Trying To Find My Why…

Trying to Find My Why…

This morning I awoke with an overwhelming sense of melancholy. Once firmly rooted in the roles of wife and mom, I now find myself treading unfamiliar paths. Life’s unforeseen twists force me to redefine my very being. Wrestling with questions about my purpose and identity, I long for a sense of fulfillment and clarity. Who am I now? What is my place in this world? My purpose?

As the roles that once gave me definition change, I struggle with a feeling of disorientation. I’ve tried to fill the void with various activities, ventures. Yet, I realize these external pursuits are merely fleeting distractions.

Though my recent commitment to the Fab40 campaign, dedicated to raising funds for breast cancer has been rewarding, it has also presented its own emotional hurdles and challenges. Confronting a world burdened with grief and loss, I’m overwhelmed with a complex array of emotions.  Seeking “votes” or “donations” during such turbulent times evokes a sense of guilt within me. Where does my loyalty belong? Am I doing the right thing? Making the right choices?

Life is a journey. This is another path I must explore to rediscover my purpose. I reflect on the values that have guided me throughout my journey. What brings me joy. Fulfillment. A profound sense of connection with the world? It’s easy to retreat during these moments. Seek solace in the familiar. The comfortable. The safe. Yet, in doing so, I miss out. On life. On living.  I may not find the answers today. Tomorrow. Or even months from now. I will embrace the process. Allow myself the space to grow. Adapt to the changes life presents. Trust that I am resilient to navigate the uncertainty. Uncover a renewed sense of purpose that resonates deeply with who I am now. Who I hope to become. 

Today, I will continue to fight for those who are unable to do so themselves. My belief in this cause remains unwavering. The statistics speak for themselves – 1 in 8 women will face a breast cancer diagnosis in their lifetime. With no known cure, early detection is crucial for survival. I hope you will continue to stand beside me as we join forces in this critical battle.

#NBCF #BreastCancerAwareness #PinkRibbon #StrengthInNumbers #TogetherWeCan #HopeForACure

Double Duty

Being a mom has always been more than just a title to me. It is my most cherished role. My favorite “job” in life. The love, joy, and challenges that come with it are a constant source of fulfillment. However, everything changed when Greg died. The shift was seismic. Suddenly, being a mom was tougher than I’d ever imagined. I was confronted with the daunting task of becoming both mom and dad. 

Greg was more than my husband. He was my rock. My sounding board. My partner in parenting. He was the one I turned to in tough times. The one with whom I could share my worries. Concerns. The one who provided a fresh perspective. Unwavering support. But suddenly. He was gone. An aching void impossible to fill. 

In the earlier years of parenting, a scraped knee could be healed by a simple kiss. A colorful bandage. Those physical hurts were easily soothed. I could reassure the kids that everything would be okay. But, now as adults, the hurts they face become more profound. The solutions aren’t as straightforward. Emotional wounds and internal struggles cannot be fixed with a bandage or kiss.

Navigating these complex emotions and uncharted waters of solo parenting has been a journey filled with both heartache and resilience. In this new chapter of my life, I find myself facing a myriad of tough decisions that seem to bear down on my shoulders. Heavy. Relentless. 

Once, these responsibilities were shared. A shared weight between two people who balanced each other. But now, it’s my heart that bears the brunt of it all. From the mundane choices of everyday life to those pivotal, life-altering decisions, I’m the one who must shoulder the burden alone.

As I stand at these crossroads, I’m often plagued by self-doubt. Uncertainty.  I find myself reevaluating my decisions. Wrestling with the overwhelming uncertainty that life can bring. Despite my growing belief in myself and the strengthening I’ve undergone over the past nine years, there are moments when I still doubt my own worth. My capacity to make important choices. I miss Greg’s guidance. Perspective. And insight that once steered us through the intricate passages of life’s twists and turns. It was reassuring, a source of comfort, knowing that we could tackle even the insurmountable challenges. 

The burden of being a single parent, carrying the weight of every decision often becomes overwhelming. There are moments when the load is too heavy. The struggles insurmountable. Yet, I choose to hide the depths of my struggle. I put on a brave face. Stand firm in the face of adversity. Offer reassurance that they can lean on me. Some days, on the outside I am the mom holding it together. The pillar of strength. While inside, I’m wrestling with relentless pressure to live up to the expectations I’ve set for myself.

