A story shaped by caregiving, teaching, and the quiet faithfulness of God

My story has been written in the long, ordinary, holy places—hospital rooms, classrooms, waiting rooms, and the quiet corners of home where caregiving and prayer meet. For many years I cared for my husband through his long illness, learning the slow, sacred rhythm of tending to someone you love. Those years taught me how grief and grace can live in the same room, how strength can look like gentleness, and how God meets us in the places we never would have chosen.

I am also the mother of an autistic adult son whose journey continues to shape my own. Parenting him into adulthood has been one of my greatest teachers—inviting me into deeper patience, deeper advocacy, and deeper joy. His way of seeing the world has widened mine, and together we continue to navigate grief, growth, and the everyday courage of building a life after loss.

Before and during all of this, I spent 37 years as a teacher—guiding students, mentoring writers, and creating spaces where people could discover their voice. Teaching was never just a job for me; it was ministry, community, and calling. The classroom taught me how to listen beneath the surface, how to nurture potential, and how to believe in slow, steady transformation.

These threads—caregiving, parenting, teaching—have woven the heart of my writing. I write for caregivers, grievers, and anyone who needs a gentle reminder that they are not alone. My hope is that my words offer companionship, comfort, and a small light for the next step of the journey.