Court Is Still in Session Week Four, Day One....This week is so heavy I am doing daily post.... Today is Sunday, July 19, 2026. I have been awake since about one o'clock this morning. I wish I could tell you it was because I had so much on my mind or because I drank too much coffee before bed, but I know better than that. This week has arrived. The week. In three days, it will be eight months since my son, Jaxon, went to Heaven. Three days after that will be his first heavenl

July has me fighting for my life!!!!!! I've been in a fight with July. Not the kind where you raise your voice or slam a door. It's quieter than that. It's the kind of fight where someone you love walks into the room, and before they ever say a word, your chest gets tight because they carry too many memories. That's me and July. Every morning I wake up telling myself, maybe today won't feel so heavy. Every night, July reminds me that it remembers everything. It remembers befo

Movement I: Becoming the Patient "All rise." Those words echoed in my spirit before my feet ever touched the floor. The Court was still in session. Last week, I stood before God with my grief. I brought the evidence. I testified about Darren. I testified about Jaxon. I testified about the woman I had become after years of caregiving, burying children, surviving what I once believed would surely break me. When Week One ended, I thought I had survived the hardest part. I was wr

Before You Enter the Courtroom This is not a book about grief. This is the official record of one woman refusing to disappear. After years of caregiving, unimaginable loss, and living almost exclusively in survival mode, I reached a place where I no longer recognized the woman staring back at me. I wanted to admit myself into an inpatient wellness program, but life wouldn't allow me to leave. So instead of accepting what wasn't possible, I built the rehabilitation I needed in

To my Sweetest Jaxon, Today is seven months. Seven. The number of completion. And somehow, that feels fitting because you were born in the seventh month too. I've been sitting here thinking about you all day. Looking through pictures. Smiling. Crying. Laughing at some of the things only you and I would understand. And I realized I've never written you a love letter. So here we are. Jaxon, you were the best thing I've ever done. You changed my life on 7/25, and then you change

"I trust You, Lord. I just didn't think trust would take this long." This week, I sat staring at a blank screen. Not because I didn't have anything to say. But because I wasn't sure I had anything left to give. For months, I've written about grief, healing, grace, mercy, letting go, and all the things God has been teaching me in this valley. Usually, when I sit down to write, the words come. This week, they didn't. Because the truth is, I wasn't wrestling with a blog. I was w

There comes a point in every season where you have to ask yourself a hard question: Am I trusting God, or am I trying to help Him? This week, that question has been sitting heavy on my heart. Because if I'm being honest, I have been tired. Not physically tired. Not "I need a nap" tired. Soul tired. The kind of tired that comes from carrying things for too long. The kind of tired that comes from fighting battles you can't win with effort. The kind of tired that comes from tryi

This week has been one of the most challenging weeks of my life. Honestly, this has been the most challenging season of my life. And I know I talk about hope. I know I write about healing. I know I encourage people to keep going, to get up, to believe God still has more, to trust that grace and mercy are still meeting us in the morning. But this week reminded me of something I cannot ignore: Sometimes, while you are dealing hope, you can forget yourself. Sometimes, while you

I NEED TO SAY THIS JUST HOLD ON......I'M COMING BACK TO YOU.......... I NEED TO SAY THIS JUST HOLD ON......I'M COMING BACK TO YOU.......... (If you have anything positive to say about me or to me...please leave a comment...I am fighting and I need some cheers/wins right now) This part… this part is for me. And maybe if I’m feeling like this, maybe somebody else is too. Maybe you need these words too. Maybe one day I’ll need to come back and read this again myself. Girl, get u

Let me say something that’s probably going to make people uncomfortable. Good. Maybe discomfort is finally what forces people to look in the mirror. Because I’m tired. Not sleepy tired. Not “I need a vacation” tired. I’m talking soul exhaustion. The kind that happens when life has dragged you through fire for ten straight years and somehow people still expect you to be the one holding everybody else together while nobody notices your hands are burning. And before y’all start:

