Y'all, can we talk about grief for a second? Because honey, it will catch you at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected places. Like sitting in your car, staring at your own front door like it's some kind of foreign object.

Prior to my mom's passing, I had a routine that was as predictable as the sunrise. Drop my daughter off at school, rush back home to get Mom's breakfast ready, help her with her bath, and spend those precious morning hours just being together. We'd sit on the patio sipping lemonade, talking about everything and nothing. She had this way of knowing exactly when I needed a hug, could read my mood before I even opened my mouth. Those mornings were sacred.

But then, life happened. Death happened. And suddenly, my routine became this cruel reminder of what was no longer there.

The Weight of Empty Mornings

After she passed, I found myself dropping my daughter off and getting ready to rush back inside, only to hit this wall of reality that knocked the breath right out of me. Mom wasn't on the other side of that door. She wasn't waiting for breakfast. She wasn't going to call my name when she heard my keys jingling.

Sometimes I would just sit there in my car and stare. Sometimes I would have full-blown panic attacks because my body couldn't process this "new reality." I wondered what the heck I was supposed to do now. I found myself sitting in my car for minutes, sometimes hours, before I could get the nerve to walk inside my empty home.

For the longest time, I could still smell her sweet perfume lingering in the hallway. I could hear her voice calling my name. I longed for just one more hug, one more conversation, one more piece of her wisdom to help me sort through the mess that life had become.

The Day Everything Shifted

A few months ago, I was having one of those car moments. I was staring at the walkway leading to the door, and something just broke open inside me. I began to sob uncontrollably. It was like I finally allowed myself to truly grieve. My mom is gone. GONE gone.

I remember calling her name through my tears and saying, "Why did you leave us?" I sobbed harder, and my head hit the steering wheel as tears ran down my face like they were trying to wash away the pain.

Then I heard something. Like a slight scratch against my window.

I looked up, and there it was: the brightest red bird I'd ever seen from that close up. At first, I thought I was imagining things because grief can play tricks on your mind like that. But this little guy looked right at me, tilted his head like he was studying me, then flew to the tree directly across from my car and continued to stare.

My first thought was, "Why is this bird staring at me?" My second thought was, "What does this even mean?"

When Google Becomes Your Guide

Y'all know what I did next. I pulled out my phone and started googling like my life depended on it. And what I found made me break down all over again, but this time it was different.

It's common folklore that a visit from a cardinal represents a sign from a loved one who has passed, and many believe the vibrant red bird is an uplifting, happy sign that those we have lost will live forever, so long as we keep their memory alive in our hearts.

I said one word: "Mama."

I looked up from my phone and back at the bird staring at me. "Mama..." It looked at me one more time, and then flew away. My heart literally fluttered.

Turning Crisis into Creativity

That was the day I decided I wanted to take my car crisis moments and alchemize them into something positive. I typed my first blog post right there in my car. (I had written some before, but it had been a while...) Then I reached inside my bag and sketched my first picture in a long time. It was like that little red bird spoke without saying a word.

Do I have this all figured out? Chile, no! But now when I have my car crisis moments (because let's be real, they still happen), I make them creative moments instead.

One thing about my mom: she was one of my biggest cheerleaders. She loved that I had this creative side, loved reading my writing and looking at my paintings or sketches. So doing this feels like a way of honoring her memory while also honoring the messy, beautiful process of healing.

Finding Your Own Creative Moments

If you're reading this and nodding along because you've got your own version of car crisis moments, I want you to know that it's okay. Grief doesn't follow a timeline or a rulebook. It shows up when it wants to, how it wants to.

But maybe, just maybe, there's a way to transform those moments of overwhelming sadness into something that feeds your soul. Whether it's writing, drawing, singing in your car (yes, I do that too), or just allowing yourself to feel whatever you're feeling without judgment.

Sometimes healing looks like sitting in your car crying.

 Sometimes it looks like sketching a red bird.

Sometimes it looks like sharing your story with strangers on the internet who might need to know they're not alone in their grief.

Your creative moment doesn't have to be perfect or Pinterest-worthy. It just has to be yours.

Little Reminders That Love Never Dies

Speaking of red birds, I've found some beautiful ways to keep that cardinal energy close when I need those gentle reminders that mama is still with me. I found this gorgeous Yalikop Red Cardinal Crystal Acrylic Memorial piece that reads "I am always with you" - talk about hitting you right in the feels. It sits perfectly on my desk where I write, like a little beacon of comfort.

And for those days when I need to carry that reminder with me, I keep this Luvsweets Cardinal Keychain on my keys that says "When cardinals appear your loved one is near." Every time I'm fumbling for my keys (which is daily because mom brain is real), I see those words and remember that I'm never really alone in this journey.

Sometimes we need these tangible reminders that love transcends everything, even death.

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