The journey through motherhood continues. It looks different than it did when Greg was alive. I’ve learned to lean on my own resilience. Find support where I can. Navigate the complexities of life with everlasting love for my kids. I will continue to redefine my life. My role as mom AND dad. Doing the very best I can. Every. Single. Day. 

Staying Alive

These past 9 years, I have gracefully juggled extreme emotions. Navigated the intricate dance between happiness and grief. Joy to tears. Tears to joy. Finding the delicate balance is tough. One moment. Embrace life’s joys. Live in the moment. The next. Acknowledge the sadness. Fraught with emotions and uncertainties, I struggle to balance on life’s tightrope.

I cherish the moments of genuine happiness. Milestones. Celebrations. Laughter with family and friends. Simple joys. I smile. Enjoy the present. But there is an underlying awareness. Greg is not here. He will never share these joyous occasions.

Grief is a constant companion. It’s a shadow that follows us through the brightest and darkest moments. It’s that unexpected guest who arrives unannounced, barging into our hearts when we least expect it. It’s a void. A hole. An empty space that reminds us of the bonds we once shared with those who are no longer with us. And it can surface in the most unlikely of places.

A few weeks ago, my sister and her husband were in town. It seemed like a simple plan to meet them for happy hour. A casual gathering of family. But for me, it wasn’t so simple. The anxiety welled up inside me, threatening to overwhelm me. The anticipation was overwhelming. 

To make matters more complex, several of my sister’s friends joined us. The conversation turned to travel plans. Places they would visit this year. Dreams for future adventures. These were the same dreams Greg and I had once shared. Dreams of exploring “bucket list” places together. Creating lasting memories. I sat there. Silent. An observer in a sea of animated conversation. What could I contribute? How could I explain the giant void in my heart? No one knew the pain I carried. The emptiness that gnawed at me from within. Why would they? Or why would they even think those were my thoughts? 

As the conversation flowed around me, the ache and pain inside me grew more pronounced. I wanted to escape. Retreat to the sanctuary of my car. Turn on the music. Let my emotions flow freely. Music has always been my refuge. A comfort that washes away the sadness. I wanted to cry. Scream. Release my pent-up emotions. When I got to my car, that’s just what I did. Cry. Scream. I let the grief pour out of me. It was a moment of release. You’d think that after all this time, I would be past this. That grief would have loosened its grip on me. But the truth is, I’m not. Grief is not a linear journey. There’s not a perfect beginning and end. It’s a constant companion, always lurking in the background, ready to rear its head when we least expect it.  

There are many days when I’m okay. I carry on with life as if grief is a distant memory. And then there are days like that one. Grief surges to the forefront, demanding to be acknowledged. On those days, I feel it intensely. I let it wash over me. I honor Greg’s memory. And then, eventually, I’m okay again. Grief may be a constant companion, but so is resilience. I am able to find moments of peace and acceptance amidst the storm.

Rediscovering the Pen: Writing Brings Hope

Life is a tapestry woven with joy and sorrow. I never imagined my life to be as it is. My life was nearly perfect. On the trajectory to lifelong togetherness. Living our best lives. Together. But fairytales don’t always end with the “happily ever after.” Mine did not. So, here I am. Still figuring it out. 9 years later.

Life continues its relentless march forward. I “do” life. Fall into the mundane rhythm. Yet, the shadow of grief is ever present. Not all encompassing. But there. Time is a complex companion.  It is not a healer. Yet it transforms. Changes the way grief affects me. I can’t wave a magic wand. Make “it” disappear. My sorrow has been altered. Redefined. Mellowed. Softened. Moments of heartache. 

My journey has been a tumultuous one. Peaks and valleys. Acceptance and surrender. Longing and despair. The beginning. Raw pain. Overpowering, engulfing every aspect of my life. An all-encompassing force, like a fierce storm raging within my soul. The world seemed colorless. Life lost its meaning without Greg beside me. Every day an endless struggle. Memories brought meaning and solace. Cherishing our treasured love, laughter, tears, joy, and challenges, softened my sorrow.

How have I learned to live forward? Redefine my grief? Acceptance. Acceptance that there is no “cure” for grief. Acceptance that grief does not go away. Acceptance that grief exists because we shared a beautiful love. Acceptance that it’s okay to not be okay. Acceptance of a normalcy in my life. A new rhythm. I know Greg will no longer walk through the door. His voice an echo in my mind.  

