What I wish someone had told me about loss...

Wow. This is a tough one. I don’t know how to break the ice here, so I’ll start small and simple:

We all experience loss in life.

Even in infancy, we lose things — toys, blankets — and it might spark some tears and tantrums. But as we grow, we become more attached. To objects. To people. To routines. And with attachment comes the unavoidable lesson: loss.

Something I wish someone had told me is just how long it takes for that loss to evolve into gratitude.

There aren’t many childhood losses I remember clearly. But I do remember losing a gold necklace my parents gave me. It was stolen — ripped off my neck. I wasn’t sad. I was angry. That moment taught me about violation and value.

Later, the losses got heavier:

• Girlfriends

• Cars

• Money

• Grandparents

• Friends

• Patients And then… a parent.

It’s been almost three years since I lost my dad. And not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.

I often wonder if he’s watching me — watching me try to fill his shoes, watching me mess up, watching me rebuild. I don’t know the answer.

But here’s what I do know: Three years later, I am grateful — truly — for the opportunity to know the man who was my father.

And still, three years later, his absence hasn’t gotten easier.

I’ve learned this: Faith doesn’t take away the grief. It just keeps showing up next to it.

Faith became more present for me before he passed… and somehow even louder since.

So what would I tell someone about loss?

That it’s part of life — maybe the hardest part. That it’s not really about letting go. It’s about learning how to live with the weight of gratuity and the void left behind — both at once.

I carry both every day. And I think maybe… that’s what love, deep love, really looks like.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

— Psalm 34:18