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I knew, in some abstract way, that one day my father would die. Everyone knows that. But nothing prepares you for what it’s like when the day actually comes — when the phone rings, when the room goes quiet, when the world builds a new shape around the absence of the person who was your anchor. I’m 60 years old. And I just lost my father — the man who wasn’t just my dad, but my best friend . People think losing a parent at this age should somehow hurt less. They say things lik

We know how it ends. Every love, every friendship, every season of our lives — all of it eventually slips through our fingers. People leave. People die. People change. You wake up one day, and the thing you thought you couldn’t live without is gone. And yet, we do it again. We fall. We risk. We open ourselves like fools, knowing full well we might be broken again. Why? Because something in us is stubbornly, wildly alive. Because love — even when it ends — is worth more than a