After multiple attempts, I’ve finally built up the strength to give my recap—to look back at 2024 and reflect on its highs and lows. Yet nothing feels complete. I started this piece two weeks ago, and nearly every day since, I’ve revisited it—writing, recapping, or at least trying to. When I look back on my year, it’s painted with so much gray. And blue. And sunsets. And tears.
2024 was a whirlwind that unfolded within me, and it’s still trying to break free. I fight to hold on to the pieces because, without them, I’m afraid I’ll forget to breathe—or worse, let go of our precious memories.
I did the work this year. I had the conversations. I took the trips. I went to therapy. I centered myself. I cried. I laughed. I got angry enough to make the necessary decisions. I spoke up this year in ways I never thought I would have to. I walked in my truth, regardless of the outcome. I was here.
And while I was here, I was also breaking. This year, I learned that a heart could shatter in more ways than I could count. I learned that a pieced-together heart is still worthy of the love I’ve received and given. I learned that a heart can keep beating, even when bent. I learned that a heart can stop—and I felt it, clear as day, on a boat thousands of miles away.
This year, my body felt both loss and love. My body shook to its core every day for months. My body hid from the mornings that used to claim its marvel. My body knew I couldn’t hide forever, nor could I count the wake-ups—the mornings overtaken by mourning. That mourning turned into conversations with my Alpha and Omega, conversations that never felt the same.
Those conversations led to stillness and meditation because peace will always be still.
The peace that owns my silence and offers joy in suffering. The Prince of Peace, who holds my sorrow and brings light to my sunsets. My sunsets, which I blacked out—because on that boat, I knew he was gone. He didn’t look back. And yet, I have to keep going.
This is the last time I’ll say I buried my dad this year. The last time a new year can begin from a bottom this low. The last time I’ll hide from my recap.
And the first time I’ll say: I made it through—knowing I never would have made it without You.
This is beautiful. It marks the lows , highs ,and the perseverance it takes to manage grief. It showed me the things I wouldn’t think about. The realness of the last time you can say “I buried my dad this year”. It’s like being stuck in the past but somehow still moving through the present. I could say more but this is one of my favorite pieces ma’am. I can’t wait for the next one.
Thanks you so much. I’m glad it was received as such. This year has been a year I’ll never forgot and I’m glad to be alive to speak on it.