My journey is one of resilience. Strength. Strength that I never knew existed. Strength borne out of necessity to move forward. My journey continues. There is no end. No choice. No option. I am here. Alive. And living. I need to live. 

Throughout my journey my one beacon of hope was The Power of the Pen. Writing. In the beginning, I wrote for me. To keep Greg alive. But the stories ran out. What could I say? Did anyone care?  Now. I’ve discovered hope. Again. “Embracing Ink..A Journey of Moving On and Navigating Grief” is a tale of resilience. Growth. Discovery. As I expose my personal navigation through grief, I hope to offer solace and understanding to anyone treading the same path. We can get here together. One breath. One moment. One step. At a time. 

I realize it’s okay to be happy. Laugh. Live. I understand the love that Greg and I shared will forever be a part of me. It CAN coexist with pain of loss. I embrace my reality. Grief is not a sign of weakness.  It is a testament to my love. 

Grief is not a linear process. There’s no fixed end date. It’s a lifelong journey. A path I continue to walk with courage. Grace. Resilience. My love for Greg is my guiding light, illuminating the way forward even as I carry the weight of the past.  I know my life will never be the same again. I can accept the change. Grief has become a gentle companion. It is an integral part of who I’ve become, coexisting with happiness and hope. As I move forward I know that Greg’s memory will forever be a cherished presence in my heart.

May we find peace together in our journey…life is meant to be lived.

9 Years

August 30, 2014. Nine years ago. An eternity. Or yesterday. It feels one and the same. The day my world turned upside down. Changed forever. The day Greg left this world. Yet, the absence remains imprinted on my heart. This journey. A rollercoaster of emotions, filled with highs and lows. Crashing waves. Moments of solitude. Reflecting on my grief journey, I realize how profoundly my world has changed. Most difficult? Learning to embrace the present, even in solitude.

Today I celebrate Greg. I celebrate his life. One of honor. Integrity. Love.  Compassion. On this anniversary (as others) I am enveloped in a bittersweet embrace of sorrow and gratitude. Sorrow for the life we lost. Gratitude for the life we had. 9 years later, the pain of losing Greg remains, but I am grateful for the legacy of love and cherished memories. Sorrow and sadness. A testament of our love. Greg was not only my life partner. He was my soulmate.  My best friend. A piece of my heart was taken away that August day. I’m not sure it will ever be whole again. 

Amid the sorrow, there is an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for 40 blessed years. The precious moments we shared. The love that continues to sustain me even in his absence. I am grateful for every smile.  Every laugh.  Every argument (let’s be real!).  Every tender touch. All that we experienced throughout our life together. The years we had were a gift beyond measure. We created our own world. One of love. Trust. Understanding. Our life was full of joy, challenges, and growth. For that, I am eternally grateful. Greg brought immense joy and meaning to my existence. While I may not have realized it then, I am thankful for every second we had. We just didn’t have enough of them. The twinkle in his eyes. His “squeaky” laugh. His raucous snores. The warmth of his hug or touch of his hand. These memories are etched in my heart and bring warmth to the most difficult days. Greg’s love will forever guide me through life’s journey. I find strength in his memory and draw inspiration from the beautiful person he was.

Today I choose to honor his memory, focusing on the joy and love we experienced together. I will honor Greg by embracing life with courage and grace, just as he did. I will cherish the memories we had, knowing they are my greatest treasure. I will continue to carry forward his legacy by emulating the compassion, kindness, generosity, and humility he embodied. Greg’s memory will forever remain alive in my heart and the hearts of all those whose lives he touched. “There are some who bring a light so great to the world that even after they are gone, the light remains.” Thank you for being my light. Today it will shine just a bit brighter. Forever loved. Forever missed. Somewhere over the rainbow…

8 Years

8 years. 

“When we lose someone we love, we must learn not to live without them, but to live with the love they left behind.” In that moment life changes. 8 years. 96 months, 35,040 days, 840,960 hours, 50,457,600 minutes, 3 billion seconds. Somedays it seems like a minute ago. Somedays it seems like forever. Yet. The facts remain. You’re gone. Forever. Death changed me. The loss. The pain. Death forced me to face my toughest choices. I spent 40 years of my life envisioning my whole future with you. We were going to grow old together. Plans. Build memories. In a flash they were gone. And I had to choose. Fall apart. Or be better. Find the strength. To keep going. 

