For @gratzite

Today, on Christmas Day, I opened my blog again after a long silence and found myself staring at an absence that broke my heart.

There was a subscriber—a kind, steady presence—who used to leave thoughtful comments on almost every post I wrote. His words were never loud or demanding; they were gentle, encouraging, and full of genuine appreciation. He saw me. He saw the effort behind each piece, the vulnerability, the hope. His quiet support meant more to me than I ever told him.

Last year, around this same time, he wrote to wish me a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. He told me he had just turned one hundred years old. One hundred. I remember smiling through tears when I read it—moved that someone who had lived a full century still found joy in reading the scattered thoughts of a much younger writer trying to make sense of the world. I wanted to reply. I wanted to tell him how much his faithfulness lifted me, how his comments often gave me the courage to keep writing when everything else felt too heavy.

But I didn’t get to send that reply.

Right around then, my life was unraveling under attacks—gaslighting, control, silence imposed on me—that left me disoriented and afraid to speak. My voice was taken from me at the exact moment I could have honored his.

Today, I went looking for his familiar name in the comments, hoping to see that he was still there. Instead, I visited his own website and found a message from his family: he had passed away.

I cried harder than I expected. I cried for the words I never sent. I cried for the century of life he lived so gracefully. I cried because someone who believed in my writing is no longer here to read it.

But mostly, I cried from gratitude.

Thank you, dear reader, for showing up so faithfully. Thank you for celebrating my voice when others tried to silence it. Thank you for reminding me, just by being there, that words can travel quietly across distance and time and still touch a heart.

You mattered to me—more than I ever said while you were here. I hope, wherever you are now, you know that.

This blog is quieter without you, but I will keep writing. Partly because you once believed it was worth reading.

With all my love and a very late reply— 
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and thank you for a hundred beautiful years.

Rest in peace. 
You were seen. You were appreciated. You will not be forgotten.