I’m seated in the front row of my mother’s graveside service— a place marked especially for me. The past few days have been a blur and if it wasn’t for others directing me to each place, I’m not sure I’d be anywhere but the floor of my closet, alone and surrounded by darkness.  The preacher talks, we pray, we might even sing. I can’t recall…

I’m listening to Miranda Lambert sing the words to “The House That Built Me”, while swaying along to the rhythm with my friends. I’m at a place I’ve been to a hundred times, a place where I’ve listened to dozens of musicians, but something about this night and this song is hitting me differently.  After losing my mother years ago, I’ve found most things hit…

I’m tired of carrying the weight of grief and I’ve only just begun to hold it. It’s still so new, so fresh, I’m surprised I’m able to name it.  I’m tired of the darkness and the emptiness caused by an untimely death. I’m broken and lonely and wondering how life keeps moving forward for everyone around me when my world has been shattered and my…

“This year I fly alone. Pray for me.”– those were the words that came from her mouth. She wasn’t talking about a plane ride or a solo retreat. She was talking about life after a significant loss. She was talking about venturing into the holidays with a broken heart, while trying to continue the joy and traditions for others. She was talking about trying to…