There is something about autumn that makes the ache in your chest feel just a little louder.
Maybe it’s the change in the air, the way the leaves crunch under your feet, or how the light shifts earlier in the evening. Maybe it’s the memories of laughter that should still echo through the trees, footsteps that should still be skipping down the sidewalk….
But this week, something unexpected happened. Something small. And beautiful. And confusing.
We went trick-or-treating in Granville. Just a simple night of candy and costumes. But it felt like a page out of a storybook. The streets were filled with princesses and goblins, parents bundled up in hoodies and scarves. The mist in the air carried the scent of fall—wood smoke, wet leaves, distant rain. Porch lights glowed softly, some with fire pits out front and neighbors laughing in small clusters. It was the most magical Halloween my kids have ever had.
And for the first time in a very long time… I smiled without catching myself.
The Quiet Shift I Didn’t Expect
I’ve been pushing hard lately. School, life, grief, and the daily reality of a big family—constant piles of laundry, the endless motion, and reading assignments that make me question my sanity.
I don’t feel like I’m doing anything perfectly. Not even close.
But I’m still showing up.
And somehow, in the middle of it all, I’ve noticed a strange feeling. Something that feels like… contentment? Peace? I’m not sure. It doesn’t show up every day. It doesn’t stay for long. But it catches me by surprise.
Like when I find myself thinking about Garet while I’m driving, and instead of just the ache, there’s this warmth. I tell him things in my mind. I imagine him teasing the kids. I see him in the way they walk, or the way they talk back. He’s everywhere. And somehow, that doesn’t destroy me the way it used to.
Letting In the Light (Even When It Feels Wrong)
Here’s the truth nobody talks about: letting yourself feel good after loss feels wrong.
It feels like betrayal. Like forgetting. Like somehow smiling means you’re moving on — and that thought alone makes your stomach twist.
But I’ve started counseling with my pastor, and one of the things I’m learning is this:
Grief and joy are not enemies.
You don’t have to choose between sorrow and laughter. You can carry both. You can be both. And those fleeting moments of peace? They don’t mean you’re forgetting. They mean you’re learning how to live again with the love that never left.
The Real Work of Grief (And Laundry)
Grief doesn’t stop for school. Or dishes. Or door dashing. Or bedtime routines.
It walks beside you while you’re brushing your teeth, sitting in lectures, making Halloween costumes, and yelling at your kids to quit fighting over who gets the last cookie.
It doesn’t care if you’re exhausted.
But here’s what I’ve realized: the fact that we keep going, even when it hurts… that’s sacred. That’s strength. That’s a love that didn’t die with the one we lost.
And maybe this isn’t healing in the way people expect. Maybe it’s not about “getting better” or “moving on.”
Maybe it’s about being real. Feeling it all. And still choosing to live a life that your child would be proud of.
Small Town Streets & Sacred Moments
Granville reminded me of something I had forgotten: community matters.
There is healing in fire pits. In sidewalk chats. In kids giggling in costumes. In adults pausing to enjoy a moment. It was a reminder that the world is still good, even when it hurts. That connection and laughter and the smell of burning wood in the air can still make your heart flutter, just a little.
Maybe I need more of that.
Not just the town. But the slow down. The presence. The grace.
A Journal Prompt for Your Heart
What is one tiny moment this week that made you feel peace, even if just for a second?
Write it down. Let yourself feel it. No guilt. No second-guessing. Just the truth.
If You’re in This With Me…
I see you. I get it. I’m walking this road too. It’s messy and loud and full of feelings that don’t make sense.
But you are not alone.
If you’re finding slivers of light in the middle of the fog… you’re doing better than you think.
And if you’re learning to smile without guilt, I hope you know… you’re not moving on. You’re moving forward. And that is a beautiful thing. 💕
Love and Light ~Mandy
P.S. If you happen to be looking for a church to call home, you are welcome to visit our church! Spring Hills Baptist Church is a special place to be!
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