Jacob's Crossing

10/19/2026

Hi Jacob ~ I love you ❤️

10/10/2026

Oof... and there it is.

It's not like I don't know it's coming. It's that time of year again, when holiday after holiday rolls around, bringing that busy mixture of celebrations and birthdays. Thanksgiving is literally everywhere. Pumpkin spice this, turkey that. Conversations about gatherings, what's happening, what day, what time, who's going where. You can't exactly ignore it all, can you?

So I know it's coming. I remind myself that I've made it through three of these seasons, and I can, and absolutely will, get through the fourth. I take note of how well I'm doing, how I'm handling things, and quietly wonder if maybe I'm doing a little better than I did last year.

Because when it comes to grief, it doesn't hit UNTIL IT HITS.

It would be convenient if grief made an appearance when we expected it most, but it rarely works that way. Nah, it hits whenever it bloody wants to. It creeps in slowly, almost unnoticed, and then suddenly pounces on a cool, cloudy afternoon.

When you can smell the turkey starting to cook, and you've taken a moment to yourself in another room to put your feet up and just pause.

I always know he's gone. That knowledge is there, safely tucked away in the back of my mind. But sometimes, without warning, something cracks that carefully sealed compartment wide open. And suddenly, all those neatly stitched pieces of my heart are torn apart again, left raw and bleeding.

Every beat of my heart screams, "He's gone."

And for a moment, it feels like life itself is shaking me by the shoulders, desperately trying to wake me up from this reality.

Imagine drowning. Actually, imagine it.

You're slipping beneath the water's surface, deeper and deeper. You CANNOT breathe, and the fear that you may never catch another breath is squeezing the ever-living life out of you. You want to reach above the icy water, but you can't. And then you realise that you won't.

So you stop fighting. You allow the burning pain in your lungs to take over, and you wait for it to end. You pray for it to end.

But it doesn't.

You just float there, lost.

Until suddenly, you hear a voice calling for you.

"Mom, where are you?"

It's not the voice of the child you'd give anything to see again. The child you'd give your own life to hold just one more time.

It's the voice of one of the children you live for.

So you wipe your tears, somehow manage to catch that next breath, pull yourself together, and walk out the door with a weak smile on your face.

And this is grief.

This is learning to live in a world where a piece of your heart exists somewhere you can no longer reach, while the rest of you has to keep showing up here.

This is parenting with one foot on either side of the realm.

I am so very blessed and grateful for my children and my grandson. They are the air I try so desperately to breathe when I'm grieving Jacob, and the pieces of my heart that remind me there is still so much love in this world, even when the pain of missing him feels unbearable.

If you are grieving someone this year, my heart is with you. I wish you comfort, strength, and your own breath of air when the weight of missing them feels too heavy to carry.

What are you grateful for? ❤️

09/25/2026

🥺🫂🪽

09/23/2026

So many people are in need of a miracle, a prayer, a little bit of hope… just one good thing.

It hurts my heart to see so many people scared, suffering, grieving, struggling, or simply feeling alone.

I came across a saying today:

Ad Astra Per Aspera ~
Through hardships to the stars.

And I thought to myself… isn’t that what we’re all out here doing?

Making our way through the hard things. Putting one foot in front of the other when we don’t know where the road is taking us. Holding onto whatever little pieces of hope we can find. Sometimes carrying ourselves, and sometimes leaning on someone else until we’re strong enough to stand again.

None of us gets through this life untouched by hardship. We’re all fighting something, grieving something, healing from something, hoping for something.

So maybe that’s the point ~ we keep going. Through the darkness, through the uncertainty, through the days that feel impossibly heavy.

Through hardships to the stars. ✨

So if you happen to have a little extra light today, maybe shine some of it toward someone who needs it. 🤍

I hope you find your way to the stars. ✨
With love,
Jacob's Mom ❤️🪽

09/19/2026

19:19 ~ it was a good day today Bud. Went to one of your favorite places and watched your Dad make waffles and memories with your Boy. Wish you were here ❤️🪽

09/15/2026

A thought popped into my head while I was loading the dishwasher.

I didn't know the answer, so my next thought was, "I'll have to ask Jacob when I see him."

It took me a solid three seconds to remember.

For three seconds, I was blissfully unaware that you were gone.