What do I miss most? Normal. Simple moments. Talking. Sharing. Holding hands. Kissing. Cuddles. Watching TV. Sunday coffee. Neighborhood walks. Costco/Target shopping. You. Just you. And everything  about you. Silly. So silly. But, oh so simple.

Grief. Never fixed. Dormant. Concrete. It ebbs. Flows. Hitting hardest in unexpected moments. Lessening over time. It never goes away. Buried under layers of love, memories, pain, and loss. I grow. I get stronger. I adjust. I accept. I function. Day by day, month by month, year by year the weight lightens, lifts and I “go on.” Life goes on for the living. And so must I. I smile. Laugh. Attempt to love. But, the grief, the pain, never goes away. At any moment, it emerges. Striking my heart. Creating salty tear drops from my eyes. I’m okay. Doing the best I can. It’s a moment. And I need to be. In that moment. To feel. Sad. Lonely. Lost. Alone. These moments never go away. They will always live within my soul. Because I live with the “love you left behind.” A love I will never forget. I was lucky to find my soul mate. A love I will cherish forever. A love I was blessed to share with you. “You’ll survive. That’s the first thing they tell you after you lose someone. You know what, they’re right. In time, we all find a way to pick up the pieces and move on. What they forget to mention, however, is survival and happiness aren’t always the same thing.

8 years. How can that even be? I saw this the other day. “Your choice and why. Blue door: you go back in time and change one thing in your past. Red door: you get 10 million in cash tax free.” No Brainer! BLUE DOOR! We would not go to Hawaii! Would that have changed our lives? Would you be here today? Would we be living our best life? I will never know. The why’s and what ifs haunt me. I was supposed to bury them. With you. They sneak up. It’s hard not to think. Wonder. But we can’t go back. Life is forward. Breathe. Accept. Love. Be grateful.

I think of you today as I do everyday. I try to live my best life. I see the best of you in your children, grandchildren. Life’s blessings. I am forever grateful. And always will be. For our time. Shortened. But beautiful. “Goodbyes hurt the most when the story was not finished.” Our story ended but the love carries on. Forever in my heart. Today, tomorrow, always. 

Happy 68th Birthday!

Gregger Pitti-Uomo-June-14-606Happy Birthday Greg! 68 Years! Another “should have been.” As I thought about what to write the words got “tangled.” What can I say that hasn’t been said? You aren’t here today, but that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate your life and all of our wonderful memories! Today is yours! So why not celebrate everything EVERYONE loved about YOU! Kindness, generosity, compassion, loyalty, honesty, and love. The admirable traits that encompassed your being. The twinkle in your eye and your infectious smile welcomed anyone who crossed paths with you. Once a friend, always a friend. What a gift. Today I’d like others to share your gift. Commemorate your birthday with random acts of kindness! February 5th. Greg’s Random Act of Kindness Day! You hated gifts. This is one I think you’d love! One you wouldn’t/couldn’t return. LOL! So who’s on board? It’s simple! In a world that’s gone topsy turvy, do something good. Make someone smile. Nothing big. Even the smallest gesture can change someone’s day. Someone’s life. Sometimes we’re just too busy to think about it. Take one minute today. For Greg! He’ll be smiling down on all of us with that infectious grin! “How do we change the world? One random act of kindness at a time.”

  • Smile at a stranger.
  • Compliment someone.
  • Leave a positive review.
  • Hold back on that negative review. 
  • Take that 1 minute survey after a phone call. Annoying as hell, but it can make a world of  difference to the person on the other end. 
  • Let someone go ahead of you in line at the store. 
  • Send an email or call someone you haven’t spoken to in a while. Maybe something’s going  on in their life. Your words could brighten their day.
  • Compliment a store employee. A few nice words could make their day! 
  • Send an inspirational quote to a friend.
  • Hold the door for someone.
  • Take time to listen. To your kids. Parents. Friends. You never know what someone is going through.

These are just a few ideas. Anything you do. Anything from the heart. Anything with kindness. That is AMAZING! Cheers to 68! Happy Birthday Greg! This one’s for you! #bekind#68#loveyouandmissyou#nevergrowold


46 Years!

Dear Greg…Happy 46 years! Another one of those “should’ve” moments. “Little by little, we let go of loss, but never of love.” This, like all the other 7 anniversaries, is worthy of celebration. Our day. You. Me. Together. Forever. “Til death do us part…”

“Every love story is beautiful, but ours is my favorite.” When I began writing (over 7 years ago) I told the story of our “once upon a time.” We believed we’d grow old together. Celebrate 75 years! Enjoy our “happily ever after.” That ended on the fated day, August 30th, 2014. Though the fairytale ended and it wasn’t the happily ever after of my dreams, you will always be my prince charming. I will remember what gave me joy. Helped me grow. Made me the person I am today, truly better because of you. 

