A Year Without You

We're approaching a year. August 15th is just around the corner, and with it comes a silence I didn’t expect—the absence of “a year ago today” memories from Facebook and Instagram. Each day that passes adds to the time without him, a slow-growing tally that I fear will one day eclipse the time I had with him.

I am still riddled with grief. It’s heavy, unpredictable, and persistent. There are still days I can't get out of bed. Regret shadows me—six years of knowing he was dying, six years of chances to be more present, more attentive, more there. My brain tells me I should have given him every second I had. But we both know that’s not what either of us would have wanted. Still, hindsight is cruel.

I haven’t written enough about him. I haven’t documented his words, his stories, his essence. I need to. But right now, preserving me takes everything I have. I’m reading. Resting. Recovering. Still, I worry that if I don’t capture it soon, it’ll fade. That his laugh, his voice, his way of being in the world will slowly slip away from my memory.

His energy is all around me—I know that. But I’ve been too weighed down by grief, by injury, by sheer busyness to notice. I’m sure he’s tried to reach me. I just haven’t been able to see it.

But someone did.

A friend, Brian, had a dream. A powerful one. He’s grieving too—his brother. In his dream, he was at a fire pit at his new home, surrounded by unfamiliar faces aside from his brother who told him he was watching him, along with their granddad. And there, across the flames, sat the one and only Troll. My dad. Brian never met him, only knows what I’ve shared—but somehow, he just knew. As the dream ended and Brian was leaving, my dad called out:

“Hey Brian, tell my baby girl I’m okay. I’m happy and healthy.”

Brian was stunned. “Sierra,” my dad clarified, smiling across realms.

I believe this dream. I believe in energy, in connection, in the mysterious wisdom of the heart and mind. And I believe love doesn’t disappear—it just changes form.

Dad, thank you for getting through to me. Thank you for choosing Brian to deliver your message. I’ll start paying closer attention. I’ll look for your signs. I hope to see you in my dreams soon.

Until then, I’ll keep holding on.