The Picture I'll Treasure Forever

This was the last picture I took with my mom. June 24, 2026.
I was determined to get it! I climbed up beside her, but she was taking up the whole bed, so I kept sliding down or only getting my forehead in the shot with her face! Dennis kept fussing at me, saying, “Quit wallowing her!” Meanwhile, Mom and I were just giggling while I kept trying to squeeze in enough to get a picture. She kept making funny faces, which only made me laugh harder. Now, I realize this wasn’t exactly my best angle. I tried several times to get a better one, but I was determined, and this is the one we got. I’m so thankful I didn’t give up.
Every visit after this, she slept. This was the last time we laughed together. It was the last time I covered her face with kisses that she actually felt. The last time I told her I loved her and heard her say, “I love you too.”
When I walked out of her room, I leaned back through the doorway one more time and said, “I love you.” She smiled, waved at me, and said, “I love you too.”
I’m so thankful I have this picture.

The Day I Always Dreaded

It’s strange to wake up and realize you’re living the day you’ve feared your entire life.

Even as a little girl, I would think about the day my mom would die. The thought would sneak into my mind, and it would terrify me. I’d quickly push it away and tell myself I would think about it another day. There would be plenty of time for that later.

At night, I’d lie in my bed with my bedroom door open and the hallway light shining in. It was the only way I could fall asleep. And in the distance, I could hear my mom and dad talking in the kitchen or watching TV together. Those familiar sounds told me everything was okay. They were both home. They were both still here.

Now they’re both gone.

There isn’t another day to put those thoughts off. The day I spent my whole life dreading has finally come… and somehow, I’m living it.

Tonight, there won’t be voices drifting down the hallway. Just silence. No matter how many years you have with your parents, no matter how much you know this day is coming, nothing prepares you for the silence they leave behind.

The Hands That Raised Me

Friday, I took a picture of my mom’s hand.

Just her hand.

It’s amazing how, in this one picture, I can see an entire lifetime and every act of love she used those hands for.

Those hands brushed my hair before school, buttoned my tiny dresses, tied my shoes, wiped away my tears, packed my lunches, tucked me into bed, bandaged scraped knees, and held my hand whenever I needed it. They cooked thousands of meals, folded endless loads of laundry, scrubbed floors, planted flowers, wrapped Christmas presents, and somehow made our house feel like the safest place in the world.

Her hands made childhood magical. They sewed clothes for me, stitched Halloween costumes, and built me the most wonderful Barbie dollhouse a little girl could ever imagine.

My dad built beautiful things from wood, and my mom used those hands to bring them to life with paint, color, and love. Together they created treasures that fill many homes today. Every time I walk past one in my home, I don’t just see beautiful artwork—I see the love that poured from her hands.

When my own children came along, those same hands loved them just as deeply. They held babies, read stories, gave hugs that made everything better, celebrated every milestone, and decorated her home to look like the North Pole every Christmas. She made every holiday feel bigger, more beautiful, and more magical than the one before. She made each grandchild feel completely and unconditionally loved. She didn’t just raise her own family—she helped shape the generations that followed.

As I held her hand for the last time, I realized it had spent ninety-two years loving, giving, creating, comforting, and serving everyone around her.

Although her hands are still now, I will continue to see them everywhere. Because the greatest thing my mother ever created wasn’t something she painted, sewed, or built. Those hands built a family who never had to wonder if they were loved. And even now, when I close my eyes, I can still feel her hands in mine—steady, gentle, and full of a love that will never let go.

Can We Just Exist Without the Noise

The world feels chaotic right now. Everywhere you turn, someone is promoting a cause, an identity, a belief, or a lifestyle and wanting everyone else to acknowledge it. Sometimes it feels like there is no escaping the noise.

What if public spaces could simply be neutral places again? Places where people can shop, visit a museum, or take a walk without being pulled into someone else’s politics, beliefs, or personal causes. A place to just exist and enjoy the moment.

I also think there is a difference between living your life freely and expecting everyone around you to participate in or explain it to their children. Kids don’t need to be introduced to every religion, every belief system, every political cause, or every aspect of adult relationships before their parents feel they are ready. Parents should have the right to decide when certain conversations happen and how they happen.

Of course, everyone has the right to live according to their own values and beliefs. But the families you pass in public spaces have rights too. Respect goes both ways. Your right to express yourself and another family’s right to raise their children according to their own values should be able to coexist. Your rights end where another person’s begin.

Live however you want. Believe whatever you want. Fly whatever flags you want on your own property. That’s your right. But I miss the idea of shared public spaces feeling calm and united rather than divided into competing messages and causes. Sometimes it feels like we’re all asking for understanding while forgetting to extend that same understanding to others.

For me, the one flag that represents all Americans, regardless of our differences, is the American flag. In a world that often feels loud and chaotic, a little neutrality, a little common ground, and a little more respect for one another sound pretty peaceful.

You Can Do Anything… Until You’re Doing Everything

To me, if you’re constantly overwhelmed by all the things you should do and never have any time left to do the things you want to do, it usually means one of two things: you’re ambitious, or you are doing things alone.

Ambitious people are always finding things that need to be done. They have goals, projects, ideas, and responsibilities. They want their homes clean, their finances in order, and their lives moving forward. They don’t sit still very well because their minds are always on to the next thing.

But sometimes the problem isn’t ambition. Sometimes the problem is that one person is carrying the mental load and the physical load while another person is just… there.

One person is making the appointments, planning the meals, paying the bills, cleaning the house, remembering birthdays, making the grocery lists, and keeping life running. The other person somehow has plenty of time for hobbies, naps, television, or scrolling their phone. Of course you’re overwhelmed. You’re doing the work of two adults.

I’ve learned there’s a difference between being busy because you’re driven and being exhausted because you’re carrying someone else. One is ambition. The other is imbalance. And if you never have time for yourself because you’re always taking care of everything and everyone else, it may be time to ask yourself an uncomfortable question:

Am I overwhelmed because I want a lot out of life… or because someone else expects me to do it all?