I Simply Remained

Red and white striped lighthouse on rocky coast with stormy sea and cloudy sky
A red and white striped lighthouse stands on a rocky shoreline under a cloudy sky with turbulent waves crashing below.

A “lighthouse parent” is often described as one who stands firm, visible, and steady, guiding rather than controlling. You don’t steer the ship for your children, rather remaining a reliable point of light while they learn to navigate life themselves.

For those who have been following me, you know that I’ve raised three daughters through grief after my husband’s untimely death, surviving instability, yet continuing to show up for my family and community. Nowadays, I’m learning to choose myself without abandoning love.


We know that lighthouses don’t chase boats, don’t force direction, don’t leave their post during storms, and don’t stop shining because someone ignores the light. They simply remain. I simply remained.

Doesn’t mean it’s painless, right? A lighthouse still stands in rough weather. My daughters are adults now: one in homelessness services, one in mental health, one in affordable housing.

Upper Left: circa 2002; Bottom Row: Eb, Alex, Syd

This tells me what they absorbed from me, even if our relationships are strained or complicated at times.


Recently, I’ve also been shifting.

  • creating boundaries
  • stepping away from emotionally draining cycles
  • rebuilding financially
  • going to school
  • traveling
  • hiking
  • choosing quiet over chaos

Not in a cold way. In a grounded way.

A lighthouse doesn’t jump into every storm. It stays lit so people can find their own way back.

What type of parent are you? Respond in the comments

My Grandson Is Me Reincarnated

Reflections of me in my grandson.

Sometimes, when I look at Cameron, I see flashes of myself. Not just in his smile or the way his eyes take in the world, but in the rhythm of his life – how times seem to have looped back, giving me another chance to see my younger self, only this time with more love surrounding the story. 

I was born in 1971. 

Cameron came along in 2011. 

At 14, I was in high school, it was 1985, a mix of nerves, dreams, and figuring out who I was. Now, in 2025, he’s 14 and in high school too – going to football games, showing up for homecoming, finding his circle of friends, and slowly carving his place in the world.

His teachers guide him. His mama holds him down with love and wisdom. And I’m right here too, cheering, listening, reminding him of his light on the days when the world feels a little too heavy. 

It breaks my heart sometimes knowing his father has been absent for nearly a decade. No child should have to wonder why someone doesn’t show up. But even in that space, Cameron shines. He has what I didn’t have: a village that sees him, believes in him, and shows up for him.

So, yes, Cameron is me reincarnated. 

A reflection of who I was and who I wish I could have been. I am so grateful he’s got a Mama and a Muff (me) to remind him he’s never walking this life alone.


2009/2025

Life has a way of circling back, handing us pieces of ourselves in new form – softer, wiser, more hopeful. Watching Cameron grow reminds me that healing often shows up through those who come after us. They carry our laughter, our lessons, and even the parts we never got to express. 

I see in him a chance for better days, brighter memories, and deeper love. That’s what legacy is, not the pain we endured, but the strength we pass forward. 


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