“This is the fourth death I have had to process in the last week and a half.”


My sweet friend is standing in her kitchen, and the torrential rain is still drying off my boots propped in the corner.

This cold, wet day is different than my familiar Seattle rainy days.
My new community is just that, new.
And here we are, moving again to a new house.
Somehow her home has become most familiar to me in this new season.

Home is essential; it is an extension of the spirit that lives within the home.
I realize how vulnerable I feel without my Seattle home,
And with the work of infusing a new place with our family’s spirit.

“All these deaths make me realize we have no control over how much time we have.”

She is right.
And I think of my kids if I were to die.
I want them to have at least a home that feels like me.
Reminders of their mother.
Reminders of our life together.

It makes me nervous about moving into a new house.
Will we have enough time to make memories?
Will we be able to feel at home in this new place?
Moving is like a small death.
When we left Seattle, I didn’t think our family’s spirit would ever transfer fully.
We lost Brave in Seattle, and Brave’s remains are there.

The work of a new home is creating a place where we all feel held in one place.
It is a sacred ground where moments are gathered.
Moving reminds us that our earthly homes are just holding place,
And being at home feels unattainable.
Moving makes me long for heaven.
An eternal home.

I imagine the day I will see my boy again,
when these days on earth have ended for me,
and the one who first named me mother
will be once again in my arms,
This time we are both very much alive.
Brave will put his hands on my face,
And mark me with glory,
For I will finally know home.


Our film, A Brave Lament, is a tribute to the work it takes to grieve and honor our losses. You can watch our film at