A Year Later, Still Yesterday

Gosh, I really thought I had given myself enough time to grieve your sudden loss, Tito Boy. A whole year has passed, and yet somehow, it still feels like yesterday. The kind of yesterday that lingers—quiet, heavy, and unexpectedly present in the smallest moments.

I find myself caught in between—grateful for the days that keep me busy, for the work that fills my mind and hands, for the movement that somehow softens the stillness you left behind. Maybe that’s how I’ve learned to carry it. Because in truth, it’s not that I’ve forgotten you’re gone. It’s that I’m learning how to live with that reality, one day at a time.

There are moments when it hits differently. When something reminds me of you, and time folds in on itself. When your absence feels louder than everything else. And in those moments, I realize that grief doesn’t really fade—it just changes shape.

I hope you’re proud of us. Just like Daddy, I imagine you both watching over us from heaven—quietly witnessing every step, every small win, every milestone. Especially with Sinaya, I carry that hope deeply. That somehow, in all that we’re building, you see the purpose, the heart, and the fight behind it.

You may not be here with us physically, but your presence is still woven into everything we do, everything we strive for.

And maybe that’s how love stays—steady, unseen, but always felt.