Our fairytale was ours and ours alone. It wasn’t perfect. We weren’t perfect. But it was perfect for us. We were perfect for each other. Perfectly imperfect. Accepting our imperfections. Life wasn’t perfect. Kids weren’t perfect. Nothing’s perfect. All. The. Time. It’s the failures. The bumps. The jolts. They made us stronger. Wiser. Better. We were learning. Take time. Cherish the moments. But. In a flash…life changed. I was left with far too many “shoulda, coulda, woulda’s.” I can’t take them back. I can only focus on today. I can’t live with regret. I know we lived a beautiful life. I wish we had more. 

Cheers to 46 years of our “should have been.” I will forever celebrate the happiness, joy, laughter, and tears. Our beautiful family. I was blessed to share my life with you. I love you always and forever. 

Year 7

What does grief look like after seven years? 7 years. 84 months. 30,660 days. 1,839,600 hours. 110,376,000 minutes. 6,622,560,000 seconds. Heartache. Tears. Pain. Tears. Loneliness. Tears. I wish I could say it’s “easier.” Different. But it’s not. A tough year. No reason. Nothing particular. Just tough. I want Greg back. That will never be. In my mind. I know. Reality. In my heart. I beg to differ. My heart feels empty. Yes. I am blessed. Amazing kids. Beautiful grandkids. Blessings. All.  Undeniable love. Love I am forever grateful to hold. But. Not the same. I feel broken. Seven years

Signs. Surround me. White butterflies. Clouds. Music. Hummingbird. Just one. Visits daily. Flies to the back door. Flitters a bit. Flies away. Healing. Signs. From heaven. Comfort. 

 “Still got your number in my phone. And even though you don’t listen I still call and wait ’til the tone. Just to hear you saying, ‘Leave a message.’ Since you’ve been gone I’ve had to find different ways to grieve. There’s days that I don’t even want it on my mind but tonight I’m weak. So, I’m gonna pull out pictures, ones with you in ‘em. Laugh and cry a little while reminiscing. By myself. I can’t help that all I think ‘bout is how you were taken way too soon. It  ain’t the same here without you. I gotta say, missing you comes in waves and tonight I’m drowning.” (Chris Young)

7 years. I’m drowning from the emotional turmoil. It “should be better.” Or so they say. Years flash. Memories of overwhelming “what was” and “what could have been.” 

As hard as I try to suppress it, ignore it, seek to “get over it” IT’S there. Grief.  A hard slap in the face.

Guilt that I wasn’t the wife/partner/friend/everything I could have/should have been. There are so many things I would have done differently. If I could turn back time…

Remorse for so many wasted moments.

Isolation…that feeling of being lost and alone.

Emptiness…that missing piece.

Fear of fleeting time. We can never get back yesterday. I’ve already lost too many.

“Time only moves in one direction These are the nights we won’t get back. Don’t wanna waste one single second. Don’t want the starts to fall so fast. ‘Cause someday we’ll be sayin’ how we wish we could turn back around. Time only moves in one direction. Come on, get closer, come, let me hold you now.” (Dan + Shay)

Through the years…

Year 1. Gratitude. For support. From friends. Family. Strangers. “I’ve made it through the worst of times. Death. Firsts. And now it’s time to say “thank you.”  I would not have made it here without YOU. Family. Friends. Strangers. You helped me reach this road. You’ve been by my side on this journey. A journey that continues. A journey that looks toward the future instead of looking back in the past. I will always remember. I will hold the memories in my heart forever. You have supported me in ways I never dreamed possible. You have given me strength when I thought my world was falling apart.” 

Year 2. Reality. You’re gone. “Two years. Is that even possible? It seems like the blink of an eye. And then it seems like an eternity. So much has changed. So much has stayed the same. The one constant. You aren’t here. And I miss you as much as the day you left this earth. My heart still aches. I keep going. I live. Parts of me are even happy at times. But I’m empty. My soul is empty. I just can’t fill that void. I don’t know that I ever will.”

