Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #14: Grief and The Holidays: Holding Joy and Loss At The Same Time

“Grief is the price we pay for love.”

The Holidays. They arrive each year. Wrapped in lights. Music. Traditions. And well-intentioned reminders to be Grateful. And I am Grateful. Deeply so. For life. For family. For the blessings that continue to show up. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes unexpectedly.

But alongside that gratitude lives something else. Something heavier. Softer. And far more complicated. Grief. 

Greg has been gone for eleven and half years. That sentence. Those words. Still feels surreal. There was a time when I believed that with enough years behind me, the ache would dull. The sharp edges would soften. The holidays would eventually feel easier. I believed grief followed a predictable arc. Like a rainbow. Brilliant and intense at first. Colors vivid. And overwhelming. Slowly fading into the distance until they softened. And disappeared. 

The truth is. It never does. 

The holidays have a way of reopening doors I didn’t realize were still closed. They remind me not only of what we had, but of what we were supposed to have. The life I thought I would live. The traditions we created together. And the ones we never got the chance to build. The moments we missed. The years that were taken. The future that will never exist.

There is a cruelty in holiday nostalgia. It arrives uninvited. A familiar song playing in a store aisle. Or drifting through the radio while driving. One moment I’m smiling. Laughing. Present. Feeling joy. Connection. The next. I’m undone. Tears welling up because a lyric. A melody. Has transported me back to a life that no longer belongs to me.

This is the dichotomy of grief during the holidays: holding Joy and Sorrow in the same breath. Feeling thankful for what is. Mourning what should have been. Laughing one moment. Grieving the next. There is no clean separation. No tidy emotional boundary.

I have learned that grief does not mean a lack of gratitude. And gratitude does not erase grief. They coexist. They must.

I am grateful for the love I had. Not everyone experiences a love deep enough to leave this kind of absence. I am grateful for the memories. Even though they ache. I am grateful for the life I continue to live. Even though it is not the one I imagined.

Still. There are days, especially during the holidays, when the weight of what I lost feels unbearable. When the contrast between celebration and absence is too stark to ignore. When I find myself longing not just for Greg, but for the version of myself who believed in Certainty. Longevity. And “Happily Ever After.”

Grief doesn’t move in a straight line. It doesn’t respect calendars. Anniversaries. Holidays. Traditions don’t pass quietly. They echo. They remind us that love doesn’t disappear just because someone is gone. If anything. It becomes louder in their absence.

So if you find yourself feeling conflicted this season, joyful and broken, grateful and grieving, you are not doing it wrong. You are human. You are loving someone who mattered.

I no longer tell myself it should be easier by now. Instead. I tell myself this: the pain is the price of love. And I would pay it again. And again. Every time.

This holiday season, I am allowing space for both. For laughter. And tears. For celebration. And longing. For gratitude. And grief.

They belong together.

Woven into all of this, beneath the sadness, alongside the longing, is hope.

I hold onto the memory of what Christmas once was for us. Greg worked tirelessly throughout the holiday season.  Seven days a week. Year after year. Christmas Day itself was our gift. A true family day. A pause. A breath. A sacred space carved out of busy lives.  Endless responsibilities.

We cherished that day. Every. Single. Moment. There was laughter that filled the house. Love that felt effortless. And the joy of just being together. No expectations. No rushing. Just life. Exactly as it was meant to be lived.

Those memories still hurt. But they also sustain me. They remind me that what we had was real. That love like that exists. And that it leaves behind something stronger than loss alone: a legacy of warmth. Connection. And meaning.

My hope now is quieter than it once was. But it is steadier. It lives in allowing joy to show up without guilt. In honoring the past without being consumed by it. In trusting that love does not end. It changes form.

This season, I choose to remember not only what I lost, but what I was lucky enough to have. I choose to let the memories bring tears when they must. And smiles when they can.

That is how I carry him forward. That is how I find hope.

And now. There is something more.

There is the sparkle in the little ones’ eyes on Christmas morning. The pure joy of their laughter. The magic they bring into the room simply by being who they are. Through them, the holidays feel alive again in a different way. Lighter. Brighter. Filled with possibility.

