On the First Year Without You, Dadsoy

In loving memory of Dadsoy
One year in heaven

This year has taught me how absence can be loud — especially on days meant to be remembered.

On my birthday, I cried when I woke up.
And I cried again before I went to sleep.

Not because the day was heavy.
Not because there was a lack of love around me.

I cried because, for the first time, I knew I wouldn’t receive a call or a message from you anymore.

No simple “Happy birthday.”
No familiar voice.
No quiet reminder that someone had been counting the days with me.

Today marks one year since you left us.

And I’m learning that grief doesn’t always arrive as sadness. Sometimes it arrives as realization — the slow understanding that certain moments will never look the same again.

Birthdays reveal that truth.

In the middle of greetings and celebrations, there’s always that one message your heart waits for. And when it doesn’t come, the silence says everything.

Grief doesn’t announce itself.
It simply sits with you — in the early hours of the morning, and in the stillness before sleep.

And I let myself feel it.

Because love doesn’t end when someone leaves this world.
It changes form.
It becomes memory, longing, and quiet gratitude all at once.

This first year without you hasn’t been about moving on.
It’s been about learning how to carry love forward — even on days when it hurts.

You are missed in moments big and small.
And in ways words will never fully explain.

A Quiet Prayer

Lord, thank you for the life of Dadsoy.
For the love he gave, the lessons he left behind,
and the memories that continue to shape who we are.

On days when the missing feels heavy,
grant us peace.
On days when the silence feels loud,
remind us that love never truly leaves.

We entrust him to Your care,
and we carry him with us — always.

Amen.