🕯️ The Grief That Opened the Light

🕯️ The Grief That Opened the Light

Losing Scott. Finding myself. Becoming the light I never saw in me.

Nothing in this world could have prepared me for losing Scott.

It was Father’s Day—June 18, 2023. A date forever burned into my soul. What was supposed to be a day of love and celebration became the day everything shattered.
The day I lost my person. My soulmate. My everything.

No one saw it coming. Not me. Not our family. Not anyone.
He was strong. Independent. The one who could fix anything. The last person you’d ever expect to take his own life.

And yet—he did.

No one truly knew everything he was suffering with. It was a lot.
He had health problems many didn’t know about. He was on multiple medications—and they changed him. He struggled to find days where he felt “healthy.”

He had suffered a TBI (traumatic brain injury) back in 2002, and he always said he hadn’t felt the same since.
He experienced constant vertigo, was always dizzy. He was overworked. Stressed. And more than anything, he just wanted to feel normal.

He started several depression medications (and to be honest, he didn’t always take them regularly like he was supposed to). He was on sleeping pills, too—medications that caused hallucinations. He’d wake up and walk around—mostly to raid the pantry, lol—and not remember any of it the next day.

Eventually, he started having memory issues. I tried to tell him, “We’re 40 now—we all have memory problems!” but that didn’t sit well with him.
He strived so hard to feel healthy and would try anything that might help. That often meant skipping his meds for several days, because they gave him what he called “brain fog.”
He hated that feeling. He used that term constantly.

I would tell him I feel like I live with brain fog daily too, but for him—it felt like it was a major problem and he was deteriorating.
So he’d stop taking everything for a few days, and finally get a bit of clarity... only for the dizziness to come crashing back in and knock him down again for weeks.

It was a battle I knew he was fighting, and I did my best to keep him positive, to help in any way I could.
To make him laugh. To remind him who he was. 
But in the end... I truly believe a new medication pushed him even further into that dark place.

He had started a prescription meant to treat early dementia symptoms. And for three solid weeks, he sat on the sofa and didn’t say a single full sentence to any of us.
He was a complete zombie.

It took me a couple more weeks to convince him to call his doctor and explain that the medication wasn’t helping—that it wasn’t the answer.
And he finally did.

He stopped the medicine...
And then, a couple of weeks after that—he was gone.

I never once imagined this outcome. I never knew how deep his dark thoughts were. He kept those to himself.

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Almost two years have passed… and I still sit here feeling like he’s just at work. That he’ll walk through the door any minute now.
That somehow, this was all a mistake.

But it wasn’t.
And every time I stop long enough to truly let it hit me… that he’s not coming home... my world goes black. My future goes blank. Because to me, there is no future without him in it.

Scott wasn’t just my partner—he was my soul's reflection.
We've found each other in every lifetime. And this time—this life—was our final round here.
Our hardest test. Our deepest assignment. 

And God, sometimes I wonder… why in the hell did we sign up for this?

But I know now.

This was the lifetime I was meant to be stripped bare—grief, heartbreak, trauma—and still rise.
This was the life where I would learn to GLOW from the inside out.
Where I’d remember who I really am…
So I can help others remember who they are.

Scott is still here.
I feel him. I can hear him.
He hasn’t left—not really. We just speak a different language now.

He sends me signs. He whispers love. He shows up when I need him most.
And even though I would give anything to go back and save him…
He’s shown me that I did have the power all along.

He has told me that he wishes he would have thought this through. That he hadn't acted on impulse that day. He never imagined the amount of pain that his passing would cause all of us, but in the moment, he just couldn't see past his own pain. He regrets that day. And he is deeply remorseful. But he is also pain-free. And that alone makes me smile...for him. Because it is so desperately what he was searching for all these years. 

I always thought he was my light.
But he always knew the truth: I was the light.
He saw it. Even when I couldn’t.

Now… I know what I came here to do.

No, I’ll never be the same. I’ll always carry this pain. I’ll always be shattered inside.
But within that brokenness is something else: power. Purpose.
A sacred mission.

I’m here to help heal others.
To hold them in their darkest moments.
To help them feel what I needed so badly to feel:
That they are not alone.

I can’t change what happened.
But I can use it to change someone else’s world.

So if you're reading this—if you're in your own darkness—hear me when I say:

You don’t have to stay there.
You came here to shine.

Things will get better for you and there is always another way. 

✨ Ignite your SPARK.
✨ Embrace your LIGHT.
✨ Heal your SOUL.

And if no one’s told you today—
I see you. I love you. And I’m here to help you remember who you are.

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