Their wonder reminds me that love continues to expand. Even after profound loss. That joy can return without replacing what once was. That my heart is capable of holding the past AND the present at the same time.

And through it all – then, now, and always – there is love. Always LOVE.  Happy Holidays to Everyone!

#griefandtheholidays #holidaygrief #livingwithloss #loveandloss #griefjourney #griefislove

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter 

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #14: Grace is the Gift that Keeps Giving

“Grace just isn’t something you should give to others. It’s also something you should give to yourself.”

Sometimes, the hardest thing in the world is being kind to ourselves.

We’re so quick to offer compassion to others. Yet, when it comes to ourselves, we’re critical. Impatient. And unforgiving. We beat ourselves up over the small stuff. We expect perfection. We forget that we’re human. Flawed. Emotional. Ever-changing.

The truth is, life isn’t always neat. We have good days. Bad days. And a whole lot of in-betweens. And that’s…okay.

You can feel grateful for everything you have…and still want more.
You can love being surrounded by people…and still crave solitude.
You can be productive one day…and need rest the next.
You can feel joy in one moment…and sadness in the next.

That’s okay. You’re okay.

But here’s something we rarely talk about: it’s easy to ignore the “yuck.” We sweep it under the rug. We fake a smile, push through, and crank up the positivity – sometimes to the point of performance. But pretending isn’t peace. Faking it doesn’t heal.

Real peace comes when we pause. When we stop trying to find happiness and instead allow ourselves to feel. The uncomfortable. The painful. The difficult. It all has something to teach us.

As strange as it sounds, it’s often in the sadness. The struggle. And the stillness where we discover the deepest joy. In the dark moments, we grow. We begin to see the beauty in simply being okay.

Acceptance opens the door.
Grace helps us walk through.
And on the other side is a softer, more loving way of living. One built on compassion. Empathy. And presence.

Life is a constant balancing act. The highs and lows. The push and the pause. Bad days are just as normal. Just as human, as the good ones. So please. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Tomorrow is a new day. A fresh start. A chance to begin again.

Give yourself grace.
Be present.
Feel what you feel.

Because no matter what you’re going through, or how heavy the day feels…
It’s okay.
You’re okay.
And you’re doing better than you think.

#Grace #SelfCompassion #HealingJourney #BeKindToYourself #SelfLove #InnerPeace

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“The ones we love never truly leave us. They live on in our hearts and in the way we love.”

 Lesson #13: August 30th…11 Years

It happens every year.
July ends. The calendar flips. August arrives. The countdown is on. And without warning, my stomach tightens with a familiar wave of emotions.

It’s not intentional. It just happens.
A song brings sudden tears. My nerves feel fragile. I try to redirect my thoughts, but the ache sits quietly beneath the surface. The reminder is there. What was. What should have been. And what’s coming.

August 30th. Eleven years. And no. It doesn’t get better.
It doesn’t get easier.
It still hurts.

I remember those days before we left. Each detail etched in my mind.
The odd urgency in his actions. Suddenly moving our bank accounts after thirty-plus years.
I asked, Why now?
“We’ll do it when we get back,” I suggested.
But he said, “No. It must be done now.”

And so it was.
Wills. Trusts. Important papers. All brought home.
Bills paid ahead for three weeks.
Who does that? And why?
There’d be time when we returned. But he insisted.
I didn’t understand. He was stubborn. And it wasn’t worth a fight. So I let it be.

We were going to celebrate. Our 60th birthdays. Milestones. Family. Fun. Sunshine and surf.
But he couldn’t let go.
Business followed us, as it always had.
I accepted it.  Made the best of the moments we had together.
He was tired. Still trying. Doing too much. Being everything for everyone.

And. He paid the price.

Every year, I go back to that day.
The “What ifs” are relentless. But useless.
No answer.  No scenario, could change the ending.
So I accept what was, and I try to move forward.

But love never dies.

August will always remind me of the life I left behind. The love that was lost. And the joy he never got to see.
That’s the part that breaks me.  The joy we could have shared.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.
I see him in the eyes of the little ones. In their smiles. Their giggles. Their sweet souls.
And I believe he sees them too.

