4 years ago, we spent our last day with you.

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For most of my life, June 8th was just a day.

For most of my life, so were June 5th, June 6th & June 7th.

That took a hairpin turn in 2022. 4 days of what I now see as a bridge-crossing, except while we crossed that bridge, it was burning down behind us. It was a one way trip for four, and only three of us survived.

June 8th is diagnosis day for our family…

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Nobody tells you what it’s like to rebuild your life as a widow.

We wing it at every turn.

The real reason we figure it out? Why we claw our way back? Because the worst has already happened, and everything that follows will never be as tough as watching them leave forever.

I used to think my husband Geoff died much too soon. Smack dab in the prime of his l…

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My faith wasn’t born in a church. I’ve never belonged to a small group. Prayer & practice weren’t foundations for most of my life.

All that changed when terminal illness knocked.

This isn’t a unique story. Talk with anyone who’s been through some stuff & you’ll hear it again & again.

God wasn’t in church. God was in the dirt. With me.

It’s difficult to…

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Sometimes, you have to say yes before you feel ready.

Unless you are a widow. Saying yes for us always comes without feeling ready.

Back in October, 2025 I registered for a widow conference to be held in February, 2026. It would force me to leave my protective bubble, fly solo to Atlanta, room with someone I don’t know well, and sit shoulder to shoul…

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I have 2 babies.

Some may say they aren’t really babies anymore, but any mother knows...they are ALWAYS our babies.

Mine grew taller than me long ago.

And today, my youngest turned 18.

T…

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Seems America is hot on the 2016 trend.

Of course it invites others to investigate how time has passed for us, too.

• What have we been up to the past ten years?

• How did time slip through our fingertips?

• Where were the hurdles? The wins? The heartache? The breakthroughs?

I’m someone who prefers the written word, so I’m taking a moment to look back at a decade …

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Jeff & I are church shopping these days.

That’s another one of those, “Who am I?” moments I’ve been having since becoming a cancer widow about three and a half years ago.

I’ve keep my faith journey pretty private, mostly because I’ve needed time to catch up to the woman I’ve been becoming lately. Anyone who has known me long-term knows I wasn’t a church g…

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This piece was written about 2 years ago. I felt compelled to document Geoff’s story. I was pretty terrified of forgetting him in those early days. I felt like putting events to paper would calm my chaotic mind & help mend my broken heart.

I had visions of it becoming a book someday. And maybe it still will. But I’m in the business of reminding those in …

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Dear 2025,

As this year begins to sunset, I’m finally sitting down to birth this letter...the one that’s been silently writing itself in my mind bit by bit. I started writing about my grief 3 years ago when I needed an outlet to my raging emotions. I’m a little surprised I’m here still, writing on the same topic, half shocked I still have things to say. …

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December is here.

I’m typing this from the Palm Springs airport. It’s 75 degrees & the sun is just showing off up in the bluest of skies. We came out to visit family & friends for Thanksgiving. Waiting for us in Michigan is over a foot of snow and 27 degrees.

In my early grief I resented the desert weather…warm & cloudless. Seemed the climate didn’t read …

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November 8th is tomorrow.

2 years ago- on November 8th- I held my dad’s hand as he went to Heaven.

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If you’re ready to explore what comes next—with a circle that gets it—join me for a free widow webinar on Wednesday, Nov 5 at 12 PM EST.

You don’t have to do this alone. 💛

❤️To save yourself a seat, send me a message.❤️

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Fall feels like a swirl lately.

I love this season. It’s my favorite, and I lived without her for nearly 30 years. I’m thrilled to be reunited with her crisp mornings, the colors she paints the trees, the chance to look out my window and see an entirely new scene.

But I have this strange sense of FOMO. I feel like I’m not soaking her up like I should. Isn…

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Tomorrow, I turn 51.

