The Anniversary of the loss of Hunter: The Day my World Stopped Turning.

One year ago today, Hunter died.

There’s no gentle way to say it; no way to soften the truth that someone I loved deeply is no longer here.

The anniversary of loss is a strange kind of milestone. It doesn’t celebrate. It doesn’t mark progress in the usual sense. It simply arrives, heavy with memory, full of everything that’s been felt, missed, mourned, and carried.

This day holds everything: the shock of goodbye, the ache of absence, the warmth of remembrance, and the quiet resilience that somehow grew in the cracks.

In the early days, I didn’t know how I’d survive the weight of grief. But I found a way through, word by word, page by page. Writing became my lifeline. It gave shape to the chaos, offered a place to speak what felt unspeakable, and helped me honor Hunter in ways that felt true. Through writing, I didn’t just process my grief, I built a bridge to him. I remembered. I reflected. I healed, slowly.

There were days I wrote through tears, and days I wrote in silence. But each time I returned to the page, I found a little more light. A little more strength. A little more of myself.

Today, I light a candle for Hunter. I speak his name. I read the words I’ve written and remember the love that still lives in me. Because grief doesn’t end; it evolves. And love, thankfully, doesn’t leave.

If you’re grieving today, or marking your own anniversary of loss, I hope you find a way to honor what hurts and what heals. Whether through writing, ritual, silence, or story. Your grief deserves space. Your love deserves voice.

Hunter, you are missed. You are remembered. You are loved.