For three seconds, you were just somewhere else, and I'd ask you later.

Then the light switch flipped.

And god damn, did it sting when it did.

I guess I'll have to try to remember to ask you when I get there.

09/04/2026

Some things are gloriously creepy.

Beauty isn't always immediately noticeable. Sometimes, you have to stop and really look for it. But that doesn't mean it isn't there. It doesn't make it any less remarkable, nor any less worthy of existing.

All things, big and small, deserve to exist peacefully so long as they aren't causing anyone harm. And even then, sometimes we have to ask ourselves whether the harm is truly intentional, or if it's simply a little creature doing exactly what nature designed it to do.

Today, the gloriously creepy little friends around my home have come out to say hello. 🕷️🕸️

They're usually tucked away during the daylight hours, waiting for dusk to reappear and get to work ~ carefully rebuilding their webs and waiting for the dinner that keeps them alive.

But thanks to this rainy day, they're all out in full view, proudly displaying their beautiful little works of art.

And I can't help but admire them.

Creepy? Absolutely.

But beautiful in their own strange, intricate, gloriously creepy way.

And at the very least, you must agree that keeping the mosquitoes away is a rather grand and kind gesture on their part. 🕷️🖤🕸️

Happy Friday, friends. 🖤

May you all find a little bit of beauty in the most unexpected places today. 🕷️🕸️✨

Love,
Jacob's Mom

08/31/2026

Today, on International Overdose Awareness Day, I’m thinking of every family who has been robbed of their person because of an overdose.

Every number we see in a statistic was a person.

Someone’s child.

Someone’s parent.

Someone’s sibling.

Someone’s best friend.

Someone who was loved, needed, wanted and expected to come home.

And behind every life lost is a family learning how to exist in a world that kept moving when theirs suddenly stopped.

Overdose does not discriminate, and neither should compassion.

Today isn’t about judgment, shame or how someone died. It’s about remembering how they lived. Saying their names. Honouring the people who loved them and recognizing the enormous hole their absence left behind.

To every family carrying this kind of loss today ~ I see you.

💜🕯🪽🫂

08/29/2026

Jacob always knew.

Whether we were face to face or talking over the phone, he just knew. He was one of the most empathetic people I’ve ever known, and when it came to me, there wasn’t much I could hide from him.

We could read one another without saying a word. A single glance. A slight change in tone. A shift in body language. That was usually all it took.

We knew each other better than anyone else did. It was a gift we shared, although I think sometimes it was also the reason we could get so damn frustrated with each other. 😂 There was no pretending. No hiding behind “I’m fine.” We saw through each other far too easily.

Jacob was the only person in this world who could read me like an open book ~ every chapter, even the messy ones I tried to keep closed.

And I miss that more than I could ever explain.

I miss having someone who knew me in my entirety. Someone who could hear what I wasn’t saying. Someone who noticed the things everyone else missed. Someone I never had to explain myself to because somehow, he already understood.

There was even a day when that ability to just know quite literally saved my life.

I don’t think he ever fully understood what he did for me that day. I don’t think he knew just how badly I needed him in that exact moment, or how different things could have been if he hadn’t noticed what everyone else couldn’t see. He simply knew his mom wasn’t okay ~ and he showed up for me in the way only Jacob could.

I will carry that with me forever.

I miss being in a crowded room and instinctively searching for his face. Finding his eyes across the room and having one of our silent little check-ins. Sometimes it was You good? Sometimes it was Did you seriously just hear that s**t? 😂 Sometimes it was I’m ready to get the hell out of here. And sometimes it was nothing more than I see you. I’m here.

Not a single word needed to be spoken.

There is something incredibly lonely about losing the person who knew your whole language without ever needing you to translate it.

There are bonds we create throughout our lives, but the bond I shared with my son was entirely its own. I knew that boy from his very first breath. I watched him become a man, and somewhere along the way, he learned me just as deeply as I had always known him.

I was his mom. He was my son.

And somehow, in the middle of all of that growing up together, we became two people who could simply look at one another and know.

I still find myself searching a room for his face sometimes.

I miss being known like that.

But more than anything, I miss my boy 🦋🪽

One of the greatest joys of motherhood is watching the child you raised grow into one of your very best friends.

~ Jacob's Crossing

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