With us ushering in 2026 tomorrow, I’ve forced myself to pause and reflect on the past year and all it taught me. Life has shown me that while we can learn a great deal from our wins, it’s the losses where the greatest growth often happens if we are open to receiving the lessons.
So here goes me trying to put into words how one year broke me down but built me up simultaneously.
If I had to describe 2025 in one word, it would be contradictory. It was one of the hardest years of my life—and also one of the happiest. It was the year I buried my dad, a man I loved deeply and fiercely.
And it was the year I welcomed my third child into the world.
I don’t think we talk enough about how life can break your heart and fill it at the exact same time.
Losing my dad shattered me. There is something uniquely painful about losing a parent—the person who helped shape who you are, who has known you longer than anyone else ever will. Grief doesn’t arrive quietly. It comes in waves, often when you least expect it. It settles into your body, your thoughts, your memories. Even now, there are moments when I reach for my phone, instinctively wanting to call him, forgetting for just a split second that I can’t.
What made this loss even more complicated was that I was pregnant when he died.
I remember feeling like my emotions didn’t know where to land. One moment I was grieving deeply, aching for my dad, mourning the future conversations we’d never have. The next moment I was feeling my baby move, being reminded that new life was growing inside me. Grief and joy sat side by side, neither canceling the other out. It was confusing, overwhelming, and at times, emotionally exhausting.
There were days when it felt wrong to smile or feel excited. How could I be happy when my heart was breaking? And yet, how could I not feel joy when I was bringing a new life into the world? I learned quickly that grief doesn’t follow rules—and neither does love. You can mourn deeply and still celebrate. You can feel loss without letting it erase hope.
One of the hardest realities to accept is knowing my dad will never meet my third child. He will never hold her, laugh with her, or see the person she becomes. That truth still stings. There is a specific sadness in knowing that two people you love so deeply will never know each other in the way you imagined.
But alongside that pain is a strange and unexpected comfort.
I know, without a doubt, that my dad would be so proud of her. Proud of me. Proud of the life I’m building and the family I’m raising. And while he may not be physically here, his presence hasn’t disappeared. His values, his kindness, his strength—they live on. They live on in me, in my children, and in the countless lives he touched during his time here.
Legacy isn’t just about being remembered. It’s about what you pass on.
My dad’s legacy shows up in the way I love my children, the way I try to show up for others, the lessons I carry forward. And in that way, he will meet my third child—through stories, through values, through the love that continues to ripple outward long after he’s gone.
2025 taught me that life is not either/or. It’s both/and.
Both grief and joy.
Both heartbreak and hope.
Both endings and beginnings.
Two very poignant reminders of this were:
1) When I was deep in the trenches of labor with my daughter and although it was intense as you can imagine, there was a moment when grief overcame me and all I could think of was my dad and how he’s no longer here. My mind went from the immense discomfort I was experiencing from labor contractions to the overwhelming sadness of losing my dad in an instant with no warning.
2) While we were in Dubai celebrating my husband’s 40th birthday, which was another huge highlight of our year, we also experienced what would’ve been my dad’s 78th birthday on November 23rd. On one hand you’re feeling grateful to be with loved ones on a trip you’d been planning for years, but at the same time you’re feeling a void in the place where off tuned happy birthday songs would’ve lived.
I’m still learning how to carry both grief and joy at the same time. Some days I do it gracefully; other days I don’t. But this year has changed me forever. It has softened me, strengthened me, and reminded me how fragile and beautiful life really is.
As I look at my child, I’m reminded that even in the deepest loss, life continues to grow. And as I remember my dad, I’m reminded that love doesn’t end—it just changes form.
This year broke my heart open. And somehow, in doing so, it made room for more love than I ever thought possible.
To anyone out there who had a tough year, a contradictory year, an amazing year, a confusing year, or anything in between: I’m holding space for you and hoping that 2026 is an incredible one. As we wait in anticipation for the new year, I’d encourage you to reflect on 2025 and extract lessons from it, regardless of how messy or emotional it may be.
We are in this together, and I love you.
PS: I know I’ve been a little inconsistent with the blog posts – as you can imagine, I’ve been grappling with a lot, but in 2026, I will continue to pour into this community CONSISTENTLY. Thanks for rocking with me and being here, guys. Love you and I’m wishing you all a prosperous new year.
—
TOP
Dr. Tiffany Ofili Porter 