Welcome to Life After Lil

Sitting alone in a quiet house, I remember how much louder it used to be with you in it. The TV was always on, music was playing—there was constant noise. While I appreciate the peace in this moment, I deeply miss your loud, messy presence. Coping with grief feels like navigating waves—some days are easier, and some days hit harder. Today, it’s gentler; I feel a sense of peace, and for however long it lasts, I hold onto it. Memories of you surface in everyday moments. Today, exactly five years ago, a picture from 2020 popped up—our at-home spa day during quarantine. We had that silly goop on our faces, sprawled out in my bed, wrapped in your favorite baby blue robe, laughing between snacks. I can still see your smile—so genuine, so contagious, lighting up the room. Your dad and I have subconsciously rearranged our routines to avoid the hardest memories. One of the biggest changes? Mealtimes. We used to eat every meal at the table. Now, it’s become rare. We never talk about why; it’s no...

Two Years and Four Months Without You It’s been 120 weeks since I lost you, my darling daughter. Time has marched on, but my heart remains suspended in that moment you left. The world gained a beautiful light when you passed, but I lost a piece of my soul. Today, the weight of your absence hit me harder than I ever expected. When Grief Wears an Angry Face Grief doesn’t always look like tears and quiet mourning. Sometimes, it looks like clenched fists and sharp words. Today, Lady Grief, as I’ve come to call her, arrived not in sorrow, but in fury. She demands to be acknowledged—and if you ignore her, she finds ways to crash into your life, often when you least expect it. She showed up today as biting anger, lashing out at the one person who’s grieving alongside me: your dad. “What do you want to watch on TV?” he asked—an innocent question. “Anything—as long as you can make a decision and stick to it,” I snapped. He looked at me, hurt. “Why are you being so mean?” “I’m not being mean,” I...