11/13/2025
Happy Heavenly Birthday, Mommy…..You waited until the clock said 11:11 to leave this world. I think about that all the time. 11:11 is supposed to mean alignment of soul, mind, and universe, and I hope that’s what you finally found. Every time I see 11:11 now, I stop, think of you, and make the same wish—that you’re safe, happy, and watching over us.
I miss the little things I thought would always be there: your “just checking on you” calls, telling me to be careful even when I rolled my eyes, asking about my birthday weeks in advance, knowing exactly what to say when I needed advice, having a remedy ready every time I was sick. All the things I took for granted were actually the most important parts of you.
Holidays feel thin and empty without you. You were the glue that held our family together, and without you, everything feels a bit cracked. Losing you has also made me see past your pain to who you really were—and how much of you is in me. I used to resist that. Now I’m grateful for it.
I’m trying my best to watch over Miles, Heather, Max, and Leo. I hope I’m doing okay, but it’s hard without you, Mommy. People say time heals, but it doesn’t—it just reshapes life around the hole. Grief doesn’t end because love doesn’t end.
I moved to the beach like you always dreamed of. Every time I look at the ocean, I picture you beside me. It was your happy place, and now it’s mine too.
If you’re still able to see “Mom” on your phone, answer it. Don’t take it for granted. Tell her you love her—every single time. 🤍
