My beloved Spartacus,

Four moons have now risen and softened since you crossed over, and still the world bears your imprint in ways both gentle and aching. Time moves, as it must, yet my heart measures its passing not in days but in moments when I instinctively turn to find you—by my side, at my feet, in the quiet knowing glance that once steadied me. Your absence has not grown smaller; it has grown deeper, more spacious, like a sacred chamber where love echoes endlessly.

Grief, I am learning, is not the opposite of love. It is love that has lost its place to rest. And so it rests in you—in memory, in breath, in the simple acts of living that you once turned into rituals of meaning. I still walk daily, just as you taught me, feeling your rhythm in my steps, your insistence on showing up for the body, for the day, for life itself. I try to stay loyal to my truth, to follow my own bliss, even when the path feels uncertain. And when weariness visits, as it often does, I remember how you greeted each morning with wonder, as if the world were always new, always worthy of trust.

Your teachings continue to unfold within me. They are no longer lessons from beside me, but whispers from within. They guide my choices, soften my judgments, and remind me that strength can be quiet, and courage can be kind.

The Spartacus Foundation has begun to take its first breaths. I feel astonishingly close to you. It feels as though your spirit has simply changed its reach. What were once your paws are now many hands; what was once your gaze is now a shared intention to protect, to heal, to love without condition. If love can travel beyond worlds, then surely some part of this finds its way back to you.

And yes, little Zephyrus walks beside me now. He carries your lineage, but more than that, he carries a reminder: that love does not end; it transforms. In his presence, I feel your blessing—not as sorrow, but as permission to continue loving fully. You taught me that too, didn’t you? That the heart grows by giving, not by holding back.

I still write, still read, still seek understanding, as if gathering fragments of wisdom to bring back to you, to say, Look, Sparty, this is what you set in motion. And on our familiar paths, when the wind brushes past me just right, I pause. In that pause, there is no separation. Only gratitude. Only connection. Only you.

If you can hear me, know this: you are not behind me. You are within me. In every mindful step, every act of compassion, every moment I choose presence over fear, you live on.

Run gently, my brave one, in realms where love has no weight and loyalty has no end. Rest in the knowing that you were deeply seen, profoundly cherished, and will forever be my teacher.

Dad…

January 12, 2026