There’s a train coming
A few stops away
I cannot see it
But I can hear the whistles

It sounds like peace
It feels like the joy of the Lord
He’s coming to carry us home

Nobody knows
When it will be our turn
But the fare has already been paid
Grace made a way

When the Conductor arrives
He says,
“Well done, my faithful one.”

You may worry about the ones
You leave behind
Focus on the ones
Just waiting for you to arrive

Heaven rejoices
So I will too

Because when I look at the stars
The brightest one
Will be you 

When that train comes for me
I’ll know where to find you
Just a few stops away
In that heavenly place 

-Jazmin Elaine 

She used to be so afraid

Children are to be seen,
not heard

So she stayed quiet

The physical wounds healed
The psychological ones…
 
Still healing

She grew up.
She found a safe space
where her voice no longer had consequences 

She spoke out against injustices 
She sought out the ones with no voice

Her voice started echoing,
roaring at every trigger

Hear me clearly.

I’ve got you 
and I will protect you.

You will no longer be silenced
But you must understand…

Not every action 
needs a reaction 

I hear you. 

I see you.

I love you .

Breathe.

You are safe…

With me.

-Jazmin Elaine

The month of July feels heavy for me. I am stepping into new seasons, and while I am grateful, it’s bittersweet. I’ll be turning 35 on July 16th. This will be the third birthday without my twin sister, Kendra. I am having a really hard time processing life and my reality right now. My mother, whose womb I grew in, is no longer here; my twin, who I grew in the same womb with, is no longer here. The loss has caused pure agony deep within my soul. With my birthday coming up, it has become a reminder of the loss.

Grief has taught me lessons from a class that I never signed up to take. I have learned during my healing process that if the emotions get too deep, I try not to think about it. I have been in some really dark spaces mentally, and if I’m being honest, I’m afraid to go back there. I have to remind myself that the same God who brought me out of the dark spaces before will bring me out again. There is no final destination when it comes to grief. It will always be there. Sometimes it’s a quiet ache, but when that ache starts raging, we have to address it.

So, as I walk into season 35, I am walking with boldness and honesty. I am giving myself permission to go back to the dark spaces to deal with some of the unhealed wounds that are lurking. I am choosing courage over fear and accepting that life has been life-ing, and it’s okay to admit that I’m struggling. Even in the midst of grief, I understand that I am divinely protected and deeply loved by my family and friends. They go out of their way to support me, and I am deeply grateful -even on the days when gratitude and grief share the same room.

Thank you for loving me and continuing to support my journey. Please keep me and my family lifted in prayer and I will continue to do the same for you and yours.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18

-Jazmin Elaine

I don’t think grieving fathers get enough acknowledgment. We often talk about the grief of mothers, siblings, spouses, and children, but fathers hurt too. They cry too. They struggle too.

The poem “A Grieving Father” is about my experience watching my father grieve the loss of his daughter Kendra, who was my twin sister. The poem starts with watching his soul leave his body. I was the one who broke the news to him about Kendra. I watched his face turn gray and his eyes go blank. We were at the hospital, and I took on the responsibility of telling him. What I did not know was that moment would haunt me. Sometimes I still have nightmares and see my dad’s face in that moment.

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I saw my father’s soul leave his body one day
His face turned gray
His eyes were empty
I tried to look through the windows 
Nobody was home

The lights had flickered 
He was back 
His eyes filled with terror
His cheeks were red
Reality came crashing down 
Like the waves of an angry river

The wind picked him up
Slammed him around like a rag doll

He was pinned between the rocks
Unable to move 
Grief crushed him daily

I tried to rescue him
I tried to get the weight off
But I was drowning too
I was not strong enough
But I knew who to call

God, I need you now
Help him 
The earth began to shake 
The rocks began to shift

I saw him breathe again
A fresh wind came
And he was made new

Father, I thank you for keeping him
Thank you for stopping 
What I thought would be the end

When grief tried to bury him, 
It was You who called him back to life.

-Jazmin Elaine

I recently went through a friendship breakup. It brought up a lot of grief and sadness that I didn’t expect. Because I have experienced a significant loss in my life, sometimes I believe that I might have become almost desensitized when it comes to other areas of life. I tend to go with the flow, and if things don’t work out and relationships fail, it’s usually easier for me to accept and move on quickly. I have lost the closest people to me, so nothing should be able to hurt me, or so I thought. It was not my choice to end the friendship; in fact, it took me by surprise. I was devastated, and it caused me to question everyone around me.

I cried for days; I questioned myself and how I showed up in the world. There is a different kind of grief when you’ve given someone your all, with pure intentions, and things still end up not working out. What I learned was not to pour from obligation, but to seek God’s discernment about where and how I am called to serve. I have spent the majority of my life caring for or supporting people in some capacity. It is second nature for me to look at a situation and instantly try to “fix” everything. I realized my “fix it” attitude had become an idol, and that is not what God wants of any of us. I had questions at first and couldn’t understand why everything happened the way that it did. While it still stings a bit, those reasons are no longer my concern. I believe that God gives us assignments in life, and mine in that friendship has been completed.

As I was still processing the loss of that friendship, another unexpected transition arrived. I have worked with the youth in and out of the classroom for the majority of my adult life. Over the last few years, I have been working in the clinic of an elementary school. There are a few students whom I work with daily due to their medical conditions. I have built relationships with students and their families, and because of the nature of what I do and the vulnerability, I don’t take this work for granted. I recently found out that I will be assigned to a different school next school year. The decision was not made due to any wrongdoing on my part but for the needs of the county. When I found out I was being reassigned, I was surprised by the grief that surfaced. After all, transitions are a part of working with children. Yet this felt different.

