Hey Lovies…
Yesterday was one of those days where breathing is the only thing that makes sense — one slow, unsteady breath at a time.
Coming back home after almost five years away has stirred up more than I expected. It’s been tender and tangled — like roots trying to remember where they belong. Lately, I’ve felt the loss of my grams more than ever. I’m only thirty minutes from where she should be… and yet, somehow, I’ve never felt further. Sunday marked two years since she left, and the ache of that distance — from her, from who I was then, from what felt like home — came rushing back.
And then Sunday, I said goodbye to my oldest.
He thought he’d stay here for a while, but decided to return to Georgia instead. I’ve always had him close — never more than ten minutes away. Watching him pull out of the driveway this time felt like something inside me unspooled. There’s a kind of quiet heartbreak that only a mother knows — the kind that comes not from loss, but from letting go.
People say it gets easier when they’re grown. Maybe in some ways. But the worry doesn’t leave; it just changes shape.
Yesterday morning, his car broke down on the side of the road outside Nashville. He’s safe — thank God — and after a tow, a repair bill, and an unexpected overnight stay, he is now heading back to Georgia. Still, my heart hasn’t quite unclenched. I kept my voice calm for him, but it took everything in me not to fall apart.
So if today feels heavy for you too — if you’re holding it all together with a thread that’s starting to fray — you’re not alone.
I’m right here with you, breathing through it, one slow and sacred breath at a time.
All my Love,
-Jenny



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