A Hell of a Ride
On the wildest year of my life.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: 2025 was a fucking doozy.
I’m 36 years old and I have plenty of crazy years under my belt at this point, but there is nothing that even comes close to the chaos, sadness, joy, and anxiety of the last 365 days.
For context, the year started with the understanding that my dad was likely not going to recover from the mystery illness that had been slowly sapping his energy, his weight, and his voice over the past few years. Accepting that was… well, I’m still working on it, even now that he’s no longer here. The five and a half months of 2025 that I got to spend with him, traveling to see him as often as possible, are so very precious and I hold them tightly in my memory. Now, I’m looking for all the ways in which he’s still with me, and I’m grateful that there are many—tin ceilings, a bright moon, a solo walk on a NYC block with the wind blowing just right. His presence is here, and although it sometimes steals my breath away, I am grateful to have found it.
