Grief doesn’t knock.

It tears through.
It arrives uninvited and refuses to follow the rules.

This space was born from reckoning; from a love too big to vanish, from pain too heavy to carry alone, and from the ache of not finding enough places that let grief just be.

Not stages.
Not solutions.
Just space.

This isn’t a site that will tell you to move on or be strong.
It’s a space to fall apart.
To be seen.
To be angry, soft, confused, shattered, and still worthy of love.

It began with a book, written from the wreckage: The Year After Kahlia.
And it’s grown into something more.

A companion for the days that ache.
A resource for those supporting someone in grief.
A place where grief isn’t hidden or hushed.

What grew from those first shattered months became something bigger than one book.
A place for truth-telling, for companionship, and for the kind of honesty grief requires.

This isn’t just about death.
It’s about what we do after.
It’s about how we live with what we’ve lost.

Why this space exists

Because grief changes the shape of everything.
Because people don’t know what to say.
Because silence hurts more than honesty.
Because the world moves on long before you’re ready.

This space was created so no one has to carry the unthinkable alone.

It’s a place for truth.
A place to breathe.
A place to remember.

Who I Am

I’m Kirsten; a writer, mother, and grief advocate.
Everything here began after losing my daughter Kahlia in April 2024.
I write for the people who feel unseen in their grief;
the ones carrying love with nowhere to put it,
the ones who need honesty more than hope.

This space is my way of keeping her close,
and making sure no one else has to walk this alone.

The truth under it all

I don’t believe grief needs fixing.
I believe it needs witnessing.

Everything here was built from a love that didn’t end.

If you are carrying the weight of someone you miss … you’re not alone here.