Tag: grief

The Becoming : Pride in the midst of chaos

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

Both Things Can Be True

This past week felt like a culmination of so many moments for my niece.

She is my older sister’s only child, and she is truly a gem of a human—kind, smart, hardworking, and quick with a perfectly timed sassy comeback when the moment calls for it. It’s her senior year, and with that comes all the lasts of high school, not just for her, but for her mom too. Anyone who has parented a senior knows those endings hit in unexpected ways.

My niece is a 4-H and FFA gal, a band kid, and a Girl Scout. Through these programs she has learned responsibility, leadership, grit, creativity, and how to show up even when things are hard. I am so incredibly proud of her accomplishments. At her last county show, she earned Reserve Champion with pickled beets (yes—pickled beets!), and her market broilers made the sale. Those are not small wins. They are the result of years of early mornings, late nights, dirty boots, careful planning, and persistence.

Another “last” arrived quietly when I had the chance to talk with my sister about what comes next for her baby—her everything. And make no mistake, this kid has options. Several schools have already accepted her, and some came with scholarship packages. That is huge. That is exciting. That is the payoff for all those years of busyness and commitment.

It sent me straight back in time to my own years as a mom with kids who showed. The careful choosing of recipes. The guarding of certain ones like state secrets (banana butter, I’m looking at you). The pride of watching your kids take ownership of their work. Even my two older daughters—without any guidance from me—entered items and won prizes. There is something deeply satisfying about watching your children surprise you with who they are becoming.

All of that nostalgia, love, and pride has been swirling around me this week… while my own life looks a bit like a shit show.

Our water heater quit and is limping along on a temporary fix after days without hot water. I’m dealing with a kidney infection and a pharmacy run that couldn’t come soon enough. Our car is broken down and has a flat tire. My husband had a job lined up, attended orientation, only to be told days later that the position had already been filled. And just to round things out, I sliced my fingers open trying to pry a tin can (yes, I absolutely should know better), which earned me an ER visit, a tetanus shot, glued fingers, a wrapped thumb, and the loss of a good portion of my thumb pad. Goodbye thumbprint.

And yet—both things can be true.

I can feel immense love and pride for my niece and her accomplishments while my own world feels messy, loud, painful, and frustrating. I won’t fall into woe is me. This is my life. It is complicated and exhausting and sometimes downright ridiculous. There are days I want to strangle someone (figuratively… mostly). But then there are days when I glance in the rearview mirror and realize how far I’ve come.

I’ve survived every single thing I thought would break me.
That survival rate? 100%.

Am I the same person I once was? Absolutely not. But isn’t that the point? Life is about the becoming. About collecting skills, wisdom, scars, and stories. About learning how to stand back up. About making the world a little better where we can—just like my lovely niece is already doing.

And yes, you’d better believe I can still recite the 4-H pledge, parts of the FFA Creed, and the Girl Scout Promise.

Here’s to the becoming in 2026.
Love and light, y’all 🕯️

Holiday Blues: Finding Light in Dark Times

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

The Perfect Storm

As we wind down the year and the days grow shorter, the holiday season settles in like a familiar rhythm—lights, music, gatherings, the scent of good food, and memories tucked into every corner. For many, it’s a time of joy. But for just as many, it’s the beginning of a perfect storm.

Longer nights. Dreary weather. A calendar full of holidays that once held laughter, tradition, and warmth—but now may carry the heavy weight of grief. This might be your first holiday season without a loved one. Or maybe it’s another year of feeling lonesome, out of place, or disconnected while the world around you insists that this is the season of togetherness. Everywhere you look—commercials, store displays, conversations—there’s a reminder of what this time of year is supposed to be. And if your heart isn’t in it, that reminder can sting.

Seasonal depression is real. Grief is real. Loneliness is real. And the darkness of winter has a way of amplifying what’s already there.

But here’s what’s also real: you are not the only one feeling this way.
Not even close.

Millions of people across the country and around the globe quietly carry similar feelings—sadness, heaviness, grief, fatigue, numbness. Many worry that something is “wrong” with them, that they’re somehow broken because they can’t summon holiday cheer on demand. But you aren’t broken. You aren’t failing. You aren’t even unusual. You are human, navigating a season that can be as complicated as it is beautiful.

