Today marks eight years since the loss of my daughter. These past years have taught me so much about life, and even now, it’s hard to grasp that I would have had a 29-year-old daughter. No matter what, she will always be my child. The day she passed, a friend said something that stuck with me: “Her path is different from yours. Your journey was meant to endure the pain of losing her, whichwould change you forever, while her journey was to be with God as a helper.” I remember the argument we had before she left, and I often wonder if she’s still upset. But over the years, I’ve seen countless signs of her and my ex-husband—moments that remind me they’re both always near. I miss them deeply every single day.Looking back, those eight years without her have been a mix of heartbreak and growth. A few months before she passed, I met the man who would become my husband, and soon after, I sold my house in Paradise Valley and moved to Texas. That time was full of confusion, but I made efforts to cope. I attended grief support classes, though I wasn’t a big believer in therapy—I’ve always felt friends are better than therapists. During those months, I turned to books and read countless stories about people who had lost loved ones, especially a child. Five months after her loss, I got married, and we moved to Hilton Head, South Carolina. But even then, I struggled to find my way and often felt lost, like my life had come to a standstill. Eventually, I started working for one of the largest management companies in the country. I began as a runner, but through hard work and dedication, I climbed the ladder to become an owner relations manager and later a local operations manager. The job became a meaningful outlet for me, especially since it involved writing to owners and guests almost every day, which rekindled my love for writing. My efforts were recognized, and even the CEO mentioned my name as an outstanding employee on more than one occasion, acknowledging that I had the highest metrics in the entire company. I also earned an award for my performance, and during that period, I took writing classes and online history courses. I’ve always believed knowledge is invaluable, and these experiences shaped me. In the last year, since moving back to Arizona, I developed a strong interest in politics. I often discuss political events, particularly those of the past few years, with my husband right after waking up. Podcasts, like Charlie Kirk’s, have captivated me and deepened my understanding of current events. Still, I'm not fond of debates because, in today’s world, it feels like freedom of speech is fading, and people sometimes resist hearing the truth. That said, enough about politics. My true passion remains reading and writing. I especially enjoy romance novels, and writing has become an outlet for my emotions. I’m working on a book now, although some chapters are so painful that I have to step away and take breaks. Returning to those moments proves challenging, but I know the book will be finished.Reflecting on these last eight years, I recognize that they’ve been a journey of significant change, though incomplete. Life is rarely perfect, and mine often feels fragmented. But I’ve learned to view things in perspective. Living in Arizona has been wonderful, and I cherish my friends. When you look at life, no matter who or what is missing, there’s always something to be grateful for. It may not be flawless, but it’s your story. Keep creating your history and moving forward. Rest in Peace my love.

There are moments when I feel the need to take a step back from writing, allowing myself a few days to recover and find my footing again. Revisiting parts of my past, especially those deeply painful memories that have shaped me, can leave scars that take time to heal. It’s not always easy to face the remnants of what once was—the hopes I carried, the love I poured into places and people that are now just memories. The weight of those expectations stays with me, even as I try to release them.For a long time, I never imagined I would return to those chapters of my life. Reflecting on them felt too overwhelming, and the thought of putting them into words seemed nearly insurmountable. But somehow, here I am, slowly retracing the steps I thought I’d left behind. I don’t fully understand why I’m writing this now, but deep down, I think it’s a way to cleanse my soul—a way to unpack the weight I’ve been carrying. Letting it all out, one word and one thought at a time, feels like a path toward healing, even if the journey is incomplete.

childhood responsibilities