Dating After Death: Things I Never Thought I’d Have To Say

No one tells you what dating will look like after loss.

You just wake up one day, a little less numb, a little more alive, and wonder…Am I allowed to want love again?

And if you do, if you decide to open your heart, even just a little, you’re met with a world that doesn’t know what to do with your story.

So you smile nervously.

You explain.

You overthink.

You cry after really good dates.

You text your friends: “This is so weird, right?”

And suddenly, you’re saying things you never thought you’d have to say:

Things I’ve Actually Said Out Loud:

• “Yes, I’ve been married. No, I’m not divorced.”

• “He passed away from cancer.”

• “I still talk about him sometimes. Is that okay?”

• “I have three kids. They’re amazing and also navigating grief.”

• “I’m not looking to replace him. I’m just learning how to live again.”

It’s awkward.

It’s tender.

It’s sacred.

And it’s so much harder than anyone prepares you for.

The Guilt That Comes With Moving Forward

For a while, I believed loving again meant letting go.

That if I opened my heart to someone new, I was somehow closing the door on what I had.

But love doesn’t work like that.

I haven’t let go of him, I carry him with me.

He taught me how to love deeply, how to communicate, how to show up.

And now, I get to honor that by being that kind of love again.

Dating After Loss Isn’t Replacing—It’s Rebuilding

When I met my current partner, I told him the truth from day one:

There are memories I’ll always hold.

There’s grief that will never fully leave.

And instead of running from that, he respected it.

He made space for it.

He didn’t try to erase the past, he just offered to walk with me in the present.

If You’re Thinking About Dating Again…

Here’s what I wish someone told me:

• You’re allowed to miss one and love another.

• You don’t need permission to begin again.

• Anyone worthy of your heart will hold your story, not fear it.

• It’s okay to protect your peace and take your time.

You don’t owe anyone a perfect explanation.

You don’t have to know how it’ll end.

You’re allowed to want connection again.

You’re Not “Moving On”…You’re Moving Forward

And forward still includes the love you lost.

It still includes the nights you cry, the stories you tell, the part of you that will always ache.

Dating again isn’t proof that you’re over it.

It’s proof that you’re still choosing life, even when it’s complicated.

With grace and open-hearted courage,

La 💙

Dear Parent, You’re Doing Better Than You Think

Dear Parent,

If you’re reading this with tired eyes and a heavy heart, I want to speak directly to the part of you that wonders if you’re failing.

The part of you that thinks your grief is messing your kids up.

The part that feels like you should be stronger, more present, more patient.

The part that second-guesses the late dinners, the skipped laundry, the bedtime story you just couldn’t manage last night.

You’re doing better than you think.

I Know This Because I’ve Been There…And To be Honest…I Still Am

I’ve fed my kids dinner with tears running down my face.

I’ve gone to school functions feeling like I was wearing someone else’s smile.

I’ve nodded through bedtime routines while feeling hollow inside.

There were nights I worried they’d remember my sadness more than my love.

That my grief would cloud their childhood.

That being a solo parent meant I had to somehow overcompensate for what they lost.

But you know what I’ve learned?

Children don’t need perfect.

They need presence. They need love. They need to see you try.

Here’s What You’re Teaching Them, Just by Showing Up:

• That it’s okay to feel and still function

• That love doesn’t stop with loss

• That strength can look like softness

• That even broken hearts can build safe homes

They don’t see failure in you.

They see home.

They see the person who still makes their snack the way they like it.

Who still kisses their forehead even when your own is pounding from grief.

To the Parent Who Thinks They’re Falling Short…

Please breathe.

You’re carrying more than anyone sees.

You’re learning how to live while teaching your children to keep growing.

You’re allowed to grieve and parent at the same time.

And when you mess up, because we all do, your apology holds just as much power as your love.

You’re not too late.

You’re not too broken.

You’re not a bad parent.

You’re human. And you’re showing up.

That’s more than enough.

With love from someone walking this road beside you,

La 💙

Grief Makes You Brave In Ways You Never Wanted

I didn’t ask to be brave.

I didn’t want to carry this kind of strength.

I wanted my soft life. My love. My family whole. My partner by my side.

But life had other plans.

And now… here I am, doing things I never thought I could.

Navigating grief, raising kids, making decisions, rebuilding life.

All with shaky hands and a heart that still breaks in private.

The Bravery No One Talks About

It’s not the kind of bravery they cheer for.

It’s the quiet kind.

The kind that doesn’t come with applause or recognition.

It’s getting out of bed when everything hurts.

It’s showing up for the kids with a soft voice even when your soul is screaming.

It’s sitting at the dinner table with an empty chair and still passing the potatoes.

It’s saying no to things that drain you, and yes to boundaries that protect you.

Grief doesn’t just make you sad.

It remakes you. It refines you.

And whether you asked for it or not, it makes you brave.

