The Point of No Return

At the beginning of a novel, the main character usually experiences a change. Something happens in his or her life that means it will never be the same.

It’s a point of no return.

The character has no choice but to move forward. The way he or she moves forward is what we follow along as we read the rest of the book.

Everyone hits points of no return. Many times in their lives.

For me, there are a few big ones that come right off the top of my head.

January 2000- The day I married my husband.

August 2001- Lance and I moved across the country together and get post college jobs.

July 2004- The day I became a mom. The day the twins were born.

January 2007- The day Dax was born.

February 2009- The day I had my only daughter.

June 2010- We moved back West to live near family.

November 2017- The day Rory died.

My life fundamentally changed with each of those events.

Some of your points will be the same, others different. They can include divorce, drug addiction, illness, death of a spouse or parent, loss of employment, etc.

What we do know is that each person on this Earth will experience harrowing, drop to your knees sorrow.

I just want to encourage love today.

Love your sibling that’s struggling through a divorce.

Love your neighbor that just had a new baby.

Love the stranger that you don’t even know what they’re going through.

I want to extend my love to all those that are hitting a hard point of no return right now.

Life sucks that it’ll never be the same.

But with each step you take, you have the opportunity to love more. To care more. To empathize like you never have before.

Keep stepping.

Others need you.

International Bereaved Mother’s Day

To the mom with an extra seat at the table.

To the mom with empty arms today.

To the mom with a vacant seat in the car.

To the mom with a hole in her heart.

To the mom who sobs on their birthday.

To the mom who clings to clothing late at night.

To the mom whose life never quite feels complete.

To the mom who makes it through each hour.

To the mom who holds tighter to those around.

To the mom who loves harder now.

To the mom who falls to her knees.

To the mom who finds strength somehow.

To the mom whose loss seems more than she can bear.

To the mom who stands each day anyway.

To my fellow bereaved mothers. Thank you for sharing your stories. I’m so sorry this is our journey. I see you. I love you. You make me feel less alone.

To those that love and support us. Thank you. Texting, prayers, drop by’s, treats, stories of our child, hugs, they sustain us and provide hope. We love you.


One year, five months ago the gravity around me changed.

The gravitational pull that grounds me to the Earth increased.

Where once I could walk freely, now taking every step is work. There’s so much additional pressure pushing me to the ground.

I had a reminder come up on my phone this morning that two years ago today we were at the Red Woods.

There, surrounded by the largest trees we’d ever seen, the kids ran through the forest.

I remember walking across a log. It was a little scary. I could do it though because gravity was less heavy.

I remember lifting Rory onto a log so she could climb along with her brothers. Before she got scared and jumped right back down. And I could lift her because she was there. And life wasn’t so weighty.

I remember Rory running and standing in front of Lance and I when we asked one of the boys to take a picture of us. We shrugged. We were happy to have her in a picture with us. Happy is something that came easier when gravity didn’t have such a pull.

This new existence takes me to my knees. The new gravitational pull tries to keep me there.

Luckily, I have the love, prayers, and strength of those around me, and those above, that lift me up.

Thank you.

So much love to you all.

And Then They Sang

This memory keeps coming back to me. Usually it means I need to share it.

The night that Rory passed away, Lance and I gathered our boys and went to my parent’s house.

There were a lot of people at the house. In the family room and in the front yard.

A lot of hugs.

A lot of questions.

A lot of disbelief.

A lot of sorrow.

A lot of falling tears.

In the middle of this tragedy, the three boys started to sing a children’s song from our church.

Their voices broke through the sorrow.

Their voices united them in their brotherhood. In their fear. In their strength.

As I was just trying to process what had happened. They were already searching for peace. In the best way they knew how. Music.

These are the words they sang that night:

Heavenly Father, are you really there?
And do you hear and answer ev’ry child’s prayer?
Some say that heaven is far away,
But I feel it close around me as I pray.
Heavenly Father, I remember now
Something that Jesus told disciples long ago:
“Suffer the children to come to me.”
Father, in prayer I’m coming now to thee.

Pray, he is there;
Speak, he is list’ning.
You are his child;
His love now surrounds you.
He hears your prayer;
He loves the children.
Of such is the kingdom, the kingdom of heav’n.

My boys face pain. Everyday.

The life they are living is different now. It’s harder. They carry a burden they can’t quite process and don’t fully understand.

I think back to that moment and tears instantly begin to fall.

They are light.

They are love.

These boys are my hope.

Being a Bit Clingy

I’ve become quite clingy. There are things in my life that I just to to hold onto for dear life now.

My husband.

My boys.




And faith.

If I were to say my faith hasn’t stumbled, that would be a lie.

How could I not question? My daughter is gone. For the rest of my life.

But at times when the questions become overwhelming, I hold onto the things I know.

I don’t understand why Rory isn’t here. It’s not fair! It isn’t!

I cling to my faith that I’m going to see her again.

Life sucks! It’s so hard living without her.

I cling to my faith that I’m not going through this alone, that I have a loving brother, Jesus Christ, who knows my pain.

I understand that I won’t have all the answers.

The best I can do is hold on to those I love, trust in what I believe, and share as much love as I possibly can.

It’s not the life I thought I’d have but it’s the life I’m living.

And I believe Rory’s going to be right by my side.