I purchased materials to build a cabana in my backyard and purchased the supplies as a valentine gift to myself. The following weekend on the 21st is my Grandfather's birthday whom I miss so much. Sunday, Feb 22nd is the 6 year anniversary of my son's death. I try to focus on doing something that incorporates a memory of them to celebrate them and always keep them near! I knew that would be the perfect weekend to build it!!
This morning, I read my devotional:
“Have not I commanded you? Be strong, vigorous, and very courageous. Be not afraid, neither be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9
As I read it, I felt courage, warmth, and love. And then, as if on cue, one of those little signs that always remind me of my son appeared.
Your experiences, your love, your strength — all of it matters. Even in hardship, there is light.
My son was tiny but fierce. Always joyful. Always mischievous. Even in life, he had a way of showing up exactly when you least expected it. And sometimes, even now, it feels like he hasn't left at all.
I lost my oldest son 2/22/2020, but I feel him around me constantly. Here are a few of the signs from my son:
The white owl that sometimes flies to my window, HOO'ing at me, brings an instant smile. I can't help but think of him as a child, yelling "HOO?" in the backyard at eight years old, talking to an owl as if it could answer him. That playful spirit is alive in these little moments — teasing, mischievous, reminding me to laugh even when my heart feels heavy.
And the hummingbirds — fast, tiny, fierce, and bright — feel like him too. One hovers outside my second-story bedroom window, almost as if he's watching me, lingering in a way that only my sweet boy could. And just this week, a hummingbird built a nest at eye level in my backyard with two tiny eggs. New life, fragile and full of promise, reminding me that love continues — and that connection persists, even when the person we love is no longer physically here.
The Sanctuary I Built
I have intentionally made my backyard my sanctuary. Growing up, I didn't always have the best role models, but the positive experiences I had — especially with my grandparents, who lived in the same home for fifty years — left a deep mark on me. There was something so tranquil about their home, a feeling of peace I carried with me into adulthood.
I want this space to be a haven, a place where women can feel nurtured, inspired, and seen
So I dedicated my life to creating that same sense of calm and beauty for myself and children. Stability! A home they grew up in! My backyard is now a complete oasis — a hammock for quiet moments, a thriving garden, and a space that literally feels like a vacation in my own home. I designed it, selected every material, planted every tree (even the "Home Depot specials" PaPa-style!), and poured my love and effort into it. Every corner reflects intention, care, and the desire to feel safe, grounded, and connected.
As I sit here writing this and taking in all the beauty and peace that comes with it, I am so motivated and excited to host very soon a woman's retreat here. I want this space to be a haven, a place where women can feel nurtured, inspired, and seen — just as I have felt nurtured and inspired by my son, my grandpa, and this sanctuary I built with love.
Grief, Love, and Wonder
Even in this sanctuary, I still wonder about what happens when someone dies. I feel my son's presence constantly, yet I also ask questions I cannot fully answer. And that's okay. It's okay to hold love, grief, joy, and mystery all at once.
Being vulnerable, sharing these moments, and feeling my son's playful signs has helped me embrace life more fully, even in the face of uncertainty. I've learned the true meaning of faith. I've learned that grief doesn't have to be silent, and love doesn't have to be gone.
A Message to Women Battling HIV
To women battling HIV who may read this: it's okay to grieve, to feel joy, to feel pain, to wonder, to laugh, to be playful, and to create spaces that nurture you. Your experiences, your love, your strength — all of it matters. Even in hardship, there is light. Even in grief, there is laughter. Even in uncertainty, love persists — tiny, fierce, playful, and full of life.
This nest is in a tree that I planted the year my son passed -on Mothers Day! Now this mama hummingbird will have 2 babies (it is very symbolic to me as I have 2 sons)!!
