Tag: life

🌿 All Souls Day, Identity, and the Quiet Work of Becoming

    “I am still a mother. I am still love. I am still becoming. My story didn’t end—it’s unfolding.”

    This All Souls Day, I found myself sitting in the pew, surrounded by flickering candles and whispered prayers, feeling both deeply present and painfully absent. The mass was beautiful—gentle music, soft readings, the names of the departed spoken aloud like sacred poetry. But I felt hollow. Not because Tristan wasn’t there, but because I didn’t know who I was anymore.

    For the last 24 years, I’ve been Tristan and Trenton’s mother. That identity shaped every decision, every heartbeat. And now, with Tristan gone, I feel like I’ve lost part of myself. Not just him—but the version of me that existed in his laughter, his needs, his presence. I’m still Trenton’s mom, and that matters deeply. But I’m also… someone else now. Someone I don’t fully recognize.

    So I’ve started the quiet work of becoming.

    🌸 My Vision Board: Becoming Carrie

    To help me navigate this shift, I created a vision board—a gentle, visual reminder that I am still here, still growing, still becoming. It’s not about forgetting Tristan. It’s about weaving his memory into the fabric of who I am now.

    At the center is a simple truth: “My past will be a garden, not a cage. I am still becoming. Even in this grief, I shall grow.”

    Each image reflects a part of me:

    • Butterflies for transformation
    • Open paths for possibility
    • Soft florals for grace
    • Hands and bridges for connection
    • Fog and light for the mystery of healing

    This board doesn’t fix anything. But it gives me a place to start

    🌼 An Invitation to You

    If you’re grieving, shifting, or simply searching—create your own vision board. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be yours. Use photos, colors, words, textures. Let it reflect who you were, who you are, and who you’re becoming.

    You can start with questions like:

    • What parts of me feel lost?
    • What parts are quietly growing?
    • What do I want to carry forward?
    • What do I need to release?

    To those who feel invisible in their grief: You are not nobody. You are becoming. And that is sacred work.

    ✨ How to Create your Vision Board

    Each section represents a layer of your evolving identity:

    • 🌳 Roots: Honor your past, your loved ones, and the foundation of who you are.
    • 🌊 Grief & Grace: Acknowledge your pain and the quiet strength that carries you.
    • 🎨 Creative Spirit: Celebrate your gifts, passions, and ways you express yourself.
    • 🌅 New Identity: Explore who you’re becoming—your hopes, dreams, and voice.
    • 🤝 Connection: Reflect on relationships, community, and how you want to support others.

    For Trenton, With Love

    In the midst of my own grief, I often think about Trenton—my younger son, my steady light, and someone who’s also navigating the heartbreak of losing his brother. Tristan and Trenton were together nearly every day of Trenton’s life. Their bond was layered: full of laughter, teasing, deep loyalty, and yes, sometimes that classic love-hate rhythm only brothers understand.

    I’ve watched Trenton carry this loss in his own quiet way. And I want him to know—deeply and truly—how much I love and appreciate him. His strength, his humor, his resilience. The way he still talks about Tristan, still remembers the little things, still holds space for his brother in his heart.

    Being their mom is the greatest gift I’ve ever known. And while grief has reshaped our world, it hasn’t dimmed the love. If anything, it’s made it clearer. Trenton, you are so loved. You are seen. And I’m endlessly proud of the way you continue forward, even when it hurts.

    Their Winding Paths

    Tristan and Trenton were born into a rhythm only brothers know—one of shared rooms, shared jokes, shared battles, and shared love. From the very beginning, they were side by side. Every day of Trenton’s life was touched by Tristan’s presence, whether in laughter, teasing, or quiet companionship. Their connection was layered and real—sometimes playful, sometimes stormy, but always rooted in something deeper than words.

    Now, their paths have diverged in ways we never imagined. Tristan’s journey continues in spirit, in memory, in the light he left behind. Trenton’s journey continues here, in the tangible world, carrying both his own story and the echoes of his brother’s. And yet, they are still intertwined. I see it in the way Trenton remembers. In the way he speaks Tristan’s name. In the way he holds space for him, even when it hurts.

    Their bond didn’t end—it transformed. One path visible, one path unseen, but both winding through the landscape of love. As their mom, I walk both trails in my heart. I honor Tristan’s legacy and nurture Trenton’s growth, knowing that each step forward is stitched with memory, resilience and the unbreakable thread of brotherhood.