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A year can change us in ways we never expected. Grief has a way of marking time differently, not in months or seasons, but in thresholds. In the moments before and after. In the ways we soften, break open, rebuild, and learn to carry what once felt impossible. When we look back on a year of grief, we often see not only the ache, but the quiet growth that threaded itself through the days. The resilience we didn’t know we had. The tenderness that surprised us. The ways love co

The holidays arrive each year wrapped in expectation; twinkling lights, familiar music, gatherings, rituals, and the cultural insistence that this is a season of joy. But for those who are grieving, the holidays can feel like a collision of emotions. Joy doesn’t disappear, but neither does sorrow. Instead, they sit side by side, sharing the same table, the same room, the same heart. Holiday grief is not a contradiction. It is a truth of being human. 🌙 The Season of Mixed E

There is a moment each year when the world leans fully into darkness; the Winter Solstice , the longest night, the turning point of the season. The sun lingers low, shadows stretch long, and the earth feels hushed, as if holding its breath. For many who are grieving, winter mirrors the inner landscape: quiet, heavy, stripped down to essentials. And yet, the Solstice carries a truth that grief understands intimately — light returns slowly, gently, faithfully, even when we can

Two years. It feels impossible that so much time has passed, and yet the ache still knows exactly where to find me. Grief has its own calendar; one that doesn’t follow months or seasons, but memory, love, and the shape of absence. December 18th marks two years since Hunter died , and the world is still learning how to hold that truth. I am still learning how to hold that truth. Anniversaries like this are not just dates. They are thresholds; places where the past and present