A Year Later
When Grief Finds You
When Grief Still Finds You
A year later, and I still think about it every day.
I thought time would make it easier to understand, easier to carry.
But grief doesn’t really leave.
It just changes shape.
There are moments where I’m happy, blissful, thankful — and then it hits me like a train.
Like running into a brick wall.
One second I’m moving through life, and the next I’m sitting inside the weight of missing someone who mattered deeply.
What surprised me the most about grief after a year is that it still finds a way to creep in.
The part that still feels unreal is wanting to call my dad to ask him something, only to remember he’s not physically here anymore.
I know he’s with me, but there are still moments where my first instinct is to reach for him.
What Time Changed
A year later, I think differently about time.
I look back at my younger self — always working, always moving, always filling weekends with more work.
Burning myself out.
I thought being productive meant always staying in motion.
But losing my father made me realize something I didn’t fully understand before:
You never get time back.
You don’t get another version of that conversation.
Another dinner.
Another random moment that seemed small at the time but becomes everything once it’s gone.
The Father I’m Becoming
Now, I try to show up differently for my children.
Even though we live apart, I make an effort to understand what they love — what they’re into, what makes them laugh, what captures their attention.
It’s my way of being present even when I’m not physically there.
That changed in me.
The version of myself that’s showing up now is rooted in being a father.
A supportive, loving presence.
My dad gave that to me and my sister, and I want my children to feel that same kind of love.
Even though they didn’t get to truly know their grandfather, he loved them unconditionally. He talked about them all the time.
And somehow, that love still carries forward.
The Things That Still Bring Him Back
Music reminds me of him every day.
Old school music. Rock music. Songs that instantly make me think, Yeah… my dad would’ve loved this.
What People Misunderstand About Grief
I think people misunderstand grief because they expect it to follow a timeline.
But grief doesn’t work like that.
People grieve differently. Some people turn to food. Some turn to alcohol. Some distract themselves. Some stay busy. Some sit quietly with it.
Grief doesn’t ask permission before showing up.
It catches you off guard.
And even when you think you’ve moved past it, it finds a way to remind you that love doesn’t disappear just because someone is gone.
If I could say anything to him now, it would probably be simple:
Thank you. I love you. I miss you.
And honestly, I’d probably tell him I still don’t fully know what I’m doing.
But I know what he’d say back.
Do your best. Keep going. It’ll work out.
How I’ll Honor Him This Year
So this year, I’ll honor him.
Maybe with a gyro and extra tzatziki sauce — even though he could never pronounce it right.
Or maybe with a burger loaded with extra onions, extra pickles, extra mayo, extra everything.
Good memories.
And maybe I’ll write my children a letter about who their grandfather was.
So they know the kind of man he was.
So they know where some of that love came from.
A year later.
Still grieving.
Still remembering.
Still carrying him with me.
Thank you for reading.
