never alone

Today, during a quiet lunchtime walk, I came across a single, vibrant flower—blooming so beautifully in a place I nearly passed by. But something made me stop. In that quiet moment, with the breeze around me and silence in my heart, I felt like God was reaching out through that little bloom. It felt like a whisper from Heaven, as if He—and maybe even my sister—were saying, ‘You’re not alone. I’m still with you.’

Grief is such a strange companion. Some days I walk through it strong, other days I crumble under the weight of missing her. The ache of losing my sister never truly leaves—it just softens and shifts with time. But in that moment with the flower, I felt something holy. A peace. A divine comfort. A reminder that even in the deepest sorrow, God sees me, holds me, and walks every step with me.

This verse came to my heart and settled there like a balm:
‘The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.’ – Psalm 34:18

And in that stillness, I could almost feel her near—not gone, but just in a place I can’t reach yet. I whispered her name, wiped a quiet tear, and kept walking… not alone, but wrapped in love that never truly leaves."

your home

Dear Rachel,

Today my heart feels heavy in a new kind of way. I wasn’t there when your house — your home — was packed up and rearranged. I wasn’t there when the last pieces of you were gently wrapped, folded, or placed in boxes. But I’ve felt every bit of it from a distance. I was thinking about how excited you were when you bought this house and how much you loved it.  

Your home was more than just a house. It was where your babies took their first steps, where you stayed up late helping with homework, and where you laughed, cried, and made the every day feel meaningful. It was you — through and through.

And now, life has changed again. He’s moved on. He’s married someone new. He still loves you so much and every day he wishes you back.  And as hard as that is to accept, I need you to know — she’s wonderful.

She is kind. She treats your children with love and patience. She doesn’t try to replace you, because she couldn’t — no one ever could. But she shows up for them. She holds space for their memories, and she honors you in her own quiet way. I see that, and I'm thankful. I think you would be too.

Still, it hurts — letting go of what was, and accepting what is. It’s not what any of us wanted. But life moves forward, even when we’re still grieving, still holding onto pieces of the past.

I hope somehow you know your babies are safe. They are still surrounded by love, even if it looks different now. You did such an incredible job raising them — they are strong, respectful, and full of the same kind of love you gave so freely. You would be proud, Rachel. So proud.

No matter what changes around them, they will always carry you. So will I.

I miss you more than words can express.

I love you always.

**Your sister,**

Terri