Each letter became a bridge between past and future, offering comfort, guidance, and a piece of him our children could hold onto.
Over time, my grief softened into something more complex—a quiet mix of heartbreak and gratitude. I missed the man who should have been here, but I also honored the father who never truly left.
In the end, I understood something I hadn’t before: love doesn’t always disappear with loss. Sometimes, it finds a way to remain—written in words, waiting to be opened when they’re needed most.