It’s hard for me to grasp I’m a middle-aged woman, but I suspect most women my age- and older- feel exactly the same. Like, how did we get this old because I still feel like 25 year old me inside?

There’s a short story called “Eleven” written by the talented Sandra Cisneros that describes this beautifully. I encourage you to read…

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In my three years of widowhood, I've learned a thing or two about my grief.

In fact, I am beginning to understand that inside my heart I carry every version of who Ashley used to be. She's not gone- just stored in the hard drive. Overlooked many days. Riding in the way back of the station wagon if you like analogies.

But any of those earlier Ashley versio…

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"You are who you surround yourself with."

I used to have this quote hanging in my classroom, and would refer to it often...especially with middle schoolers.

Who I surround myself with has dramatically shifted since I joined the ranks of widowhood. Not only has the crowd changed, my social circle nearly disappeared. When it was happening, it felt like more loss & loneliness. It brought fears of growing old alone, mattering to no one.

Dear grievers, let me assure you of something...It happens to most of us. It's a necessary part of the evolution & it's not a curse. It's actually the beginning of a beautiful restructuring. Keep going.

I am writing this at gate 24A in the Denver airport. I've spent the last 5 days here visiting 2 women I didn't know 3 years ago. 2 women I now claim as hope givers, truth-talkers, secret keepers. I can report- without a doubt- I would not be Ashley 2.0 without their friendships.

Friendships built in the darkness of dead husbands.

I found Lauren just 2 months after Geoff died. I don't remember much about how our paths crossed, but here's our first exchange.

Lauren was 22 weeks pregnant & the mom to a darling two year old little girl when her husband left for Heaven. To say I couldn't imagine was the understatement of the century.

We widows hear that phrase quite a lot.

"I couldn't imagine."

After a while, many of us grow tired of hearing it, mostly because it's a reminder that- once upon a time- we couldn't imagine either.

Lauren was navigating a harder hill than me when I compared our grief. Everyone tells you not to compare stories, but I call bullshit. We all do it, and her load trumped mine. Lauren couldn't stop eating. She was growing a baby. She also couldn't lay in bed for days at a time. She had a small daughter depending on her for everything. Here I was, ignoring all mothering responsibilities because I was lucky enough to have kids old enough to drive to school and feed themselves.

I clung to Lauren like moss on a stone, convinced if she was surviving I could, too. She became my north star. She was gracious & patient with my endless messages asking for reassurance & comfort. More than that, sitting in her company helped me feel normal because she understood the suffering in ways my other friends could not.

That's the beauty of a widow friend.

Lauren & I have been exchanging texts, calls & visits for nearly 3 years & my life today is built upon her helping me stand up again.

We met in 3D on December 10, 2023. My dad died about a month before- just 15 months after Geoff- and Lauren got on a plane to be there for his celebration of life. The morbid irony of meeting your dear widow friend for the first time at your dad's funeral. But mostly, I felt loved & important during a time when many of my lifelong friends had scattered like leaves.

Lauren met me in the mess again in the spring of 2024. I had sold my house & was packing for a cross-country move to Michigan. I sold, donated & packed most of it, but couldn't touch Geoff's closet. So she showed up again. Lauren reverently removed shirts from hangers. She packed 2 plastic bins with his clothes, photos, yearbooks, shoes, note pads with his writing & anything else I couldn't bear to part with.

None of us imagine we will one day be packing away our husband's precious belongings in midlife, so when you can link arms with another woman who knows what it's like to lie in the dirt of despair, do not let her go.

Fast-forward to August, 2025 & it's my turn. I'm the one on a plane now, making my way to return a very important favor. It's time to pack away Bradley's goodies, and it's an honor to be tapped for the job.

Lauren & I didn't have big plans. We didn't get massages. We didn't hike or shop. Instead, we reminisced about our hot husbands in heaven, solo parenting thru grief, & just loved each other. We wore lounge clothes & ate McDonalds. Our big outing was taking her babies to the park. There's a specialness about being with a friend who needs nothing more than presence.

