Dear dearest daughter,
I wish I could be writing to you under different circumstances. There are no perfect words to soften the ache you must be feeling right now. Losing your mother—the heart of our home, your guiding light, your constant comfort—is an unimaginable pain. As your spiritual father, and someone who loved her deeply too, my heart breaks not only for my own grief, but for yours.
Please know this: it’s okay to feel lost, to cry, to be angry, or to feel nothing at all. Grief isn’t a straight line. It comes in waves, some gentle, some crashing, and there is no right or wrong way to move through it. I will walk every step with you, holding your hand when you need it, giving you space when you don’t, and always, always listening.
Your mother was an extraordinary woman—kind, brave, wise, and full of a love and joy that shaped you, her only child. She left behind more than memories; she left pieces of herself in you. I see her in your quiet strength, your thoughtful heart, the way you notice when others need care. Those are gifts she gave you, and they’ll never fade.
Though she’s no longer here in the way we wish she could be, her love didn’t die. Love like hers never does. It will live on—in your decisions, in your laughter, in the way you love others. That love will be your compass when things feel uncertain.
When the world feels heavy and your heart too tired to carry it all, I want you to remember: you are not alone. I am here. Not just as your spiritual father, but as someone who understands this pain, who feels the same emptiness, and who believes with all his heart that, together, we can find light again.
Hope doesn’t mean forgetting. It means remembering with tenderness, and believing that there is still beauty ahead—even in a different shape than we imagined. We will find joy again. Slowly. Gently. Together.
I love you more than words will ever say.
With all my heart,
Your spiritual Father
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