Winter 2025 has been the hardest and darkest season of my life. I’ve lost not only my husband and best friend but also my sense of direction and purpose. My life’s model has always been to strive toward being a Proverbs 31 wife. I wasn’t perfect, but I truly believed I was walking that path—and Scott always encouraged me in it. He never pushed, but he nurtured my dreams and ambitions, helping turn them into plans that could only be accomplished with God’s hand guiding us.
Losing our Danny Dog the very next day was another blow—one that, on its own, would have devastated me. But because his loss is tied to my greatest loss, I can hardly separate the two. So many people have encouraged me to get a new puppy. Even Scott, in his final days, wanted one. When we came home from the hospital for the last time, he sadly said, "I guess I'm not going to get a new puppy." That memory still breaks my heart. He had wanted us to get one for months, but with all his doctor appointments, I told him it was just too much—I simply didn’t have the bandwidth to train a puppy on top of everything else. Logically, I understand why I said that. But emotionally? It’s one of my biggest regrets—not fulfilling one of my darling husband’s last wishes.
As much as a puppy would bring companionship and distraction, I struggle with the idea of adding one right now. Scott always came up with the cutest, most clever names for our farm animals. If there is a Rainbow Bridge, I hope Buster, Freckles, Kristl, and Danny are all there, showering him with the love I wish I could give him now.
But what is my purpose now?
Scott loved the farm—our "festivals," events, and the vision of self-sufficiency while still sharing Christ’s love with our neighbors. For years—long before TikTok—he was watching YouTube homesteaders and telling me, "You should do that. You could educate and entertain." But my own self-doubt and camera shyness held me back. What could I possibly have to say that anyone would want to hear? Even in his final weeks, he encouraged me to start YouTube. I dabbled in TikTok, but even that felt vain. I’m not a "look at me" kind of person—I’d rather be the one just getting things done in the background.
In those last weeks, I was so busy balancing farm life and caregiving that I wasn’t as present as I should have been. I can barely remember what was so "important" that it pulled me away. I was in denial, convinced that, like in 2014, 2016, and 2020, Scott would bounce back. But God saw that Scott was tired and took him home. And now… I’m left here, asking, "Now what?"
I know God is still here. But this grief is like a thick fog, surrounding me and blocking my view. I know life exists beyond it, but it feels too dark and uncertain to venture out. I’ve always been someone who is going and doing, but now, the only time I leave my farm is for my GriefShare groups—two of them—and online counseling. I’ve reached out to a few friends, but life has moved on for them, while my grief remains raw and messy. I’ve never felt so alone and this isolated. God is here, but I struggle to find meaning and purpose in this new life I never asked for.
Sidenote: If you know someone grieving—please, don’t just say, "Call me if you need anything." They won’t. They can hardly function. If you truly care, you need to reach out. You need to offer, initiate, and sometimes insist. Don’t be afraid of their tears. Talking about their loved one won’t remind them of their loss—everything already reminds them. But your presence may help them feel less alone. The sweetest gift you can give is to ask about their person, to listen as they process the memories, and to stand with them as they face the daunting question: "What happens now?