Another year. Another reminder.
We’ve loved. We’ve lost.
But we carry his legacy with kindness.
With generosity.
And always.
With love.

#GriefJourney #LifeAfterLoss #LoveNeverDies #ForeverInMyHeart #GriefAndHealing
#GoneButNotForgotten #RememberingAlways #FindingStrength #HealingTogether #GriefSupport

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“There are moments that mark your life, moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts, before this and after this.”

Lesson #12: The Week That Changed Everything

It’s that time of year. Again. August. End of summer. The start of school. A season of new beginnings.

But for me. It’s different.

August has never been just another month on the calendar. For me, it carries a weight. A shadow. The month that changed our lives. Forever. Eleven years. It still arrives with the same heaviness. Reminding me of what was. And what will never be again.

I relive each day as if it were yesterday. Sun-soaked mornings. Sandy beaches. Laughter echoing in the air. Celebrations that felt simple and full. Time to soak in the gift of being together. Family. Memories now frozen in photographs I hold close. Long dinners that stretched into the night. Inside jokes only we understood. Little adventures that became ours alone.

I can still see the sparkle in his eyes, the smile that could light up a room. I hear his unmistakable laugh. Those “snorty squeals” that left us doubled over.  His presence filled the space, vibrant and alive.

But when I look back now, I see more than I did then. I see the exhaustion beneath the laughter. The weariness he carried but tucked away. He hid it well, so we wouldn’t worry, so we wouldn’t know. He wanted to give us joy, even if it cost him his strength. And that’s who he was. Always.

He was always caught in a battle; work versus rest. And work always won. Not because he loved it more than us. Not because he wanted it that way. But because he didn’t know how to step back. He carried the weight of responsibility in his bones. Even when he was tired. Even when he was drained.

At the time, I told myself this was just who he was. Dedicated. Loyal. Driven. I didn’t see it as a warning sign. None of us did.

But now, when I look back, I can’t help but ask: Did we miss something? Should we have known? Did he know? Some days I think he did. But he would never let it show. He was too busy making sure everyone else was happy, even if it meant pushing himself beyond his limits. That was the man he was.

And so, that trip, the beginning of what was supposed to be a week of joy, became the beginning of the week that would change everything.

The beginning of goodbye.

#GriefJourney #LifeAfterLoss #LoveNeverDies #ForeverInMyHeart #GriefAndHealing
#GoneButNotForgotten #RememberingAlways #FindingStrength #HealingTogether #GriefSupport

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter 

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #11: The Gift of Forgiveness: Healing for Yourself, Not Them

“Always forgive others, not necessarily because they deserve forgiveness, but because you deserve peace of mind.”

How many times have you been so hurt by someone?  A family member. A friend. A partner.  And you didn’t think you’d ever be able to forgive?
How many times has that hurt consumed your entire being, making it impossible to move forward? Find peace? It takes over your thoughts. Your heart. Your ability to trust. And eventually…your ability to breathe freely.

We all carry invisible wounds. When those wounds are caused by the very people we trusted most, they cut deep. And in those moments, forgiveness can feel impossible.
It can feel like you’re excusing the inexcusable. Or forgetting something unforgettable.

But that’s not what forgiveness is.

Forgiveness Is a Choice. 

For You. 

Not Them.

Forgiveness means different things to different people. But at its core, it’s an intentional decision. To let go of resentment. And anger. Not because they deserve it. But because you do.

When you hold on to pain. Anger. And betrayal. It’s you who suffers. That energy festers. It keeps you in emotional quicksand. Stuck in the past. Reliving the same hurt on a loop. Forgiveness allows you to finally step out of that space.

It’s not about pretending everything is fine. It’s about saying:
“This happened. It hurt. But I refuse to let it define me anymore.”

And yet…

You say…I’ve done this. One too many times.
Forgiven. Tried to forget. Moved on.
Yet each time, it comes back to hurt me. Again. And again. And again.

So when is too much, too much?
When is it time to finally say, “No more.”
I forgive. BUT. I will not forget.

Where do I draw the line between the hurt and my peace?
It stops HERE.

Forgive… but never forget.
For me.
For my peace.
For my space.
I have to let go.

Because nothing. No, nothing. Will. Ever. Change.

