THE 27th LETTER

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Hi Dad,

It’s me again.

Another 6th June has come around, and as always, I find myself reaching for words that somehow carry everything I’ve lived through back to you. It’s the 27th time I’m doing this now, though sometimes it still feels like I’m learning how to speak into silence.

Life has been… full. Not in a loud or perfect way, but in that quiet, complicated way you only understand when you’re the one living it.

Since last June, I’ve had days where I felt like I was finally getting things right—like I was becoming someone I could be proud of. I’ve also had days where I doubted everything, where even simple things felt heavier than they should. But I kept going. I think that’s something I’ve learned to do better now… just keep going, even when I don’t fully understand where I’m headed.

There have been small victories too. The kind I don’t always say out loud, but I know you would’ve noticed. The moments I handled things better than I used to. The times I chose patience over reaction. The times I didn’t give up on myself when I really wanted to.

And yes… I’ve grown. Not in the dramatic, overnight way people like to talk about, but slowly. Quietly. In the way that happens when life keeps asking questions and you slowly learn how to answer them differently.

I still miss you in the ordinary moments the most. Not just on days like today, but randomly—when something happens and I catch myself thinking, I wish I could tell Dad this. Or when I need guidance and instinctively look for a voice I can’t hear anymore.

But it’s not only sadness anymore, Dad.

There’s something else that has started to live alongside it.

A kind of peace… and even gratitude. For the time we had. For what you left in me without needing to say too much. For the way your absence still somehow shapes how I move through life.

I think I understand now that grief doesn’t really disappear. It just learns how to sit quietly in the same room as joy.

And I’ve had joy too. Real moments of it. The kind that catch me off guard and make me laugh properly again. The kind that reminds me I’m still alive in the middle of everything.

I don’t know if I’m doing life “right,” but I am doing it. I’m trying. And I think that has to count for something.

I hope wherever you are, you can see that I’m still here. Still learning. Still becoming. Still carrying you with me, even in ways I don’t always notice.

Happy birthday, Dad.

I miss you.

Always.

—Me

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