What Bravery Has Looked Like for Me:

• Calling the funeral home… and then calling the light company the next day

• Sleeping alone for the first time in years

• Signing school papers while trying not to cry at the “parent signature” line, knowing the second line will be empty

• Laughing again and allowing myself to feel joy without guilt

• Booking the trip, saying yes to help, learning how to ask for more

I didn’t become fearless.

I just learned to keep moving even when afraid.

To the Ones Who’ve Been Called “Strong”

I see you.

The ones who keep showing up even when they don’t feel ready.

The ones who cry in the car, then straighten up before walking into work.

The ones who’ve held their families together with nothing but faith and grace.

If you’ve ever whispered, “I don’t want to be strong today,” know this: that whisper is brave too.

Your Bravery Isn’t Just Survival

It’s choosing healing.

It’s saying, “I miss them” and “I’m still here.”

It’s becoming something new in the ruins of what was.

You don’t have to do it all to be brave.

You just have to keep choosing yourself, one breath at a time.

With love for every tear you’ve turned into strength,

La 💙

What It’s like To Cook For A Family Of 4 When Your Heart’s In Pieces

Most people don’t understand how exhausting it is to feed a family while grieving.

It’s not just about grocery lists and seasoning meat.

It’s about standing in the kitchen, where he used to be and trying not to fall apart over a cutting board.

Cooking used to be something I loved.

It was how I nurtured my family, how I poured care into tired evenings.

But when I became the only one holding it all… it shifted.

I had to keep showing up in that same kitchen for my family of four, me and the kids, even while carrying a heart that felt cracked wide open.

Grief Lives in the Kitchen

He used to sneak bites while I stirred the pot.

He’d dance behind me, joke about burning the rice, or sit and talk while I cooked.

Now, I stir the same pots.

Stand at the same counter.

Hear silence where his voice used to fill the space.

Some days, the smells bring comfort.

Other days, they shatter me.

Because when you’re grieving, even dinner can be a battlefield.

Cooking for Four Isn’t Just About Food

It’s about showing up for your children when all you want is to stay under the covers.

It’s about creating normalcy in a house that feels forever changed.

It’s about loving through service, even when you’re depleted.

I’ve stood at the stove while crying.

I’ve burnt things from zoning out.

I’ve felt guilt at the sound of my kids’ laughter because he wasn’t there to hear it too.

But feeding them was still love.

And some days, cooking was the one thing that reminded me I still had purpose.

What Helped Me Survive Mealtime in the Hardest Season:

• Simple meal planning: Because decision fatigue is real when you’re grieving. I would prefer take out over thinking about what to cook.

• Letting the kids stir and chop with me: It turned pain into connection. It also teaches them life skills, while distracting me from my thoughts.

• Recreating his favorite meals: To keep his memory alive in our home.

• Embracing shortcuts: Paper plates. Frozen sides. Grace.

• Playing our music while I cooked: Gospel, jazz, or a playlist that carried me.

To Anyone Grieving and Still Feeding Their People…

You are doing sacred work.

You are nourishing others while barely holding it together yourself.

That is resilience. That is love in motion.

If all you managed was chicken nuggets and microwaved rice today, well baby…let me tell you just how you still showed up.

You’re doing enough.

Even in your aching, you are still giving life.

Coming Soon:

Don’t miss the upcoming freebie:

“Cooking Through Grief: A 5-Day Meal Plan for When You Have No Energy”

Created for anyone who has ever stood in the kitchen heartbroken, hungry, and unsure how to begin.

With apron strings and ache,

La 💙

Healing Through Awareness: Sarcoma & Bone Cancer Stories

I never expected to know this much about cancer.

Not the medical terms.

Not the color of ribbons.

Not the way an entire life can change with one test result.

But when someone you love is diagnosed, you learn.

You research.

You fight.

You pray.

You memorize words you never wanted to understand.

And even after they’re gone… the knowledge stays.

The pain stays.

The urgency to talk about it stays.

So today, I’m using this space to honor Sarcoma & Bone Cancer Awareness Month…to highlight the stories, the symptoms, the statistics… and the people behind them.

Because awareness matters.

And because healing also means turning pain into purpose.

💛 What Is Sarcoma?

Sarcoma is a rare but aggressive type of cancer that begins in the bones or soft tissues …like muscles, fat, blood vessels, nerves, or deep skin tissues. It can occur in both children and adults, but is often overlooked or misdiagnosed because the symptoms can seem vague at first.

There are over 70 different types of sarcoma, and it accounts for less than 1% of all adult cancers, making awareness and early detection even more critical.

Bone Cancer: The Invisible Fight

Bone cancer often starts silently.

Early signs are mistaken for growing pains, sports injuries, or muscle strains.

But it can escalate quickly, especially in young people.

