My two-year-old asked for rice. Specifically, deliberately, rice. So I made it. Then she looked at that plate like I'd personally wronged her. "I DON'T LIKE RICE." I tried to reason with her. My husband tried. We both lost. But somewhere between the exhaustion and her very loud rejection of dinner, it hit me — adults do this too. We just do it quietly. We pray for something, work for it, get it, and think: oh. maybe not. Changing your mind isn't failure. Sometimes it's just h

She wanted her mother to choose her. Then she became a mother herself and poured everything she had into that love. And then that relationship broke too. If you are grieving someone who is still alive — no funeral, no goodbye, just an absence that sits beside you every day — this one is for you. You are allowed to miss them. You are allowed to hope. But please, while you are loving someone from a distance, don't forget to take care of yourself too.

Today we checked out of the place that's been our home for two years, and I wasn't ready to go. As we pulled away from the curb, I realized this goodbye mirrored something much bigger unfolding in my life—something I feel certain about but can't yet prove. Maybe trusting the process isn't about feeling fearless. Maybe it's about being honest about the fear and moving anyway, learning to believe in what you can't see before the evidence ever arrives.