A December Diary: Letting Go, Giving Thanks, and goodbye

I say this every year — how fast the year flew by — and this year has been no exception. I like to take this last month to reflect, to ponder, to think and dream, to cry a little, and to let the words and feelings move out into the universe. Maybe that’s how I make sense of things… or maybe it’s simply how I breathe through them.

The year started out good. I celebrated my birthday with family, wine tours and cupcakes, laughter and tipsy giggles. For a moment, life felt soft and full and hopeful.

And then, barely a month later, a family member was diagnosed with cancer, and it was as if the ground disappeared from beneath us. She fought so hard. We made as many memories as we could in those fleeting months. We truly believed she would beat this — we prayed every single night, held faith with both hands — but in the end, God had a different plan. I’m writing this with a lump in my throat and tears gathering as I sit here eating lunch on a cold December day, still trying to understand how to hold this grief.

I lost a dear coworker to cancer this year as well. If you ever see me wearing a yellow crocheted hat, know that she made it with her own two hands. So much love went into everything she created. Wearing it feels like carrying a piece of her warmth with me.

Life has been beyond difficult this year. Some days, I don’t even know how I get up and go to work. Some days I don’t know if any of this is worth it — the rushing, the pressure, the expectations. But then I hear the laughter of little ones, I watch the seasons shift, and with all the responsibilities that anchor me, somehow I keep moving forward.

I want to take this time to thank every single person who showed up for me — the strolls down Main Street, the coffees and thrift shopping, the bags of chocolate (definitely needed), the countless messages, the hugs that held me together more than once. I appreciate you more than you know.

What does this all mean for me? For my business?

Honestly… I have no freaking clue.

I have no idea what I want next year to look like.

But I can share what I hope for.

I hope for strength and grace. (I am my own worst enemy.)

I hope to finally finish my gosh darn quilt.

I hope for my dream garden — not just a few flowers and herbs in pots, but veggies and fruits and rows of blooms, and strings of lights twinkling in the night sky. Can you picture it? I can almost feel it.

I hope for trips and stories and moments that turn into memories. I hope for more laughter, even if it comes through tears.

I hope you had a beautiful 2025.

I hope you have a few tender goals for 2026.

I hope you give yourself grace.

And thank you — truly — for being here with me.