I didn’t know how to measure this year until I realized it wasn’t meant to be measured in accomplishments.
It’s been a full year without you, Q.
A year of firsts we never asked for.
A year of milestones we imagined celebrating together.
A year of grief that changed everything—and yet somehow revealed just how deeply rooted our family really is.
This year wasn’t about “moving on.”
It was about putting one foot in front of the other, even when the ground beneath us felt unfamiliar.
It was about learning how to live again while carrying the weight of missing you in every single moment.
Navigating the Holidays Without You
The holidays were brutal.
There’s no softer word for it.
Christmas without you was terrible and different in ways I can’t fully explain. We are still going to Christmas Eve service and having your mom and Missy over but it is just not the same without you. The traditions were still there, but the joy felt muted. The laughter came slower. Your absence sat at the table with us, uninvited but unavoidable.
And yet—we showed up.
We wrapped gifts. We cooked meals and also got take out- which wasn't the norm but we did what we had to do. We honored memories. We cried when we needed to. We laughed when we could. We learned that grief doesn’t cancel the season—it reshapes it.
We didn’t do it perfectly.
We did it faithfully.
One foot in front of the other.
Travel, Grief, and the Sweet Spot of Time
One thing this year made painfully clear is that this is a sweet spot of time with our kids. They are old enough to remember deeply and young enough to still want to be together.
So we traveled.
Our first trip to the beach without you was heartbreaking. Standing at the shoreline knowing you should have been there—watching the kids, teasing them, soaking it all in—was a reminder that even joy can ache.
Most recently, we returned from Punta Cana, celebrating Ella’s high school graduation. It was beautiful and bittersweet all at once. Grief doesn’t wait for milestones to pass—it walks right beside them.
And yet, I’m learning that making memories now matters more than ever. Big trips. Small trips. Everyday moments. These are the memories our kids will carry into adulthood.
Kale: Letting Go and Stepping Forward
Kale made a decision this year that cut deep.
He said goodbye to baseball.
Baseball held so many memories with you. Long nights at the field. Conversations in the car. Shared passion. Letting it go wasn’t just about a sport—it was about closing a chapter that carried your presence.
And yet, I know you would be so proud of him.
He chose to step into young adulthood with intention, courage, and maturity beyond his years. He came back home to attend school locally so we could navigate our first year of grief together—a decision rooted in love and family.
Then came another goodbye.
College.
Sending Kale to Grand Canyon University in Arizona was one of the hardest things my mama heart has ever done. Necessary—but gut-wrenching. We took that road trip together, just the two of us, from Kansas City to GCU. If you haven’t read it, I shared that sacred journey here: “College Move-In Road Trip: From Kansas City to GCU.”
That drive was full of conversations, tears, laughter, silence, and prayers. A space where grief and hope coexisted mile after mile.
Kale loves it there. So much so that he’s staying this summer for the extended program tied to his business degree. I know you would be so proud of the man he is becoming.
Ella: A Season of Courage and Calling
Ella's Senior prom happened just weeks after you passed, and walking through that season without you was unbearably hard.
Ella’s senior year unfolded in the shadow of loss.
She landed the lead role of The Baker’s Wife in Into the Woods—a role you would have absolutely loved watching her perform.
Ella WINs Homecoming Queen! Wow what an evening to remember. It hurt to not have you there, but the boys did a great job escorting her down the football field.
Graduation came and went without her biggest cheerleader in the stands. That milestone hurt deeply.
And yet—Ella keeps rising.
She made the brave decision to pursue entrepreneurship instead of the traditional college route, a choice I explored more deeply in “Why College Isn’t for Everyone (and That’s Okay).” She stepped into working alongside me, helping build and grow the Crazy Busy Mama mission as a true family business.
If you could see her now—rocking her Crazy Busy Mama merch line, creating, building, dreaming—I know you would be beaming. Our mission, “Reclaiming the Table and Building a Life That Matters,” continues, even if it looks different than we imagined.
Fisher: Strength, Grit, and Legacy
Fisher has grown into a young man this year.
He got his driver’s license just one month after you passed—and not just passed, but crushed it. He parallel parked like a champ, first try. I could hear your proud banter echoing in that moment.
He’s channeled his grief into strength—literally. Fitness has become his outlet, his discipline, his therapy. He hit 200 pounds of nearly pure muscle, and I can still hear your running joke: “Not a real man until you hit 200.” & HE DID IT!
The night you passed, he was excited to tell you he benched 275. You encouraged him in that playful way of yours—“work on those puny biceps.” Today, his bench PR is 340, and he still says he wishes you could see him now.
He’s also stepped into responsibility. Entering his junior year of high school, he’s pouring himself into Conway Family Properties, learning the business you built. He can back a trailer, manage finances, and has built an impressive savings cushion he’s incredibly proud of.
“Get After It” his shirt says it all… what you used to say to our kids in all they do!