Forgiveness Isn’t Forgetting. It’s Freedom.

Whatever happened. Happened. That truth doesn’t go away. And forgiving doesn’t mean making excuses. Minimizing the harm. Or letting someone back into your life.

What it does mean is that you’re ready to stop carrying it.

When you forgive, you reclaim your power. You move out of victim mode and into healing mode. You’re no longer allowing someone else’s actions to dictate your emotional state.

And when you begin to forgive yourself, for the things you did or didn’t do, for trusting someone, for not knowing better, you create space for even deeper healing. That’s when resentment begins to dissolve. And growth begins to rise.

A Path to Peace and Wholeness

Forgiveness is a powerful, transformative act. It’s not easy. It takes time. But it’s a radical act of kindness. Compassion. And self-love. It’s a bridge to emotional healing. Spiritual freedom. And genuine joy.

By choosing to forgive, you’re choosing light over darkness. Peace over chaos. And wholeness over fragmentation. You’re choosing yourself.

“Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude.”
— Martin Luther King Jr.

So take your time. Be gentle with yourself. And when you’re ready, let forgiveness be the key that unlocks the life you deserve.
Not for them. For you.

#ForgivenessJourney #LettingGo #EmotionalHealing #ForgiveForYou #HealingHeart #PeaceOverPain #FreedomThroughForgiveness #SelfLoveFirst #ChoosePeace #HeartHealing #ReleaseAndRenew #WholenessOverFragmentation #ForgivenessIsFreedom #EmotionalFreedom #InnerPeaceMatters #HealingIsAMarathon #PeaceWithin #BoundariesAndPeace #ForgivenessWithBoundaries #RadicalSelfLove

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

#10: The Grief No One Talks About

“There’s no funeral for the living who leave, only silent spaces where they used to belong.”

“Crazy how you can have loved ones looking down on you who would’ve killed to watch your babies grow, yet there are others who are able to and simply choose not to.”

That quote strikes somewhere deep. A space not often touched by words. A place where grief lives beneath the surface. Not just the grief of death, but of absence.  Of disappointment. Of being left behind by those who could have stayed. But didn’t. Or simply chose not to.

For the past eleven years, I’ve walked the unpredictable journey of grief. A road no one chooses. Twists. Turns. Sudden drops. No warning.  No matter how much time passes…that ache never leaves.

Life moves on. And most days, so do I.

But then there are days, sometimes whole weeks, when I feel frozen. Stuck. Watching the world move around me while I stay still. Grief, even years later…still finds a way to stop time.

And yet. There are flickers. Unexpected. Moments of joy. Of peace. Of hope.

But here’s what no one prepares you for. What no one tells you.

Some of the deepest grief doesn’t come from death. 

It comes from losing people who are still here. Still living. Still breathing.

The ones I believed would always be part of my circle. My life.
The ones who said they’d show up. Or didn’t need to.
The ones I leaned on.  And believed leaned on me too.

They’re still out there. Living. Breathing. Laughing.

But they’re gone in every way that matters to me.

And this kind of grief?

It doesn’t come with condolences. Cards. Or casseroles. 

It comes with silence. Confusion. A slow realization. 

This kind of loss is a choice.

Their absence is a choice. 

And that’s the hardest part to accept. 

So I sit with it. 

I think about the ones I’ve lost.

The ones who would be here if they could. Who would show up for every birthday. Every little win. Every ordinary Tuesday. Who would love my children. My grandchildren. With presence. Unconditionally. They never had the chance.

I remind myself: I can hold space for both the pain of what was lost – and the peace of what’s still possible. 

It’s devastating to recognize that someone who can be present…chooses not to be.

And so, I made a choice too. Close one chapter. Begin another.

I choose to show up. Fully. Freely. With love.

I choose my peace. Over doubt.

I choose my worth. Over silence.

In the quiet moments, the difficult moments I’m reminded of those who aren’t present, yet always here. Still cheering. Still loving. Still near. Their presence reminds me that real love doesn’t walk away. It stays.

“Sometimes we must mourn the living, too — and in doing so, we make space for our own healing.

