that joy doesn't mean I've stopped grieving……it simply means my heart is making room for both.

One of the greatest gifts my Dad gave our family didn't happen after he passed away, it happened long before. He planned. He organized. He made sure his affairs were in order and that we knew exactly what needed to happen when the time came. Looking back now, I cannot express enough how much that planning blessed our family during one of the most heartbreaking times of our lives. It didn't take away our pain, and it certainly didn't make losing him any easier, but it removed so many unnecessary burdens that could have added even more stress during an already overwhelming season.

"If there is one lesson, I hope others take away from our experience, it's this: please have those conversations with your loved ones."

If there is one lesson, I hope others take away from our experience, it's this: please have those conversations with your loved ones. Organize your documents. Write down your wishes. Make sure someone knows where everything is. None of us like thinking about those things because they force us to confront our own mortality, but preparing isn't about expecting something bad to happen tomorrow. It's one of the most loving gifts you can leave behind for the people you care about. In one of the worst moments of our lives, my Dad's preparation became one of his final acts of love for our family, and I will forever be grateful for that.

This year has also brought unexpected blessings that I never could have anticipated. My relationship with my Mom has grown in such beautiful ways. Losing my Dad is something neither of us would have ever chosen, but walking through this season together has created an even deeper bond between us. We've cried together, laughed together, traveled together, started new traditions, celebrated victories, and learned how to support one another through the waves of grief that still come unexpectedly. There have been moments when we've looked at each other and simply known what the other person was feeling without saying a word. Those are the moments that remind me that even in loss, love continues to grow.

I've also been reminded just how incredibly blessed I am by the people God has placed in my life. My family and friends have carried me in ways they probably don't even realize. Whether it was a simple text message checking in, inviting me out when they knew I needed a distraction, sitting with me in silence, praying for me, or simply giving me grace on the days when I wasn't myself, every act of kindness mattered. Grief can often feel incredibly isolating, but this past year has reminded me that community truly is one of God's greatest gifts. I honestly don't know how I would have made it through this year without the love and support of the people around me.

Perhaps the biggest lesson I've learned is that I can do hard things, even when I desperately don't want to. There were so many moments over the last year when I questioned whether I had anything left to give. There were days when getting out of bed felt like an accomplishment and days when showing up for life required more strength than I thought I had. If someone had told me a year ago everything I would have navigate over these last twelve months, I probably would have wondered if I was capable of making it through. But here I am. Not because I've been fearless, and certainly not because I've had all the answers, but because each day I simply took the next step. Sometimes that's all grief asks of us. Keep taking the next step; even when we can't yet see where the path is leading.

As I begin year two without my Dad, I honestly don't know what to expect. I've heard many people say that the second year of grief feels different. Some have shared that it can actually be more difficult because the routines of life continue while the reality of your loved one's absence becomes even more permanent. Others have said it brings a different kind of peace. The truth is, I don't know which version of year two I'll experience, and maybe it will be a little of both. What I do know is that this first year has shown me that I am capable of carrying both grief and gratitude at the same time.

I miss my Dad every single day, and I know I always will. There will always be milestones where I wish I could pick up the phone and hear his voice or tell him about something exciting happening in my life. There will always be moments when I wish I could have one more hug, one more conversation, or hear one more one of his stories. That longing will probably never leave me. But alongside that grief is an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the years we shared, for the lessons he taught me, for the example he set, for the way he loved our family, and for the legacy he continues to leave behind.

As I move into this next chapter, I'm choosing to hold on to hope. Hope that healing will continue. Hope that joy and laughter will keep finding their way back into my life. Hope that I will continue honoring my Dad not only by remembering him, but by fully living the life he always wanted for me. If this year has taught me anything, it's that grief changes you forever; but so does love. And I'm incredibly thankful that the love my Dad gave me is something that death could never take away.

I love you, Dad. I miss you beyond words, and I hope every day that I'm making you proud.

#grief #lifejourney #mytruth #yearone #speakupla