Photo by Jess Rotenberg Photography

Unlike many other twenty-somethings, I actually looked forward to turning thirty. My twenties had put me through the wringer—my mom died of cancer when I was 26, and my first marriage came to a painful but inevitable conclusion soon after—and I figured there was nowhere to go but up. I went to law school, married an amazing man, moved to a new city, started a new career, and had a baby. My thirties were shaping up to be everything that my twenties hadn’t been—until the middle of that decade, when disaster struck and my seventeen-month-old daughter Hudson died from a sudden infection. I had only just begun to figure out how to live again when, not two years later, I was diagnosed with cancer while my second child was still an infant. Now three years into remission, I have begun (yet another) new career writing. I’m approaching my forties (very quickly) with the hope that everything I’ve learned in the past twenty years will make this my best decade yet, regardless of what it may hold.

Many times it feels like no matter what I am writing, I am writing about my daughter’s death. But ultimately, I am trying to explores themes of motherhood and loss, and how the intersection of the two spur my perennial quest to live an authentic life.  I write because I believe that stories build connection and empathy, and because I believe that we are all in need of healing from something.

I live in Carrboro, North Carolina, with my husband, my two living children, and the best corgi mutt that ever lived. I write in my basement and practice just a little bit of law on the side.