Year-End Reflection: Gratitude, Loss, and the Power of Grace
As the end of this year draws near, I find myself in a season of reflection. With so much occurring in this nation and across the world, I am reminded of the people, moments, and blessings for which I am profoundly grateful.
At the end of last year and the beginning of this one, I spent several evenings as an inpatient visitor with my daughter, who has a developmental disability. Her medical journey began unexpectedly in 2010, when she experienced her first major vomiting episode. She had never been ill a day in her life—her previous hospitalizations were orthopedic and related to her inability to walk. This episode, however, was violent and frightening. What looked like Coca-Cola in her vomit turned into bright red blood… then pneumonia… and then complication after complication.
I found myself in the chapel, praying for my daughter’s life and vowing to help her live out the desires of her heart if God restored her. After nearly 14 days, countless prayers from family and friends, and the healing hand of God, she was discharged.
In the months that followed, the desire of her heart was simple: to return to our hometown and live her life. As a mother of multiple children, I helped my young adult daughter move, and then returned to North Carolina to raise my sons—always with the promise that I would return home after my youngest graduated. I kept that promise in 2017. By God’s grace, I was near her again when the second vomiting episode hit in 2018. Though not as severe as the first, it remained a mystery despite extensive testing.
Over the years, the episodes increased, as did the hospitalizations. And finally, in 2025—after fifteen years of vomiting, admissions, discharges, and returns—we received a diagnosis: my 4’11”, 98-pound daughter had a fibroid the size of a five-month fetus. Her uterus weighed seventy times that of a normal uterus. The only solution was a hysterectomy.
Sitting through that conversation broke my heart. In my mind, I raced to find solutions—egg extraction, preservation, something to protect her dream of motherhood. My grief spiraled further as I thought of her father, who passed when she was two, and how his line would end.
While I held space for my daughter’s pain, as her primary caregiver—her “ride or die”—I was also quietly falling apart. It took me days to process, recalibrate, and figure out how to move us both toward a new kind of normal.
By May, I committed to returning to my monthly caregiver events—not only to support others, but to be surrounded by people who might understand what I was experiencing. The irony, however, was that I didn’t allow anyone into my emotional space. I who teach wellness, self-care, boundaries, and balance had neglected my own.
Month after month, life continued to shift. Friends experienced loss; others faced job insecurity. Families feared for the state of our country. Challenges mounted in different ways, and yet, life kept moving.
Now, as the year ends, I look at all that has changed. My business has stayed aligned with its purpose. Some family members have returned after years apart; others have transitioned. Friendships have shifted—some faded, some strengthened. New bonds have formed. I’ve met new people and discovered the truth of some associations.
In reflecting early for this post, I’ve been sitting with themes of loss and recovery. In my fifty-two years, I have lost so much—and yet, I am deeply grateful. Grateful that I am still here. Grateful that I can witness all that is unfolding. Grateful that I can continue serving caregivers with tools for self-care, boundaries, strategies, resources, and wellness.
I may not always be aware of world events—they can be overwhelming—but I remain profoundly aware of the blessings in my life. And for that, I am thankful.
As I step into a new year, my intention is to stay intentional—to continue this work, continue this growth, and continue witnessing the fruits of my labor. And through it all, to remain grateful for everything.
As this blog is set to release 12/27/25, I am also reminded of lost love.
I am wishing a Happy Heavenly Birthday to Patrick—my first significant loss and my first significant light.
May his heavenly shine continue to rest on us as this year closes and a new one begins.