05/10/2026
This Motherās Day feels different for me.
For many years, I thought I had the picture-perfect life. The kind people look at and assume is safe, steady, and whole. But grief has a way of changing everything.
After losing my son, I honestly didnāt know how I was supposed to keep living. Then watching what that grief did to my husband, to our marriage, and eventually losing him too⦠changed everything.
Fred wasnāt just my husband. He was my best friend, my safe place, my soulmate, and the love of my life.
The night I lost Fred, I lost a part of myself too.
Not just the life I thought I would always have, but the person I had been for so many years beside him.
Part of me wanted to lay beside him and never get back up. Part of me wanted to let go completely.
But somehow⦠I didnāt.
Since then, Iāve slowly been trying to figure out who I am as Ashley⦠not just as a wife, a mother, or now, a widow.
One time, Fred and I had a conversation about death. I had always assumed I would die first, and I told him that if anything ever happened to me, he needed to find love again so he wouldnāt be alone and so someone could help raise the kids.
Fred was 16 years older than me, and he looked at me and said, āNo, mama. Iām one and done. Youāre it for me.ā
But then he said something Iāll carry with me for the rest of my life.
He told me that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted me to find love again because I was young and deserved to be loved. And then he said, āItās not because I think you canāt take care of yourself or the kids. I know you can do those things. You just need to believe in yourself.ā
At the time, I donāt think I understood how much I would need those words.
Because after everything, believing in myself became one of the hardest battles Iāve ever fought.
Somewhere in all of that pain, I picked up my camera again. I had shut that door and locked it away, planning never to revisit it.
I never believed I was good enough. I questioned myself constantly. I still do some days.
But little by little, I kept going anyway.
And somehow, people believed in me before I fully believed in myself.
People trusted me with their memories. Their children. Their stories. And that has meant more to me than I could ever explain.
So maybe this post is a celebration. Maybe itās a reminder to myself. Maybe itās for the mom out there barely hanging on by a thread.
But Iām still here.
Still fighting for my children.
Still trying to trust God even when Iām exhausted.
Still learning how to believe in myself again.
Still daring to dream.
And I do have a dream.
I dream that this business will continue to grow. That one day it will fully support my children and me. That all of this pain will someday become part of a story about survival, purpose, and rebuilding. That maybe my children will look at me and see a mom who didnāt give up.
Iām not sharing this for pity. Iām sharing this because I know what it feels like to think your life is over and to somehow keep going anyway.
And maybe thatās what courage really is.
Happy Motherās Day to the women carrying grief, rebuilding quietly, questioning themselves daily, and still showing up for the people they love.
I see you.