#griefjourney #healing #choosingme #realconnections #showup #familylove #breakingcycles #emotionalgrowth #peaceoverpain

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“Every birthday is a chance to start a new chapter – to rewrite your story with more courage, love and truth.”

#9: A Birthday Reflection

As another birthday draws near, I find myself deep in reflection. Not the kind that simply skims over memories. Or revisits milestones. But the kind that asks hard questions. The kind that sifts through the layers of a life lived. Some beautifully. Some painfully.  And the question is: What now?

The years tick by faster. Another 365 days entwined with challenges. Growth. Gratitude. Goals. Dreams fulfilled. And those unanswered.

A full spectrum of emotions. Joy that spilled over. Blessings that left me breathless. And gratitude that grounded me. But also, sadness. Grief that still echoes. Realizations that cut deep. And questions. So many questions. Questions that asked me to look closer… to feel deeper.

Questions about who I’ve been… and who I’ve silenced.
Who I’ve loved… and who I’ve lost.
What I’ve accepted… and what I’ve denied myself.

For years, I’ve made space for others. Some who should fit naturally. Yet don’t.  Shrinking parts of myself to fit inside roles. Expectations. Relationships. I’ve stayed, sometimes too long, in places where I no longer belonged. Out of obligation. Out of fear. Out of habit.

But time has a way of waking us up. And as I look ahead, I realize: It is a time to choose.

Do I stay where I must shrink to fit in? Or do I walk away …toward myself?

It’s not about running. It’s about reclaiming.
It’s about saying yes to myself. Maybe for the first time in a long time.
And making room.
For joy.
For peace.
For a life that welcomes all of me. Not one that edits who I am.

Do I wish I’d done this sooner? I do. I wish I could go back and whisper to my younger self: “You’re allowed to choose you.” But life doesn’t offer us redos. What it does offer is today. Now. The beautiful, unfolding present. And the power to begin again.

So as I turn the page into another year, I’m choosing a new chapter. One written in my own handwriting. One defined not by what I’ve endured, but by what I now allow:

Space to breathe.
Freedom to feel.
And permission. Finally. To choose me.

What brings me joy? Where is my peace?
Those are the questions I’m following forward.

And this year, I intend to find out.

“It’s never too late to become who you were meant to be.” 

#birthdayreflections #newchapter #choosingme #growthjourney #itsmytime #innerpeace #midlifereflections #joyforward #permissiontochange

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter 

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #8: Happy Father’s Day

“Gone, but never forgotten. Your love still guides us every day.”

Happy Father’s Day, Greg

Ten Father’s Days.

Almost eleven years without you.
And still, it never gets easier.

Each year, as the calendar turns to June, something shifts in me. A quiet melancholy takes hold. It moves in slowly, almost unnoticed, until I feel the weight of it fully. It wraps around me like a fog—heavy, familiar, and completely out of my control.

Then the day arrives. And the ache sharpens.

You should be here.
Celebrating.
With your family.
Your children.
Your grandchildren.

We should be together—laughing, telling stories, soaking in the joy that only comes from being surrounded by love. You should be watching them grow.  Hearing their laughter.  Seeing their milestones. Their lives are filled with light, and I know that light would have brought you so much joy.

I’m sad for all that you’ve missed. The big moments. The small ones. Cruz playing basketball. Golf. Willow’s amazing dance. Her TK graduation. Riding bikes. Being silly. And baby Lennox. Her smiles. Giggles. Simply. Pure joy. The everyday magic that makes life worth living. You would have loved them so deeply. They would have loved you back with their whole hearts.

We miss you.

Your warmth.
Your wisdom.
Your laughter.
Your light.

But even in your absence, you live on—in the spirit of your children, and in the eyes of our precious grandchildren. I see your kindness in them. Your goodness. Your love. It’s in the way they care. The way they smile. The way they hold space for others.

A piece of you is in them. Always.

I still see you.
Hear you.
Feel you.
And yet… it’s never the same.
It never will be.
I will always wish for more.
And hope for just one more day.

As we welcome the official start of summer, I’m reminded that this season is one of new beginnings—of warmth, growth, and light. It invites us to reflect. To open our hearts. To pause long enough to recognize the blessings still surrounding us.

