Grief doesn’t run on a schedule. Healing doesn’t care about dates. On the 46th anniversary of her sobriety, Chick faced one of the hardest days of her life—moving her husband into Memory Care as Alzheimer’s continues to take pieces of him away. Five months earlier, she held her son’s hand as he took his last breath. That pain is still alive in her bones.

The morning after felt like a hangover of the soul. Exhaustion. Numbness. Survival mode. She didn’t want to move—but she did. She showed up for a friend. She laughed for a moment. She rested her body instead of burning herself out. She let music and weed and quiet reflection do their gentle work. She cried. She breathed. She kept going.

Healing isn’t just rituals and revelation—it’s the small choices we make to keep going when life has already taken more than it should. It’s sitting on a patio with music in your veins. It’s choosing rest without guilt. It’s staying present long enough to let peace land for a minute. And even smoking too many cigarettes can become a lesson—just another truth to face when you’re strong enough.

She doesn’t know exactly where life is taking her from here. But she knows this:

She isn’t done yet.

She still has purpose.

And tomorrow, she’ll get up again.

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