Welcome to Life After Lil

Finding peace in chaos, comfort in cloth, and connection beyond words. Some days, grief brings vivid visions and a sense of connection that feels otherworldly. Other days, I struggle just to sit still. This post is about both. I’ve been trying to live from the inside out lately—choosing presence over panic, tuning inward when the world feels too loud. It doesn’t always go the way I expect, but I’m learning to stay with whatever shows up. Even if it’s just breath. Even if it’s just a nightgown. Here’s what that looked like this week. I meditated recently, and it was beautiful. I could feel the energy in my hands immediately. I closed my eyes and saw a blue sky, pink clouds, and a sense of new dawn rising within me. Then, in my mind’s eye, rainbow waves began to ripple—gentle, radiant, alive. I felt like I was lifted—plucked out of worldly woes—and placed on a soft, distant cloud. Everything was quiet, peaceful. And then they came. My daughter and my dad. My daughter an...

It’s been a surreal and emotional week. I’ve been holding space for my daughter—offering emotional support—while at the same time watching the world feel like it’s cracking open again. For the past few years, I’ve kept my distance from the news. It was an act of self-preservation—protecting my peace, protecting my heart. After everything I’ve lived through, that boundary was necessary. But something broke through it this week. News of violence carried out by the state, of lives lost without explanation or accountability, shook me deeply. It pulled me out of that protective silence and back into the rawness of the world. I may be late to this moment—but I’m here now. Fully. And something inside me is shifting. I feel a growing urge to stand up—for justice, for freedom, for the future. I’ve always been introverted. Since losing Lil, that part of me has only deepened. I’m not a hermit, but I keep my circle small by choice. Quiet feels safe. Predictable. Manageable. But while I was in Colo...

I’m back in Colorado this week. My daughter—a new nurse—is transitioning off orientation and feeling overwhelmed. She told me she needed support in person, and I admired her for that. This generation doesn’t seem to struggle with asking for help the way mine did. As a Gen X’er, it never would have occurred to me to say, I’m not okay. I would have pushed through, believing that needing help was weakness. But my daughter knows her limits. And she asked for what she needed. My husband and I made a promise to our two youngest children—both newly graduated and navigating their first real jobs—that we would show up in person once a month. He visited our son in Southern California. I flew to Colorado. I get ten days here to support my daughter. To show up. Not to smother—though sometimes the line blurs—but to be present. When I arrived, she was just coming off a brutal three-day night shift. Her apartment was messy. She was out of toilet paper. I was amused and quietly amazed—but also remind...