It’s my first Christmas without my dad.

To be honest — it still sucks. I miss him so much.

There’s no poetic way to wrap that up. There’s just the quiet ache of him not being here, and the moments where you instinctively think you’ll see his name light up your phone or hear his voice in your head… and then you remember.

And still — this Christmas felt like standing in between worlds.

Between what was.

Between what’s ending.

Between what’s beginning.

As tradition, my daughter and I worked out together Christmas morning. Same ritual. Same sweat. Same smiles. We took our usual gym photos — not because we “have to,” but because it’s one of the ways we mark time together. One of the ways we say: we’re still here, we’re still moving, we’re still choosing strength.

After that, we had Christmas lunch with my mom and stepdad at my house.

Simple. Quiet. Full of warmth.

Then it was time.

Finished loading the U-Haul.

Packed up my car.

Did one last slow walk through the house to make sure I had everything.

That walk hits different when you know it’s the last time.

But it also holds a strange kind of beauty — a moment to honor what was, before stepping into what’s next.

Every room holds echoes. Every corner carries a version of you that lived there once. So I walked slowly. I breathed it in. I said thank you to the walls, to the years, to the growth, to the pain, to the healing.

There were a lot of hugs.

A few tears.

And a lot of “see you in a month in Florida” — because they’re all coming to visit in February.

So we’re not doing goodbyes.

Just gentle see-you-soons.

Florida is waiting. A new chapter is opening. Sunshine, ocean air, fresh routines, new rhythms. I don’t know exactly what it will look like yet — but I know it will be good. I know it will be alive. And I know I’m ready.

I’m bringing my dad with me — in my heart, in my strength, in the parts of me he helped shape. I’m bringing this family with me. I’m bringing every version of myself that got me here.

Today wasn’t joyful in the traditional sense.

But it was meaningful.

And it was loving.

And it was full.

And that counts