And we all cope in different ways. Some people power through. Some find therapy or medication. Some dive into work or scroll endlessly on their phones. Some turn to hobbies, routines, or rituals that keep them grounded. I’m not advocating for one particular method—just acknowledging that we’re all doing the best we can with what we have.

But if the weight becomes more than temporary—if it presses hard, especially as this season closes in—please talk to someone. A friend. A pastor, priest, rabbi, or imam. A counselor or therapist. Someone who can listen, reflect, and help you feel less alone.

Because you aren’t alone.
People see you. People remember you. People count on you.
Your presence matters more than you know.

Please don’t let the perfect storm pull you under. Make it to the new year. Celebrate the tiniest victories along the way. If you did ten lunges today—high five. If you made your bed—HIGH FIVE. Those little things matter. They add up. They are proof that you’re still here, still showing up for yourself, even in the hardest season.

And that is no small thing.

The Impact of Loss: Lessons in Love and Resilience

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

“It’s Just Going to Keep Happening” — Thoughts from a Hard Day

Had the displeasure of making one of the worst phone calls recently — calling an old friend to let him know that someone we both knew had passed away. At the funeral he mentioned: “It’s just going to keep happening.” Raw and honest, those words hit me like a brick.

He’s right. And in that moment, I don’t think I fully appreciated how true those words were. People are going to keep dying. And we’re going to keep seeing each other in these moments of loss — in funeral homes, church pews, or standing around telling old stories while blinking back tears. I hate it. I did not like it, Sam I Am.

I don’t like thinking about them — or myself — continuing to experience more loss.
It sucks. Plain and simple.

Losing someone cracks you open. Then, as if that isn’t enough, it rips open the memories of everyone you’ve already lost. Wowsers, indeed.

At this particular funeral, my heart hurt the most for the younger folks.
Boys left without a father at such pivotal ages.
That kind of loss leaves a scar that never quite fades. You can only hope they’re surrounded by love and support, and yes — that there’s at least some life insurance to help carry the burden financially. I didn’t sales pitch anyone (ew, that would be gross), but as someone who works in that world, I can’t help but think about it. Even just enough coverage to help with the cost of the funeral can make a world of difference when grief already feels like too much.

But I digress…

Life just keeps going, doesn’t it?
We pause, we grieve, we say goodbye — and then, somehow, we go right back to the hamster wheel. Back into the day-to-day of it all.
Loss is hard. Devastating. But we, the ones left behind, can’t let it drag us too far down. That’s the real danger of grief — it can pull old habits back to the surface. It can make you want to numb everything out, to self-medicate, to escape.

So, here’s a reminder to myself and to you:
That doesn’t work.

Shoving the feelings down, pretending they aren’t there — that won’t help.
The only way is through it.

Both of my parents were the last of their siblings. I can’t imagine how lonely that must’ve been. But they didn’t wallow. They were a special kind of tough, and they taught us that you never truly get over a loss. You just learn to carry it. Some days you’ll do great. Some days you won’t. That’s the truth.

So let’s remember something today:
People are out here doing the best they can.
Maybe today, you can give someone a little extra grace, a little more patience, a touch more compassion. We need more of that. Because, like it or not, none of us are getting out of here alive.

And that dash on the tombstone — you know the one.
The dash between your birth and your death?
That’s what counts.

Let’s go out there and make that dash matter.

Peace. Love. And Pickle Juice.
– Julie

Walking My Daughter Down the Aisle: A Parental Perspective

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

Walking My Daughter Down the Aisle – With My Heart in My Hands

This past weekend, I had the honor – and the heartache – of watching my daughter get married. If I’m honest, I’m still trying to sort through the wave of emotions that swept over me. Pride, joy, sadness, nostalgia, relief… they all tangled together, sometimes knocking me off balance. It wasn’t just my own feelings, either. Weddings stir up emotions for everyone, and I found myself carrying not only my own heart but also helping manage the hearts of others around me.

Her biological father wasn’t there. That relationship ended long ago and with it, the possibility of his presence on this day. Instead, her big brother stepped up, handsome and steady, to walk his little sister down the aisle. Watching him place her hand into her groom’s brought tears to my eyes — not just for what was missing, but for the love and loyalty that was so beautifully present.

She missed her grandparents, too. There was a quiet ache where they should have been. The reception had a small wall piece honoring those no longer with us, which was both touching and bittersweet. And yes, there were others who weren’t there — for different reasons — and that stung. But we didn’t let the sadness linger long. This was, above all else, a celebration of love.

