Your legacy might be a weird soup recipe or one line that lives in someone’s head forever. Big isn’t better. Honest is enough.

Healing doesn't mean you stop grieving. It just means you've learned to breathe while you do. #griefnotes

When did you really first think about your own death? Not goth-teen-mood—real, honest mortality. What brought it on? What shifted after?

Grief is a shapeshifter. Sometimes it is a whisper. Other days, it's a damn landslide. #griefnotes

At a funeral once, I watched a widow comfort the person who came to comfort her. That moment taught me more about boundaries and grief than any book ever could. Comfort goes inward. Dump goes outward. Read more ⬇️

No one wants to plan for the worst. But your family deserves a roadmap. Vital Vault = practical + soulful end-of-life planning. Start before the crisis.

"Let me know if you need anything" is a nice sentiment. But showing up with coffee is a spiritual act. #griefnotes

Today’s ritual: Light a candle. Set a bowl of water nearby. Say: “I release the noise. I remember my knowing.” Now hush. Listen.

Grief isn't contagious. You can sit next to it without catching it. #griefnotes

Supporting someone who’s dying isn’t about finding the right words. It’s about being willing to stay when everything inside you wants to run. No script. No fix. Just presence. New post ↓

Grief isn’t a full-time job with scheduled crying breaks. You get to laugh. You get to forget. You get to live. That’s not wrong—it’s healing.

You don't have to "make the most of it." Some days, you just have to make it through. #griefnotes

Bone & Bloom is a ritual in words: part candle flame, part hard truth, part companion in the dark. Sacred, strange, deeply human.

If you're still weeping years later, you're not broken. You're just still loving them. #griefnotes

Kind, Not Nice: A Spell for the Misunderstood I’m not nice. I’m kind. There’s a difference. One performs. One shows up. One smooths. One speaks. New Substack post for the misunderstood ones. You’re not the problem — you’re the spell.

You’re not behind. You’re tired. Capitalism doesn’t get a say in your nervous system. Lay down if you need to. That’s healing too.

Avoiding their grief won't protect them. It just makes them grieve alone. #griefnotes

Legacy isn’t just what you leave. It’s also what ends with you. Cycles. Silences. Survival tactics. Choosing different is legacy too.

Some people will never understand your grief because they've never loved that hard. #griefnotes

What’s one thing you wish you’d asked before they died? Doesn’t have to be deep. Could be: “Why did you hide cash in your shoes?” Ask it now anyway.

Grief is weird. You'll cry at the dentist and be fine at the funeral. #griefnotes

Grief shows up in strange places. For me, it was an NCIS episode where Fornell’s daughter dies, and a poem called Epitaph stopped me cold. It turned a storyline into a ritual of remembrance. I wrote about it here:

Been carrying grief so long it feels like furniture? Still Here is a digital companion that gives you space to actually feel. No fluff. Just care.

Grief is not a race. If all you did today was survive, that counts. #griefnotes

Write down 3 things you’re done pretending about. Hide it under a rock overnight. Burn it. Keep it. Whatever. You’ve named it. That counts.

You are not there to rescue them. You are there to remind them they're not alone. #griefnotes

We all die twice. Once when our bodies give out, and again when our stories stop being told. The second death is the one we can fight. Not with desperate clinging, but with the sacred act of remembering out loud. New piece on why the stories we keep alive matter more than we realize. 💫

Grief doesn’t knock. It just kicks in the door mid-grocery run and reminds you of everything you thought you were done crying about. You’re not behind. You’re grieving.

There's no graduation from grief. Only integration. #griefnotes

Grief myth: If you’re not still crying, you must not have cared. Reality: I carry them in my breath, my bones, my becoming. Tears are not receipts for love.

I’m 48, in perimenopause, riddled with impostor syndrome, and still wondering who the hell I am. I quit my career with no plan, and now I’m learning what it means to let being lost become its own kind of beginning.

#grief #griefnotes

If all you did today was survive, I’m proud of you. Healing doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it looks like toast and pajamas and not quitting.

#grief #griefnotes

Write your own eulogy—but make it now, while you’re still breathing. What are you proud of? What do you want to be remembered for? Start living it.

#grief #griefnotes