I was driving today, eating a biscuit from McDonald’s. Just me and pandora playing in the background, thinking about nothing in particular. And then out of nowhere...a thought of him came up. Not the dad from birthdays or family photos. Not the one laughing or saying “Hey babydoll” as he sat on the porch with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. This was the dad I remember in his worst state when he struggling to swallow, trapped in pain, fading in and out of sleep before he passed. And...

I watched my dad slowly fade from cancer. I watched his strength leave him, watched his body grow tired, and stayed with him until the very end. Nothing prepares you for that kind of goodbye. Nothing teaches you how to keep breathing when someone you love is slipping away right in front of you. Christmas just passed, and January 13 will mark one full year since he went to heaven. I am thankful he is no longer hurting and that his body is whole again, but that does not stop the ache. I miss...

People ask me what I do for a living, and I always brace myself for the reaction. I’ll smile and say real casual, "I feel and see energy around people, and I help them with grief.” And without fail, they look at me like I just told them I wrestle raccoons as a competitive sport. Like “You do WHAT?” Meanwhile, I’m standing there in my hoodie with a coffee stain on it, dry shampoo holding yesterday’s hair together, and concealer quietly doing its job under my eyes. And I’m silently...