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I Have Had So Much To Say, And No Words

March 23, 2026

Months pass with you thinking you are okay—that you made it through, made it out alive—but grief does not hold a clear line of sight, an open goal to escape it. It has been almost nine months without you. Nine. It is all starting to set in that you are not with me, that I will never hear you call me your pumpkin ever again. That you will not tell me how proud you are of me when my world feels like it is crumbling.

I am luckier than most; I had a dad who never left you guessing how he felt. He fueled us with words of affirmation, though often colored in expletives and long-winded stories—but he was there. He was the one who showed up when others wouldn’t, regardless of his health. My dad was strong and brave, and my grief has been hitting its peak over the past month.

So, with that, a letter to my father:

Hey Dad,

This has been one of the hardest years of my life, and it has changed a lot. I hope that despite my setbacks, you find yourself proud of me—but I know that you do. I miss hearing you tell me that.

I have reflected a lot on your impact on the person I am today, and I want you to hear from me the parts of you that live in me every day. You taught me to love fearlessly and ferociously—no phone call ever ending without an “I love you.” You are why I am an empath and never fear sharing my feelings with others.

I know how much you loved my ex, but please find peace in knowing that I have found someone who never lets me guess their love. Someone who supports me, wants what is best for me, and feels like a real partner. I am happier and finding peace in my everyday life. I think that is why I am feeling grief more deeply—because my head is growing quieter.

I haven’t been the best sister or daughter recently, and I know that you wouldn’t love hearing that. I am struggling internally a lot lately, and our family dynamic is not the same without you. Toward the end, you talked about being a burden—but you were never a burden. You were someone who kept us together. You were our pillar—our messy, unconventional pillar. You were always just there, like a warm blanket or the sun on our faces, lighting us up.

Finding a partner leaves me more devastated in some ways, because I know when the time comes, you won’t be there to walk me down the aisle. If that day comes, you won’t be able to hold and play with a child of my own. You won’t be there in person—but I can only hope you are there in spirit with me.

Someday, I will be strong enough to listen to your voicemails again—to hear your voice on the hardest days. To remember the times you were just there, showing up when no other family was there, when no other friends came. I had my dad—my tried and true.

I miss you deeply. I love you.

Sincerely,
Your pumpkin

Did I Start a Journey Just to Fall Off? Yes. Will I Get Back on the Horse? Absolutely.

September 11, 2025

Grief is a wildly fickle thing. I’ve felt nothing short of empty—just a vessel carrying a soul in repair. I can’t seem to find regularity, and the empty bottles of wine in my trashcan don’t help my cause.

Two years ago, I was on solid ground—stable, going to the gym, getting engaged, and coming home to two perfectly purring kitties. Now, I sit rebuilding a life I chose for myself. Rebuilding is hard, especially when it’s tied to the death of my father.

It wasn’t long ago that the final nail was put in the coffin of my previous relationship. A simple visit to Verizon to split our connected phone plans gave me unexpected clarity. In his own way, he validated my decision—by simply being himself.

Does that sound harsh? Totally. But here’s the truth: I fell in love with a good and loving man. He helped me rebuild my self-worth when it was stripped away at such a young age. He played cheerleader to every adventure I pursued. He was there when times were tough—even after we split, even after my father passed.

But he also carried a constant, relentless self-deprecation that eventually drove me away. And that side of him showed up again, right there in the middle of Verizon.

Choosing More

Today, I feel clarity. Leaving a life that was comfortable but not fulfilling was okay. Wanting more is okay. Wanting calm is okay. Wanting someone who craves adventure and joy is okay.

I want to leave events and social situations smiling, laughing, talking about the beauty of the evening—not dissecting every little thing that went wrong. For the first time in a long time, I’m breathing real air. I may still be floundering to find myself, but I’m breathing.

New Adventures

So what does life hold now?

I got a new orange kitten. His name is Uni—like the sushi. (Only later did I realize it literally means the reproductive organs of a sea urchin. Mother of the year award? I’ll take it.)
I have a new house that’s slowly becoming home, complete with a beautiful green couch, a kitchen that inspires me to cook again, and more space than I know what to do with.
And I’ve started dating again. Dating in your 30s? A wild ride. But hey—party on.

A Bittersweet September

September was supposed to be the month I got married. Now, it’s a harsh reminder of what could have been—and the thousands (THOUSANDS!) lost on deposits. But life doesn’t stop.

So, we keep riding the rollercoaster. Until the next adventure, my friends.