The Christmas season is a time for family, love, and togetherness, but for many children who have lost a parent, it can be a bittersweet reminder of what is missing. I know this because I was one of those children. My story began in Jamaica, West Indies, where, at just 9 years old, I lost my father to complications from hypertension. That moment changed my life forever. My father was my hero. I was a daddy’s little girl, and he was the apple of my eye. He sang to me, played with me, and let me comb his hair, even though it wasn’t always painless for him. He filled my days with joy, love, and laughter. But when he passed away in his bed, surrounded by my mother, my siblings, and me, the sun dimmed on my world. I didn’t know how to live without him, and the grief I felt was all-consuming. My mother, then a widow raising five children, had no access to counseling or support services. But she was a pillar of strength and love, carrying us through the darkest days with her unwavering guidan...