In the depths of my early grief, I talked to God all day long. I begged Him to hold us close. I asked why Geoff was taken. I told Him I didn't think I was strong enough to lead Gwen & Owen without my husband. I asked for a lot, but my prayer on repeat was this;

"God, please blanket us in peace."

I couldn't see it then, but it's coming into focus 3 years later. God never left my family. In fact, I'm pretty sure He drew closer in those early days...carefully & purposefully delivering the perfect people into my life that acted as catalysts to my healing. I was so focused on the ones leaving I didn't see God was behind that, too. He was clearing space for new gifts to arrive.

In my 5 days in Colorado, I spent the first half with Lauren. The second went to Tammy.

Tammy & I crossed paths on August 14th, 2023...just 2 days after her husband's funeral. We were put in touch by a childhood friend, hopeful I could be a source of light in the darkest of times. We exchanged messages, calls, tear-stained selfies, and held each other up on the days when we couldn't do it alone.

I've never had to worry about how I worded an angry or a semi-suicidal text. Tammy just got it. Every time.

Tammy & Lauren live about ninety minutes apart, so I decided to fill my widow cup by visiting them both. At Tammy's, I slept late. Took a dreamy steam shower with essential oils. Sipped fancy coffee from her bougee espresso machine. Drank wine on her patio while petting her dogs. Again, no monster plans or extravagant outings. And I wouldn't wish it any other way.

This is what I call a "stripped down" visit. When you can sit for days with someone you love with no distractions & simply talk for hours...that's the brass ring in life.

When you can share memories, begin to whisper hope into a future you used to curse & look up and wonder where the time went...that's God delivering you a miracle disguised as a beautiful human.

Other friends would be craving entertainment. I'm at a point in my life where I want the "do nothing" visits. The ones where we only pack lazy pants & warm socks. The ones where we curse & cry in the same sentence. The ones where we know- without a doubt- that our husbands in Heaven conspired for us to meet.

It took 2 years for Tammy & I to meet in 3D. But when I say there were days when she felt like the only person alive who knew my wounds, I'm not exaggerating one sliver. This woman- living many states away- gently held my banged up heart, cheered when I fell in love, took a genuine interest in my children time & again, and never once judged me.

I no longer make long-term plans for my life. I have no idea where God will lead me in a year. And I'm okay with that uncertainty. In fact, what would have once scared me is now a comfort. God has it worked out. It's my job to get quiet. To listen. To walk through the doors He opens.

But I rest on this truth. I've built myself quite a safety net since becoming a widow. I know life may burn to the ground again, but I'll be ok because I have women like Tammy & Lauren. Women who will hold my hand through the ugly. Women who will sit in the uncomfortable silence. Women who will love me at my worst.

I've said before that grief has delivered to me some of the best women I know. It seems fair, right? If my husband had to die, I should at least gain a handful of miraculous humans as a sort of consolation prize.

If you are reading this as a brand new griever, please do yourself a favor. Look for one of us. We can be found on social media pretty easily. Send the message. Leave the comment. Ask to be seen. I promise it'll be the best decision you ever make. There's a silent network of others just like you figuring out ways to come alive in the world again, and we have love & hope to sprinkle all over your currently broken life.

Let someone in. Be vulnerable with a stranger on the internet. Believe that a woman who only exists on a screen could be your God-delivered miracle.

The sisterhood of dead husbands. We exist in pockets all over the place...and there's room for you.

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3 years ago today, you lived your last day.

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Monthly Musings For Healing Hearts (3)

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It's been a year.

In recent years, I've become a careful observer of passing time...but not for the best reasons.

I was widowed nearly 3 years ago. In the beginning, I counted the days we made it through. Then months. 3 months. 6. 12. 35. The only other time I can recall counting months was when I had small babies.

It's strange- and exhausting- to keep tra…

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