Year 3.  Acceptance. “It doesn’t get easier. Grief never ends. There’s no expiration date. It just gets different. Rebuilding. Redefining. This is my life. I will be ok. I may not like it. Certainly not my choice. But I’ll be ok. I’ll always love you. Always miss you. But. I know I can conquer life’s challenges with courage, strength and determination. One day at a time.”

Year 4. Growth. “With acceptance comes growth. Strength. Courage. And the will to keep living. Death taught me more about living than life ever did. Your death opened my eyes. It made “death” real. “ 

Year 5. IT’S BACK. “Grief returns. I thought it’d be different by now. Not quite so raw. But. It stings. Burns. Aches. The pain. Sadness. Tears. Far too pronounced. Grief is a journey to which there is no end. I’ve grown. Changed. I believe for better. But I’d give it all back for one day with you.”

Year 6. Back to Gratitude. Life is worth living. “Death taught me ‘that tomorrow is real, and yesterday is no longer here. It made me realize that living inside my comfort zone means that I don’t appreciate life as much as I should. It taught me to respect my sunrises and sunsets. To dance when music is playing. To laugh at least two times a day and to say I love you even when I am mad at someone. Because at the end of this, nothing else will matter.’ And we all learned that family is what matters. We are blessed. We have each other. Our family. A bond that will never break. Life doesn’t give us do overs. Today is here. I am here. I miss you. You are in my heart forever. I have moments of sadness. Loss. Loneliness. But. I can’t stop. I must breathe. Live.”

And now. Year 7. The journey continues. Rebuilding. Redefining. Seeking my normal. “Grief never ends. But it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.”  Grief. Unfinished love. Our story. And so it goes.

I have my story. My loss. My grief. Too often I leave it there. My kids lost their dad. Their best friend. The best Papa. Missing years of firsts, bests, accomplishments, growth, and so much more. He’s watching. He knows. And he’s proud. They share his legacy living a life based on kindness, generosity, compassion, and love. We all grieve today for his loss. But are forever grateful for his gifts.

Year 8. Here we go. With Gratitude. Patience. Courage. And. Hope. Missing you. Holding you in my heart. Forever.

Happy 67th Birthday Greg!

Dear Greg,

Happy 67! This is the day we celebrate you. And every year I’m reminded of another celebration  without you. Another 365 days gone. And you weren’t here. It sucks. Sometimes more than others. This is one of those “others.” Maybe it’s the pandemic. The turbulent, chaotic society. The endlessness. Uncertainty. I don’t know. But it’s hard. Days like these are even harder. “Grief changes shape, but it never ends.” I live. I smile. I laugh. But my soul is empty. And it hurts. This is my truth for now. Some days I’m ok. Others I’m not. I just want you here. To hold my hand. Watch silly TV. Talk. Or sit in silence. I’d even take a good snore. But. That’s not happening. So. I go on. The best I know how. 

I ask myself, “why is this so damn hard? Should I be ‘over it’?” Or at least in a place where I roll through these events without being battered by a barrage of emotions? I turn on the TV. Suns vs. Pelicans. Whoa! In a moment I’m flooded with thoughts. Memories. I want to scream. We were there. Together. I see our seats. And remember the joy. Ugh. So many things to tell you. Damn! But. I can’t. And. No one will understand. It’s crazy. Silly. Yesterday. I was driving. Listening. Thinking. A car. Smack in front of me. License plate. GE❤️. Seriously? Signs. Every song. Spoke to me. Words. Messages. More signs. Reminding me of what is gone and will never be. But I’m still here. I will find a way. I will go on.

Your birthday falls during the month of hearts. A month to celebrate love. And you. You inspired us to be better, do better. To live our lives with grace, goodness, kindness, honesty and integrity as you did. We strive to honor your memory by doing just that. We celebrate you and all of your goodness. With joy. Laughter. And love. Grateful for moments. Memories. You live in our hearts. Always. The only purpose in loss is to live a life of purpose. Find our blessings. And always. Always. Be grateful. For life. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. 

February is Heart Health Month, a time when the nation spotlights the #1 killer of Americans. Despite your commitment to health, wellness and fitness, heart disease (cardiac arrhythmia) took your life far too soon. In commemoration of your birthday Bling It On by M&M (our new “baby”), is donating 10% of our proceeds for the month of February to the American Heart Association. This is our gift to you. We love you. We miss you. Cheers to 67!