This is my prayer for Father’s Day.
For me. For our family. For all families.

May we allow the light to gently hold us.
May we find peace in the memories.
And may we live in a world where our children can grow together in love, in peace, and in harmony.

#HappyFathersDay #Blessings #Peace #LoveToAll

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“There is no way to be a perfect mother, but a million ways to be a good one.”

 Lesson #7: Love Without Strings – The Mother I Choose To Be

It was the “job” I’d waited for all my life. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said, “A mom.” It was my dream job.

Little did I know, it wouldn’t be all giggles and diapers. It was a full-time job—one that doesn’t come with vacation days or a clear manual—and it lasts a lifetime. And as my children grew, so did I. My role constantly shifted. Nurturer. Guide. Protector. Counselor. Cheerleader. And continues to evolve still.

I was 25 when I became a mother for the first time. I was determined to do everything “right.” I thought if I tried hard enough, I could be the perfect mom. But perfection doesn’t exist—at least not in real life. Maybe in storybooks or fairy tales. But not in the messy. Beautiful. Exhausting. Soul-stretching reality of motherhood.

What I’ve learned is this: We make mistakes. We stumble. We try again. We do the best we can with what we know. And that has to be enough.

Motherhood, for me, has been an ever-evolving role—shaped by patience. Humility. Growth. And, above all, LOVE. One of the most important decisions I ever made was to love unconditionally. Not just when things were going well, but especially when they weren’t. That meant accepting and loving my children for who they are—not for what they do, how they perform, or what they become. LOVE. No strings attached. They never had to earn it. Despite the missteps. Messy moments. Or challenges. My love has remained steadfast. And unwavering.

Did I always get it right? ABSOLUTELY. NOT. But I tried. I’m still trying. Because unconditional love is what makes them feel safe. Fully loved. Protected.

Another promise I made to myself as a mother was to truly listen.
Not just to the words spoken. But to the emotions behind them. I wanted my children to feel heard. To know their voices matter. Because listening isn’t just about offering a response. It’s about connection. It’s about seeing them clearly, in everything that makes them who they are. I want them to feel safe, calling me on the joyful days. The hard days.The quiet “nothing” days. Whether they need to laugh. Cry. Vent. Or simply be. I’ll be here. To listen. ALWAYS.

Now, as the mother of adult children (with families of their own), I often find myself reflecting on the past—wishing I could go back and do some things differently. More presence. More patience. More self-awareness. But I can’t go back. I can only choose to be better now.

I will show up.
I will listen.
I will accept. Without judgment.

Simply, I will be.
Be there to support. To understand. To love. Always love. That will never change.

The greatest gift I could ever give my kids is to love myself loudly and accept myself wholly. Not waiting until I lose (or gain) the last few pounds… not waiting to smooth out the wrinkles. The lines. Or—as my granddaughter calls them—my zebra stripes. But to embrace myself, as is, as is. To show up even when I’m exhausted. Sick. Overstimulated. Or emotionally drained. To keep pouring, even when my own cup is nearly empty. Because that’s what love does.

And to every mom in survival mode right now—please know this:
You are doing an incredible job. This is not easy. But you are not alone.

💛 The Gifts Moms Really Want (That Don’t Cost a Thing)

• A long, meaningful hug
• A genuine “thank you”
• Time together, undistracted
• A moment to rest or recharge
• Being noticed for holding it together when it felt like things were falling apart
• A few kind words: “You’re doing great. I see you.”
• A simple “I love you” for no reason at all
• Recognition not for what we do, but for who we are
• A reminder that we’re enough, just as we are

These are the gifts that matter most.

In the end, what I wanted most was simple:
For my kids to grow into confident. Kind. Loving. And happy people. I wanted them to always know they could come home—to a safe place of comfort and care, where they’re always welcome. Whether they needed encouragement. Stillness. Or just a long hug. I wanted them to know they’d never have to earn my love.

Because that’s the goal:
That they walk through this world knowing they are deeply. Unconditionally. Always loved.

To all the beautiful moms who have loved. Laughed. Cried. Endured. And grown through every season of motherhood.
You are seen. You are needed. You are the heart of it all.
And you are doing the most important job in the world.