Pull up a chair, Reader.
I've got a story to tell you.

My dad was not a man who did things halfway. If he saw something that needed doing, he simply did it — no asking, no waiting, no checking in first to see if you actually wanted his help. He was the kind of man who acted from love first and asked questions never. And if you knew someone like that in your life, you already know exactly where this is going.

I have this dresser — antique, distressed, intentionally worn in that way that takes real craftsmanship to pull off.
The kind of piece you hunt for, fall in love with, and build a whole room around. I absolutely loved that dresser.

And one day I came home to find that my dad had decided it needed some attention.

He had waxed the slide-pulls on the drawers so they would glide more smoothly, which was genuinely thoughtful and very on-brand for him. He had also decided, while he was at it, to touch up the cream colored paint. With white paint. Bright, fresh, nothing-distressed-about-it white paint.

I stood there taking it all in, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, so I did both at the same time — which if you've ever experienced that particular combination of emotions, you know it is something else entirely. I looked at him, took a breath, and said the only thing I could say. "Thanks dad." And he stood there so genuinely, completely proud of himself because in his mind he had just done something really wonderful for his daughter. And honestly — he had. It just didn't look quite the way either of us expected.
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I think about that dresser a lot lately.

Because as it turns out, that was one of the last little projects he did. And what I wouldn't give to come home and find that he had helped again. White paint and all. I would not change a single brushstroke.

That's the thing about grief that nobody really prepares you for. It's not always the big moments that get you. Sometimes it's the silly ones. The imperfect ones. The ones you didn't fully appreciate until suddenly they're all you have left to hold onto.

And here's what I know to be true — what I have witnessed over and over again in this work and what I am living firsthand right now...

Spirit loves this.

They love it when we tell the stories. Even the ridiculous ones. Especially the ridiculous ones. They love when we gather around and laugh until we cry and cry until we laugh and say oh my gosh, remember when he did that thing? Because in those moments they are right there with us. Leaning in. Probably laughing the loudest.

Just because they are gone does not mean they must be forgotten. They live on through every story we tell. Every memory we share. Every moment we let ourselves feel it all — the love and the loss and the laughter — all tangled together exactly the way it was when they were here.

That is not grief.
That is connection.

And connection, my friend, never dies.

If this is stirring something in you — if there's someone you're missing and you want to feel that connection, I would love to hold that space with you.

Come find me TONIGHT on TikTok LIVE at 8pm — @inspired_medium​

I'll be showing up for a spirit-led conversation and connection and I would love to see your face there.
Come as you are. Bring your person with you.
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Spirit always shows up when we do. 🤍
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With love,