While the world keeps moving like nothing happened, like nothing went wrong, my brain stays stuck at the moment outside of KRMC hospital 4 years ago. I remember holding my DaddyO's hand, letting him go. I remember the nurses and a kind security guard waking me up at his bedside, holding a cold hand that once belonged to the body my father wore. They told me he wasn't coming back, and that it was time for me to go home and get some rest. In that moment, I faded a little more than I knew was possible. I threw a fit, I stopped understanding. I just wanted my father to walk out of the hospital with me, knowing that was never reality. So, I was taken outside to the sidewalk where the security guards told me to "catch my breath, try to calm down, slow my breathing" As they walked back in to the hospital, I hit the ground. I sat there for probably 2 hours, crying. As people tried to help and offered condolences, I continued fading until ..... That's the last thing I remember in my own life for over a year. Record shows, I got up off that sidewalk that evening and got very very drunk, drove home at some point and then preceded to throw away almost 10 years of recovery from methamphetamine, relapsing harder than I thought I ever would at all. I threw away my entire life, my marriage, my home, belongings and left the state without a trace of who I was. 9 months later, my husband found me and begged me to come home. He got on a plane for the first time in his entire 36 years of life, got a u haul and we loaded up our 2 animals that I had taken, all of our stuff id taken plus a new dog I have gotten in those 9 months. I was 125lbs lighter, barely clinging to life mentally and physically. 80lbs at 5 3, no recollection of how id gotten away from my husband, to another state or any of the reality I was in. That was 2.5 years ago. Now, I am clean again and I have some weight on me. We were gifted a beautiful little boy after the loss, a little boy we never expected or planned for. So, while we are preparing for our 15 year wedding anniversary, our little boy is 18 months old and I couldn't be more grateful every day when I see his face...knowing my dad sent this little boy to me. Knowing, I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for my husband's faithful love and our boys existence.

You know the smile you wear so nobody asks questions? That’s the grief mask. It’s the “I’m good” when your chest feels like it’s caving in. It’s showing up, performing, answering texts, going to work, cooking dinner… while a part of you is still standing in the moment your world changed. Grief masks are heavy because they don’t just hide pain from others… they slowly disconnect you from yourself. Most people don’t wear the mask because they’re fake. They wear it because the world is uncomfortable with grief that doesn’t resolve quickly. Because people stop asking. Because life expects you to keep producing, keep parenting, keep functioning, keep being “you” — even when you don’t know who you are anymore. So you learn how to carry conversations while your mind is somewhere else. You learn how to laugh on cue. You learn how to survive inside rooms where nobody realizes you’re silently trying to hold your life together. But here’s what I want you to know… You don’t heal by perfecting the mask. You heal by learning where it came from, what it’s protecting, and how to slowly, safely take it off without falling apart. Grief isn’t something you push through. It’s something you learn to walk with while rebuilding a life that still belongs to you. If you’re exhausted from pretending you’re okay and you’re ready to understand your grief in a way that actually helps you move forward… Go to MasterGrief.com