Navigating grief is not a linear course. Sometimes grief crushes like a breaker. Sometimes it nudges like a gentle swell. Sometimes my days run straight and swift. Sometimes they are erratic and frenzied. Sometimes memories are like the warm sun, putting a smile on my face. Sometimes memories break me,
Sometimes the sun rises and darkness rests heavily on the soul. Words require from us a kind of empathy and imagination and even then, the true meaning of words falls short until we experience their meaning in our lives. Love means little if you haven’t experienced loving parents, siblings,
The sun is peeking through the clouds this morning like a child might peek through the lattice of a neighbors back yard. What does it see? Can the sun see the glories and hardships of humanity? I think on that some as I soak up the relative warmth (30°) that
I’m drawn to the peace and stillness of the mountains. From here I can see the two highest peaks of Virginia, their normal lines disfigured by clouds. Were I up there I know it would be much colder and harsh. And yet, I’m surrounded by the frenzied activity
Its been over a month now. The pain is still there, it shifts and changes. I don’t remember how I left my dad on the last day I saw him, but it was so engrained in me that I know that my last words were “I love you.” along
I was listening to a cover of a song called "Girl from the North Country" by Bob Dylan. The cover was by Mendeleyev. Lyrically it doesn’t fit my story. But some songs fit on a deeper level. The music settles in all the way to your bones
My family is giving me bemused looks when I show them another sunrise or sunset photo. Probably wondering if I’m OK. I have of course been pondering this obsession while I wait for the winter sun to scale the opposite side of the hills and finally to blind me
One hard part about losing someone integral is how the world understands up to a point but it moves on before you are ready. Even I am compelled to move on to a degree. I have a family to care for. A job. I cannot retreat into solitude. The weight
When I arrived in Charleston, South Carolina, December 22, 2025, the sun was setting on a day that I will now remember as the day I lost my Dad. Waking up the next day and driving back to my parents house I was reminded of conversations with friends last week,
Originally posted on Instagram December 18, 2025. My Dad passed away on December 22, 2025. My Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer that had metastasized to his bones back in August of 2025. My sisters and I, and many others were taking turns spending time with my parents and trying