Isaac is about to turn 18 months old. It’s the same age Nicholas was the day he sat on my hip as two police officers stood in my kitchen and told me his daddy was dead. 18 months – the same size hands that wave goodbye, the same soapy smell in their blond hair, the same yell of “daddy” with

Grief Revisited

On my book shelf, on the second row, is a hoard of philosophy books. Pages and pages of words direct from the mouths of Heidegger, Kant, Kierkegaard, Descartes, Wittgenstein, and more. I’ve lost the fluency of it all – if I ever had it to begin with. These were Chris’s books before he died, and I read over his shoulder.

January 2019 My plane descends into Detroit on a Thursday morning. One moment it’s sunshine and blue skies miles above the earth, and the next we slip under a thick blanket of clouds, into the dreary morning of a Michigan winter. The airplane hums around me as I stare out the tiny window at the dismal Detroit River. It arches

I was wrong. I sat down at my computer and wrote a blog post about being in the trenches, telling the world about the year that had felt chaotic. A year where I could barely catch my breath. A year where I believed I was in survival mode. It wasn’t an unfounded belief. A lot happened. I screamed a baby

In the Trenches

I park the car at the monastery’s tree farm, haul the baby into his stroller while Nicholas dances around excitedly, and hand the saw to Mike as we prepare to trek through the muddy fields for the perfect tree. I make the mistake almost immediately.

I Am Not the Hero

It is a year ago, and the stomach flu has hit our household. Except, it only hits Mike. He can’t eat. Everything makes him nauseous. His doctor said sometimes it can last a week. I coax him into eating soup and bananas, drinking coconut water in tiny sips. I am being the good wife. The one who vowed to be

Your heart pounds against the silence. There is only the blood that pumps fiercely through your body, chasing down meaning at a cellular level. There is only the crushing pain, the weight of emptiness, the hope that flew off when we weren’t looking. I wish there was something I could say to you that would make things easier. That would

Almost everything about Isaac has been unexpected. Six and a half years ago, I gave birth to my first baby, Nicholas. I was young, unsure, and overwhelmed, but he was a gift to me. I struggled, but I loved. I was challenged, but I grew. He was the first baby, but when his daddy left this earth, I realized with

I’ve shared a lot of my story here on this blog. My story about grief, anxiety, letting go of control, and living with gratitude and compassion. But there’s a central part of my story I haven’t told because I always believed most people wouldn’t want to hear it. But omitting it feels dishonest. And so here it is. Nine months

“Motherhood is a carnival mirror in that you see, at times, the absolute worst version of yourself, and at other times, the absolute best,” writes blogger Erin Loechner. And she’s exactly right. Because being a mom is HARD. And sometimes we don’t want to do it, don’t enjoy it, don’t feel we are cut out for it… and feel immensely