A year ago, her mother—my wife and my partner—passed away, and since then it’s just been the two of us. Every day has meant learning how to be everything at once: dad, comfort, protector, and the steady voice she can rely on.
There are moments I still wonder if I’m doing enough. No one prepares you for answering questions about loss or holding a child’s sadness while trying to stay strong yourself. But Ava keeps me going. Her laughter, her curiosity, and the way she still finds joy in small things remind me what resilience really looks like.
This morning she turned five candles on a cake she helped decorate. Watching her smile through it all brought both pride and pain—gratitude for the moments we still have, and sadness for the one person who should be here with us.
Five years old already—full of dreams, questions, and imagination. She talks about becoming an astronaut, a ballerina, and a vet all at once, and I believe she can be anything she wants to be.
Today, I’m asking for something simple: if you see this, please leave a “Happy Birthday, Ava” in the comments. I’ll read them all to her, so she can feel a little extra love today.
Happy Birthday, Ava. You are deeply loved, always.