Life looks so different for me after just 365 days. I know life looks different for so many people right now too. Some are celebrating. Some are surviving. Some are trying not to fall apart while smiling through brunch reservations and flower deliveries. Some are holding their mother’s hand today. Some are holding memories. Some are holding grief so heavy it feels physical. And somehow… all of us still need love. I have been blessed with the gift of being mothered well. Not p

May used to feel like joy. Milestones. Sunshine. Clapping loud. Showing up full. Now? May feels like celebrations… without the ones you were supposed to celebrate. Mother’s Day… but your arms don’t hold what they used to. Graduations… but the name you’re waiting to hear won’t be called. Because while the world is celebrating what is… you are carrying what should have been. When May Meets Grief May doesn’t ask you if you’re ready. It just comes. With its invitations. With its

April 26th. Today carries weight. Today carries breath. Today carries both. Today is the day God said no—to everything that tried to take me out, to everything that tried to silence me, to everything that tried to convince me I couldn’t keep going. And today… my living son, Nolin, turns two. --- I’m going to tell the truth. This week tried to take me under. Not lightly. Not quietly. This week pulled me down into a place I know too well… a place where grief doesn’t visit—it li

We’ve romanticized the phoenix. Made it something people aspire to without understanding the cost. But the phoenix is not about rising. It is about what life has to take apart first. Because sometimes life doesn’t just hurt you… It restructures you. Not to destroy you. But because who you were cannot carry where you’re going. WHEN LIFE STARTS UNDOING WHAT YOU BUILT There is a difference between something breaking… …and something being intentionally undone. You can feel it whe

The Rebirth is often required. There are some versions of you that do not survive what you’ve been through. Let’s tell the truth. Some parts of you had to burn. The expectations. The attachments. The identity you built around things that did not last. And when it all fell apart— it didn’t feel like transformation. It felt like ruin. But what if I told you— you were never meant to stay who you were before the fire? What if the breaking…was the beginning of your becoming? This

There comes a moment in grief that nobody prepares you for. Not the moment they leave. Not the moment the house goes quiet. Not even the moment you realize life kept going without asking you for permission. No— It’s the moment you realize you cannot carry it all the same way anymore. And that realization feels like betrayal. Because part of you believes: If I loosen my grip… If I shift how I carry them… If I stop holding this pain the way I’ve been holding it… …am I letting t

Resurrection Sunday used to feel like celebration. Now… it feels like contrast. Because how do you shout “He is risen!” when your heart is still carrying what feels like death? How do you celebrate life…when you have buried your own children? This is the part people don’t talk about. Grief looks different on holidays. It’s louder. It’s sharper. It’s more present. Because everything around you is trying to be joyful…and you are trying to hold yourself together. Today is Resurr

There is a version of grief that people don’t talk about enough. Not the kind you cry through. Not the kind you write about. Not even the kind you pray through. But the kind your body carries. When Your Body Remembers What Your Mouth Can’t Say Grief has weight. And trauma… trauma has memory. It settles into your shoulders. It hides in your chest. It shows up in your breathing, your sleep, your ability to focus, your ability to be. There are days I am not sad. …but my body is.

The Tension No One Talks About There is a tension I live in now. A space that doesn’t make sense to people who have not walked through fire and still chosen to breathe. It’s the space where grief and gratitude sit at the same table. Where loss and life coexist. Where I can mourn deeply… and still laugh from my belly in the same day. And if I’m being honest— that confuses people. Because people want grief to look one way. They want it to be linear, predictable, palatable. But

There is a moment after loss that people don’t talk about. It’s the moment when the casseroles stop coming. When the messages slow down. When the world gently — or sometimes abruptly — expects you to return to normal. But the truth is this: There is no normal after burying your child. There is only after. After the hospital rooms. After the machines. After the prayers that sounded like pleading. After the silence that followed. And after my sons, Darren & Jaxon, left this ea