He’s become the fixer in our house. The muscles. The one who shows up without being asked.
You would be so proud how he has stepped up and is making a decision to honor your name and legacy.
Lily: Strength, Discipline, and Determination
Lily—your baby girl—has been so brave.
She’s trying to smile through the pain, and it hasn’t been easy. She’s been working out alongside Fisher, following your old gym routine—the famous “20-20-20.” They still reference it constantly. That probably deserves a blog post of its own. It is adorable to watch, and inspiring too!
She’s focused on health, strength, and discipline, losing over 50 pounds and becoming nearly unrecognizable physically—but what amazes me most is her inner growth.
She tried out for cheer just one month after you passed and made the squad. Then she worked all summer, made varsity, and placed top 10 her very first eligible year.
She’s mastered her aerial, double back handspring, and is so close to her round-off hand tuck—she just needs a little more confidence. She even got to cheer at the State Game this year and the Bulldogs brought home the Championship. You would have been so excited.
Fisher and Lily went to their first homecoming together.
And now—our baby will be driving this spring.
Life feels like it’s flying by without you here. I never imagined navigating these milestones alone.
Healing Companions: Our Grief Pets
We also added two new fur babies to our family.
Apollo, a Ragdoll cat for Lily, and Max, a Shih Tzu for Kale. I shared more about them in “Grief Ragdoll Cat” and “Grief Dog Max.” Max was adopted while Kale was still home, and now Ella and I are babysitting him while Kale is at GCU.
Can you believe we have four animals now? I can just hear you laughing now.
It’s chaotic. It’s loud. It’s healing.
Especially Lulu—your squirrel-hunting partner—who’s been noticeably depressed since you passed. Max has become a sweet companion for her. Even animals grieve.
Where I Am Now
As for me—I feel stuck sometimes.
When I look back, it’s hard to quantify what I’ve accomplished. But the Lord has been faithful. He’s allowed me to work from my pajamas, provide for our family, and continue walking in purpose even when I feel unsure.
This year also brought another heavy trial—my mom’s ovarian cancer diagnosis. Surgery. Treatments. A recurrence. And yet she remains remarkably positive, continuing the fight.
We changed churches, seeking community in this new season. We’re not exactly where we want to be yet, but we’re trusting God to guide us and call us forward when the time is right.
Never Alone, Even in Widowhood
Through our friend Brooke, I connected with Rachel Faulkner Brown, founder of Never Alone Widows. I had no idea how great the need was. Rachel turned unimaginable loss—being widowed twice before 30—into a ministry that supports widows in real, tangible ways.
I attended a widows conference in Dallas—over 400 young widows. Overwhelming. Painful. Necessary. Then came a smaller retreat in Alabama with just 20 women, which I wrote about in “Here I Go Again on My Own.” That space became a launching pad for healing.
I also got a memorial tattoo in your handwriting—something I shared in “Why I Got a Memorial Tattoo After My Husband Died.” A piece of you I carry forever.
Carrying the Mission Forward
This year, I’ve learned the behind-the-scenes work of Crazy Busy Mama—the things you always handled. I’m carrying forward our shared mission, even when it feels heavy.
Learning to hire help. Trust the process. Wear all the hats. Fail forward.
It’s no coincidence we named our podcast “Failing Our Way Forward.” That first episode still echoes today, and maybe—just maybe—we’ll pick it back up in 2026.
I often joked that I handled the baby years while you’d handle the teen and young adult years. Oh, how unqualified I feel now—but here I am. Ready or not.
Looking Toward 2026
As we look toward 2026, I’m learning what to lean into and what to let go. Trusting God to prune where needed so fruit can grow.
I’m constantly reminded of your words—Don’t Quit—which I shared in “Don’t Quit: A Heartfelt Reminder from This Crazy Busy Mama.” You wrote those words years ago while we were dating. God knew I’d need them now.
Another reminder came through “Are You Too Broken? Find Hope in This…”—yet another moment where God showed His faithfulness through your voice long after you were gone.
A Year Marked by Grace
This year broke us—and held us.
God has been so faithful. If only we slow down enough to notice.
We miss you every day, Q.
And we carry you with us—in every milestone, every memory, every step forward.
A full year without you.
Still standing.
Still trusting.
Still proclaiming God’s goodness—even when we least feel it.
If you’re reading this and nodding along, I want you to know—you don’t have to carry your story alone.
Grief looks different for every family, and there’s no right or wrong way to walk through it. If you feel comfortable, I’d love for you to share in the comments.
What has this year held for you? What milestones felt heavier than you expected, or what moments surprised you with hope?
Whether you’re grieving a spouse, a parent, a dream, or simply navigating a hard season, your story matters here. This space was never meant to be polished—it was meant to be honest, supportive, and real.
Let’s remind each other that even in loss, we are not alone.
