For a long time, I never considered myself someone who had experienced trauma. When I thought about trauma, I thought about things that happened in a single devastating moment. I thought about accidents, violence, war, or catastrophic events. I never thought about grief. I certainly never thought that years after losing my brother, my son, and eventually my mom, I would find myself sitting in a doctor's office convinced that I had ADHD. At that point, a few years had passed s

When people hear the word hospice, they often think about death. When I hear the word hospice, I think about my mama. Before illness entered our lives, my mom was the kind of person who was always moving, always doing something, and always taking care of someone else. She loved spending time with my grandma, whether they were fishing together or making one of their favorite trips to the casino. She babysat what felt like every newborn in our family and somehow had enough pati

People have asked me before how I can still believe in God after everything that has happened in my life. After the losses. After the funerals. After watching people I love struggle and suffer. After losing my son, my brother, and my mom. After grief changed me in ways I never imagined it could. And honestly, I get it. Because there were moments I asked that very same question. There were nights I sat in complete silence, and other nights I screamed and cried in anguish, tryi

There’s something unique about sibling loss that is hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. It’s a grief that often goes unseen, tucked quietly into the background while life continues moving around you. But losing a sibling changes you. It changes the history you carry, the memories you hold, and the future you thought you would share. I lost my younger brother in 2013 when he was only 37 years old. There were five years between us, and from the very beginning, our story sta