A celebration of your mom and sister
A story about loss, and about everything the women we love leave inside us.
It began with a family that felt like home.
My story really begins with a childhood that, in many ways, felt like a good life.
I grew up in a loving family with my dad, Tom, mom, Betty, my sister, Mandi, and my brother, Ty. Mom was a wonderful mother, and our home was filled with the things we loved most:
One of my favorite memories of my mom is the way she always dressed. She had a sense of style that was effortless but beautiful. She cared about how she looked, how our home looked, and the little details that made things feel special. There was always something elegant about her.
Mandi had that same eye. She loved fashion and design, too. She had a natural sense of what was beautiful, what worked, and what made a space or an outfit feel special. Looking back, I realize how much I learned about style, beauty, and design simply by watching the two of them.
Mandi and I were close. We rode horses together, and our days were filled with kitties, puppies, and all the animals that seemed to be such a natural part of our lives. We were an animal-loving family, and there was a sense of happiness and simplicity in those years that I remember so clearly.
I didn't know then how much those memories would come to mean to me.
Then everything changed.
Thirty-four years ago, everything changed when Mandi became seriously ill. She was 25, and I was 28. At the same time, my mom was battling breast cancer. Suddenly, the family life I had always known was consumed by illness, fear, and uncertainty.
I was away at college for part of that time, and I watched as my parents' attention understandably centered around Mandi and her illness. But somewhere in the middle of everything, my brother and I got lost in the process. The illness didn't just affect Mandi. It changed all of us and our relationships with one another.
I knew Mandi was going to die, and eventually I moved back to my hometown because I wanted to be with her. I wanted to have that time with my sister. I wanted to be present for whatever time we had left.
Finding my way forward.
That experience ultimately led me to an Outward Bound program in the Canyonlands of Utah. I spent a month there, and it changed my life. Being out in the wilderness gave me space to process what I had been through, to reconnect with myself, and to begin finding my way forward.
It was every bit of therapy for me.
I started journaling, and for the first time I began putting words to the things I had experienced, the things I had lost, and the person I was becoming.
Not only loss. Inheritance.
Looking back, I can see that my story isn't simply about loss. It is also about inheritance: not just the things we receive, but the way the people we love shape our eyes, our values, and the way we see the world.
It's about learning that we don't have to be perfect. We don't have to have everything figured out.
Book your mammogram in honor of the women you love.
If you're 40 to 74, current guidance is a screening mammogram every two years. Talk with your doctor about what's right for you, especially if breast cancer runs in your family.
And if you're carrying a loss of your own, you don't have to carry it alone.
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