My mom died last Thursday afternoon, alone in an assisted living facility, days shy of her 66th birthday. This is what I'm learning, in real time, about grief, about her story, and about what death asks of the living.

If you’ve been tracking with my writing but quietly wondering “what am I supposed to do with all this?”, this one is for you. The why, the formation, the pillars, and the practice. All in one place.

Most of your life is made up of the things no one would create content on. The dishes, the bills, the commute, the laundry. What if those aren’t the warm-up to the meaningful parts of life, but a meaningful part in and of themselves?