Some warning signs include:

• Persistent pain or swelling in bones or joints

• Unexplained fevers

• Fatigue

• Weight loss

• Bone fractures without cause

If something feels off, listen to your body. Advocate for the scans. Ask the questions.

Stories That Deserve to Be Heard

This month, I hold space for:

• The children and teens in treatment.

• The parents waiting by hospital beds.

• The survivors still navigating life post-treatment.

• The families like mine, who’ve had to say goodbye far too soon.

Cancer changed our lives.

And while everyone’s journey is unique, none of us should have to walk through it in silence.

What Helped Me During the Hardest Parts:

• Keeping a binder with all medical records & test results

• Asking about clinical trials even when it felt overwhelming

• Recording conversations with doctors to process later

• Accepting help, meals, rides, prayers and letting community hold us

• Talking to someone: a therapist, grief counselor, or even just a safe friend

If You’re Facing Cancer Right Now…

I see you. I know the whirlwind of emotions.

The way strength is expected of you, even when you feel like you’re breaking.

The questions, the fatigue, the fear.

Please don’t carry this alone.

There are resources out there. Communities. Grants. Navigators. People who will walk with you.

And even when it feels like no one understands — I do.

Not because I wanted to, but because I had to.

Resources to Know & Share:

• Sarcoma Foundation of America

• Bone Cancer Research Trust

• The Cancer Support Community

• Stupid Cancer – Young Adult Support

• For caregivers & grieving families: CancerCare.org

Legacy Through Action

This month isn’t just about ribbons.

It’s about remembrance, education, and visibility.

Let’s keep telling the stories.

Let’s keep advocating.

Let’s keep living fully in honor of the ones we love.

With you in remembrance and resilience,

La 💙

They Said Time Heals, But Here’s What Actually Helped

They said time would heal me.

That one day I’d wake up and the pain would magically dull.

That if I kept busy, kept moving, kept pushing forward—

eventually the weight would lift on its own.

But time passed… and the ache remained.

Because here’s the truth:

Time doesn’t heal anything by itself.

It’s what you do inside that time that makes the difference.

And honestly? Most of the healing that happened for me didn’t come from calendars or clocks.

It came from hard choices, small habits, deep pain, and deeper grace.

Here’s What Actually Helped Me Heal

1. Letting the Grief Speak

At first, I tried to stay “strong.” For the kids. For the people watching. But holding it in made me numb and hollow. I was literally walking, but not feeling the ground beneath me. Sometimes I’d drive home and not remember how I got there….the entire drive was a blur.

It wasn’t until I let myself cry, journal without filters, and say his name out loud even when it made others and myself uncomfortable, that I finally started releasing instead of suppressing.

Healing started the moment I stopped apologizing for my grief. Although, I still find myself apologizing for it at times…

2. Naming What I Needed

For a long time, I didn’t even know what I needed, because I was too busy surviving.

But once I slowed down, I started asking:

• What kind of support am I missing?

• What boundaries am I not enforcing?

• What parts of me are craving attention?

I’m learning to stop waiting for people to guess how to show up for me. I’m starting to voice it, softly, clearly, and without shame.

3. Finding Safe Spaces to Be Real

I found healing in rooms where I didn’t have to perform.

In conversations where I could say, “I’m not okay” and not be rushed past it.

Therapy helped.

Journaling helped.

Creating The Brave Space helped.

So did the tiny corners of the internet where grief was allowed to be loud and messy.

Safe spaces saved me. That’s why I’m committed to building them now.

4. Letting Myself Laugh Again

There was a time when joy felt like betrayal.

How could I laugh while still aching for him?

But I learned that laughter didn’t mean forgetting.

It meant I was still alive.

Now, when the kids crack jokes, when I hear an old song we loved, when I sit on a beach and breathe easy for a moment. I let it happen. I let joy back in.

Because grief and joy don’t cancel each other out, they teach each other how to exist.

5. Being Honest About What I Couldn’t Fix

There were things I couldn’t repair:

• Friendships that disappeared after loss.

• Systems that failed us in our hardest season.

• The fact that he’s gone and won’t walk through that door.

But I stopped spinning in the “what ifs.” I grieved what I couldn’t fix, and I gave myself permission to live forward anyway.

Healing Isn’t Linear. It’s a Loop.

Some days I still cry like it just happened.

Other days I smile at the life I’m rebuilding.

I’ve learned to stop measuring progress by how long it’s been.

I measure it by how honest I’m willing to be with myself.

By how gently I treat myself in the waves.

By how often I choose to begin again.

If You’re in That Space Now…

If time hasn’t brought you peace yet, you’re not behind. You’re not doing it wrong.

You’re just human. And healing doesn’t run on a schedule.

Take the next step, no matter how small.

Cry. Text a friend. Download that journal. Speak their name. Say you’re not okay.

Do one thing today that moves you toward your own softness.

With grace and grit,

La 💙