One Day You'll Do Something Beautiful With Your Pain

You always do, or so they say.

But right now... you be with it, let it crash into you, and try not to let it overtake you. Time doesn't stop for grief. Clocks don't run out of ticks. This, you've learned. Grief swoops in on an ordinary Thursday—your family at the dinner table, laughing and eating breakfast for supper, when you get the phone call you know will change your life.

Grief doesn't care. It doesn't care that you have other plans, or different ways you'd rather spend your time. You have to do it in the midst of living.

Sing to your baby. Plan her first birthday—order dresses and balloon archways for that tiny, revolutionary girl. Touch your lover's face—remember how he cried with you on the bathroom floor. Read Hemingway to your son. Get lost in the Halloween plans, the school calendars, the photo days, the master-lists. Listen to your daughter talk endlessly about fashion and beauty and things that seem so meaningless—even if you don't want to. That's where the life is.

So stay here. Stay present. Breathe through every awful, painful, overwhelming feeling. You know that's the only way.

Everything will shape you—the same way water carves stone, ever so slowly over time.

One day, something beautiful will emerge.

It has to.

October Gratitude List – Even When it Hurts, You Must Look Upon the Sun

As you may have noticed, I haven't been here much lately. On October 9th, my dad died unexpectedly, and losing him has completely shaken up my entire world. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I live in a world he's no longer part of, at least in the tangible sense, and that my baby daughter won't have any memories of him. If I'm being honest, it's really fucked me up.

It hurts so bad. But here I am, a mother, and I have three kids to raise. I can't let myself be taken down by grief. As much as I hate getting out of bed these days, they give me a reason to keep going.

So I guess with that, I have to find the glimmers of good in a month filled with so much grief. October hasn't been an easy month for. me for a long time. Before losing my dad, I lost my grandma in October 2023. We were very close. And 19 years ago this month, my eldest brother was beaten to death. I know it's only a matter of coincidence that three significant people in my life have died in October, but I wouldn't mind if this month was wiped from the calendar entirely.

I am grateful for my Dad. He was a good man, his flaws not withstanding. He could be rough and gruff, but just below the surface, he was tender. No matter how tumultuous our family life was when I was young, I felt safe with him, because he was really just a big squish who worked incredibly hard, loved his kids and wanted us to lead good lives. Even though things became complicated between us over the years that followed, I always knew he loved me, and he adored his grand-kids. I wish he had more time, and I'll do everything to make sure that our relationship continues in its own way now that he's gone. I don't know what that looks like right now, and it hurts to think about, but I can still hold him close even though he's not physically here with me.

Rest easy, Daddy. I will make you proud and I will hold all the good parts of you inside of me. And whatever else may come, I'm going to get through it. I always do.

I am grateful for the community of people I know that have reached out and given me support over the past two weeks. It's helped so much. I have a hard time reaching out myself, but to feel so loved and thought of by the people in my life who truly care has meant a lot. Loss is the universal equalizer, and I have had so many tender conversations with friends and family who've gone through it themselves and can sit with me in my grief.

I am grateful for my husband, and my kids, and my family. They're keeping me grounded and carrying me through this profoundly sad time. I have my baby's first birthday to plan, and as difficult as it may be to keep a smile on my face through it, all I have to do is revel in her joy and one year of her existence to remember how lucky I am.

I am grateful to say that my husband had his vasectomy procedure this month and now we have officially completed our family.

I am grateful for the breaths I breathe as I type these words. In and out, and in and out...

That's all we have.

Goodbye Dad, I Love You.

Daddy,

You were the first man I ever loved—to keep me safe and warm, and to show me what it meant to be loved in return.

The fact that I’m writing this means the most unbearable thing is true—that your journey here on Earth has come to an end. I’ve spent the past few days trying to encapsulate what you meant to me and make it palatable for the masses, but the truth is, it’s not easy to fold our 38 years together neatly into a box, so I won’t try to. It wouldn’t capture every nuance, and it wouldn’t let me grieve the relationship we had alongside the one I wish we had but didn’t.

Love—real human love—is often messy. It can begin with warmth, and despite our best intentions, still leave us wounded and wishing that things were different.

When I was younger, I thought you hung the moon. I was your little girl; you were my everything. You protected, supported, and cared for me, and provided constant opportunities for fun and adventure, especially outdoors. You were born to be a dad and took great pride in it, nurturing every strength and interest my siblings and I had, while enthusiastically sharing your own. Life changed, and as I grew older, the harder it became for you to be the dad I needed. But this never diminished my love for you. It just complicated it.

You were filled with goodness. Beneath that rough-hewn exterior, lived a sensitive soul who felt more deeply than most. All our differences aside, I inherited this from you, even as our methods of handling vulnerability diverged greatly. I feel things all the way through. You, ever the fixer and builder, constructed walls that often felt too high to climb. With your mechanical mind, you had an innate understanding of the hums and rattles of an engine, yet struggled to tend to the workings of the heart. This cost us precious time. Despite our clashes, there is one simple truth: we had a deep, unyielding love for each other.

Now I’m left to contend with the beauty and the pain. One day, I will choose only to hold the tenderness that lives somewhere in between.

I love you bigger than the whole wide world, Daddy, and I always will.