“If” Is the Heaviest Word I Know
Baltimore just got snow. Regular people see pretty. They see days off. They see pictures. They see quiet streets and soft white rooftops. I see a beginning. Because ten years ago… everything that led to losing Isaiah started with a snowstorm. Not just snow. Snow with ice on top. That thin, slick layer that looks harmless until you step on it. That quiet danger. That deceptive beauty. The kind of surface that doesn’t look like it’s about to change your life. And here we are ag
2 days ago7 min read
Don’t Hand Me What You Didn’t Pray About (Part 2)
Peace is not polite. It’s practiced. Let me say this clearly, because a lot of us were taught the wrong thing growing up: Peace is not the same as being nice. Nice is smiling while irritated. Nice is answering when you should’ve paused. Nice is “it’s fine” when it’s actually not fine at all. Peace? Peace is restraint. Peace is knowing you could respond — and choosing not to. And that distinction changed everything for me. Because for a long time, I thought peace meant I sound
5 days ago3 min read
The High Chair
(Not quite 10 years without Isaiah) I wasn’t looking for Isaiah. I wasn’t digging through old photos. I wasn’t listening to sad music. I wasn’t even thinking about anniversaries, or timelines, or what January means. I was just… at his grandparents' house. Just there. And then I saw it. The high chair. Not broken. Not dusty. Not tucked away like something forgotten. Still there. Still standing. Still useful. Still… being passed down. From grandchild to grandchild to grandchild
Jan 168 min read
