Breast Cancer History, Please Don't Repeat
Six months of mammograms, biopsies, and fear led me back to the summer I watched my young mom die — and forward into taking charge of my own health.
Read moreThoughts on faith, motherhood, grief, writing, and the stories that shape us.
Six months of mammograms, biopsies, and fear led me back to the summer I watched my young mom die — and forward into taking charge of my own health.
Read moreLosing my mom as a teenager gave me coping skills I never expected to need again — until my brother took his life.
Read moreFor 24 years Jim tended our mother's grave. Now my sister and I repay him, adorning his headstone beneath a big, old tree.
Read moreMy brother was my protector, my surrogate mom, my best friend. In his dying words, he entrusted me with the story of his broken heart.
Read moreLosing my brother to suicide tested my faith in ways I never imagined, but God is drawing glory from the mire — even when I can't see how.
Read moreWalking 39 miles against breast cancer reminded me that we're not powerless in this fight — and that stress, the quiet killer, deserves far more attention.
Read moreTurning 40 was supposed to be a milestone I shared with my brother. Instead it's a bittersweet passage through deep sorrow and muted joy.
Read moreForgiveness after a suicide isn't forgetting — it's releasing the hurt to God, who can build something lovely from the ashes.
Read moreMy brother lost himself in a marriage that defined him, and the lies of worthlessness overwhelmed a man who never stopped extending grace.
Read moreThe guilt that stalks after a loved one's suicide is relentless — but in the space between sadness and hope, I'm learning to let light return.
Read morePostpartum depression, mother loss, my brother's suicide — life's most tragic stories aren't without beauty. Somehow, hardship makes joy sweeter, and redemption lurks in the mire.
Read moreCalling suicide selfish is ignorant and hurtful. My brother was in extreme pain, and he believed his children would suffer less without him. That is not cowardice — it is a desperate, human response to unbearable agony.
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