And what a celebration it was.

From the vintage two-tone blue Ford pickup pulling the wedding party out to the field by the pond, to the arch set up at the water’s edge — it was a scene straight out of Pinterest. My baby girl, the bride, was radiant. The wedding party looked lovely, the ceremony was short and sweet, and the photos seemed endless (but wonderful).

As the evening moved on, laughter, joy, and love filled the air. It was a day built of memories, both tender and joyful.

But as any parent knows, weddings are more than just events. They’re milestones. They’re turning points. And when I got back in the car to drive away, the tears came again.

Because while I am proud beyond words of the life my daughter has built, of the work she does, of the charming little town she calls home, and the wonderful support system she has around her… I am also sad. Sad because she’s far away. Sad because no matter how grown up she is, she will always be my baby.

I suppose that’s the paradox of parenthood: bursting with pride while your heart aches with longing. Relieved she is loved and cared for, yet still wishing you could keep her close.

So how did I get through it? I’m not sure I have a tidy answer. I breathed. I cried. I smiled until my face hurt. I carried others when I could, and leaned on my own strength when I had to. Mostly, I let myself feel it all — the pride, the sadness, the joy, the overwhelm, and the pieces I can’t even find words for.

Because that’s love. Messy, overwhelming, breathtaking love.

And as I continue learning how to let go while holding on, I carry one truth with me: Mom is always here. Always.

The Art of Compassion: Helping Loved Ones Heal

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

When You Can’t Fix It: Being There for Loved Ones in Their Pain

There are moments in life when someone we love is hurting, and there is nothing we can do to take their pain away. Grief, loss, heartache—these are deeply personal experiences, and while we may wish to absorb their suffering, to shoulder it for them, we simply cannot. It is their journey, and our role is not to fix it but to walk beside them. So how can we show up in meaningful, supportive ways without offering empty words or repeating well-worn advice?

Hold Space Without Filling It

Silence can be one of the most powerful ways to show love. So often, we feel compelled to say something, anything, to ease the discomfort of pain. But instead of searching for the perfect words, try simply being present. Sit with them in their grief. Let them talk, cry, or say nothing at all. Being a steady presence can speak volumes more than any well-intentioned words ever could.

Acknowledge Without Trying to Solve

One of the most painful things for someone in distress is feeling unheard. When they express their pain, resist the urge to offer solutions or compare their experience to something you’ve been through. Instead, acknowledge what they’re feeling: “I hear you. That sounds incredibly hard.” Sometimes, knowing they are seen and validated is all they need.

Offer Tangible Help

Rather than saying, “Let me know if you need anything,” offer specific assistance. Bring them a meal, run an errand, pick up their kids from school, or handle a small task that might be overwhelming in their current state. Practical support can be a lifeline when grief or hardship makes even basic tasks feel impossible.

Respect Their Process

Healing is not linear, and everyone moves through pain at their own pace. Some days they may want to talk, other days they may withdraw. Some moments will be filled with tears, others with unexpected laughter. Let them lead the way, and don’t impose expectations on what their grief should look like.

Lean on Faith, If That Feels Right

For many, faith provides comfort, but in moments of deep pain, even the most devout can struggle. If faith is a part of their life, remind them gently of their beliefs without forcing platitudes. Instead of saying, “Everything happens for a reason,” try, “I am holding you in my prayers” or “I am here to sit with you in this, however long it takes.” Sometimes, embodying faith through love and patience is more powerful than words.

Encourage Without Pushing

There may come a time when they need professional help, whether it’s therapy, a support group, or other resources. If you sense they’re struggling beyond what they can bear, gently encourage them without making them feel broken or weak for needing help. You can say, “You don’t have to go through this alone,” and offer to help them take that step when they’re ready.

Find Your Own Support

Loving someone in pain can be exhausting. You cannot pour from an empty cup, so lean on your own faith, family, or friends when you need to process your emotions. Supporting them doesn’t mean ignoring your own needs; it means showing up from a place of strength rather than depletion.

Love Them Through It

At the heart of it all, the best thing you can do is love them. Love them when they cry, when they push you away, when they don’t have the words, when they feel stuck. Love them not by trying to remove their pain, but by being someone who remains, steady and unwavering, no matter how long the journey takes.

Because sometimes, the greatest gift we can give is simply showing up, again and again, with love.