Coming Home

After 4½ years of being gone a big portion of each month—first to care for my daughter during her battle with cancer, then to care for my mom after her diagnosis—I’ve finally come home full time. And while I imagined this would feel comforting, maybe even like a soft place to land… it’s been harder than I expected.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m happy to be home. I’m grateful to wake up beside my husband again. I love being with my sons, my family, and my friends. There’s comfort in being surrounded by people who love me. But there's also this deep ache. When you’re no longer waking up every day with the purpose of caring for the people you love, it becomes a painful reminder that they’re not here anymore.

My daughter fought bravely for 18 months before cancer took her. And just five months after losing her, my mom was diagnosed with her own battle. I don’t think I ever really had time to fully grieve Schuylar the way I needed to. I was immediately thrust into the role of caregiver again—this time for someone else I loved dearly. I was still broken, still bleeding from the loss of my daughter, and yet life asked me to keep going. So I did.

Now, here I am—three years later—grieving again. My mom passed just one week before the anniversary of Schuylar’s death. The timing felt cruel. The weight of compounded grief is real, and it’s heavy.

I won’t pretend my relationship with my mom was always easy. In fact, I spent more time with her in the last 27 months than I had in the entire 50 years before that. But something beautiful happened in those final years. In the midst of doctor’s appointments, quiet moments, and shared memories, I learned things about her life that I never knew. I saw her differently. And in some unexpected way, I found healing in that time together. I think that’s why her passing has shaken me so deeply.

So now, I’m home. I’m trying to settle back into a life that looks the same but feels completely different. I’m back at work part-time. Back in my community. Back with my friends. Trying to find some kind of new normal.

Some days I feel steady. Some days I feel lost. But I’m giving myself permission to take it one step at a time.

Because I’ve learned that healing isn’t a destination. It’s a journey. And I’m still on it—day by day, breath by breath, moment by moment.