In 2011, leading into and after the death of my grandmother, I created a small website to hold the things I didn’t know what to do with: grief, memories, fear, anger, faith, confusion.
I wrote in fragments. Late at night. Between waves of disbelief. Sometimes with clarity. Sometimes without any at all.
Years later, I remembered the archived files sitting quietly on my computer. Reading through them now feels like opening a time capsule from a younger version of myself—one trying desperately to make sense of loss while still learning how to live inside of it.
I’ve chosen to preserve many of these entries here largely as they originally appeared. Not because they are polished, but because they are real.