I had a particular student this year who was very shy and quiet. I noticed early on in the year that they kind of just went with the flow and didn’t give any feedback as far as their care. I intentionally started working on helping the child advocate for themselves. I educated them on their illness and showed them how to put their health in their own hands. Instead of automatically jumping in to help them, I would wait for them to ask me. I told the child, “I want you to get comfortable with asking for help because I never want you to be in the position where you need it but are too afraid to ask.” Throughout the year, I saw the confidence grow in the student, and it has been a joy to watch. I am deeply honored and thankful to have gotten to work with all of the children and staff throughout the years. Over the last few days parents, staff, and students have stopped by and poured into me. They have shared stories about how I have personally made an impact in their lives. What I am learning in this season is that God is intentional about the assignments He gives us. Once the assignment is complete, we must move on to the next one. Life will continue, and if you stay stuck on something God is calling you out of, you’ll struggle to embrace the one He is calling you into.

When I prayed and asked God to show me how good it could get, I imagined blessings, open doors, and answered prayers. I didn’t realize that part of God’s goodness would require letting go. I didn’t understand that before He could place me in new assignments, He would first close out old ones. The friendship ending and my reassignment at work were not the answers I expected, but perhaps they were part of the answer I needed. God was showing me that my security was never supposed to be found in people, positions, or places. It was always supposed to be found in Him.

I am focusing on embracing the new assignments in my life. Some seasons will feel lonely. People will leave. Assignments will end. Seasons will change. But God’s hand remains steady through it all. So in this season of transition, I am learning to hold on a little tighter.

Maybe this is what it looks like when God answers a prayer I didn’t fully understand when I prayed it.

Thank you for loving me and continuing to support my journey. Please keep me and my family lifted in prayer and I will continue to do the same for you and yours.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven-Ecclesiastes 3:1

There is grief in the seasons
where you look up
and no one is there.
The very same people who prayed with you,
encouraged you,
are no longer around.

There is growth in those seasons
where you have been stretched
in every direction.
When you’ve done all you could do,
Still holding onto the things
that no longer serve you.
When you look up
and don’t even recognize yourself.

I look for my people
but they can no longer be found.
I look to the hills;
that’s where my help comes from.

He told me,
“This season, you have to go alone.
Make a path
for the ones behind you.”

-Jazmin Elaine

There’s a familiar feeling
That comes around a few times a year
Mainly on Holidays and Birthdays
The feeling where my heart drops
To my stomach all while still racing 
I haven’t thought much about it 
But my soul knows what I am facing
A not so gentle reminder
My mother is not here 
Sadness or heartbroken as a description
Doesn’t do this feeling any justice 
Excruciating sounds more like it 
I’ll dress up today and put on some make up
Make sure my curls are poppin 
and my lips glossin
The kind that convinces folks that I’m healed 
The pressure to perform for others
So that my grief is more palatable 
It’s unbelievable 
Of course I’m sad and no I don’t want to talk about it 
Because this day is a gut-punching reminder
My Mommy is no longer here
with me.

-Jazmin Elaine

I submitted an appeal explaining why I did not do well in my last semester. I wrote an essay and shared that I was still grieving the loss of my mother and sister Krystal. I spoke about my career change and how the shift unexpectedly triggered trauma concerning their passing. I explained the work that I have done and the systems that I have in place to succeed academically. I submitted my mother’s and sister’s obituary, and I submitted an offer letter and job description with my new employer. I even had my therapist write a letter letting them know that I am doing the work. I prepared all my documents together and submitted my appeal with confidence. Less than a week later, I received an email that my appeal was denied.

I sat at my desk while I read the email and tears formed in my eyes. I was sad, angry, and confused. I felt rejected, and the thoughts of not being good enough raced through my mind. I felt ashamed and completely worthless. My heart and soul were put into that essay. The emotions that were brought up while writing it, looking at my mother’s obituary for the first time since her memorial service. I could not understand why God gave me the vision to go back to school just for what feels like the door to being slammed in my face.

I sat for a moment, and I let the tears fall. I put on my gospel playlist and stayed present. There was no need for me to try to figure anything out because I knew God was going to work it out.

As believers and followers of Christ, I think sometimes we make the mistake by assuming that our “yes” to God creates an easy path. We’ve convinced ourselves that the journey will be smooth IF God’s hand is on it. When things don’t work out the way we think it should we begin to question what God has called us to do. The enemy will use those moments to try to convince you to give up. What I am learning is that the presence of obstacles does not mean the absence of God. In fact, sometimes the weight of what you’re up against is an indication of the weight of what you’re called to. Sometimes God will have you go through challenges and work it out in a way where only He could have done it. There have been significant moments in my life where I have looked back and all I could say was “But God!”. Maybe this is going to be another one of those moments.

So as I start my day, I’m not worried about how the tuition will be paid. I am excited to see how God will use my situation. He did not bring me this far just to leave me. Victory is mine!

Thank you for loving me and continuing to support my journey. Please keep me and my family lifted in prayer and I will continue to do the same for you and yours.

-Jazmin Elaine

I believe that God is calling me to get back into school. He has given me the vision of what He wants to do in my life but I have to take action and move towards the goal. I have to finish my degree. I have fought God for a long time about going back. Deciding to go back has caused a lot of stress and anxiety for me. If there’s such a thing as educational trauma, add that to my list!

When I was a child and didn’t do well in my classes, nobody sat down to figure out what was going on. I would be called stupid and I believed it. Not just in school but life in general. I somehow took that on as my identity. As a twin, I was always compared to my twin sister Kendra. She always got better grades than I did, and she was more soft-spoken than I was. It was the typical “Good vs Bad” twin labels and I believed the labels that were placed on me. I set the standard for myself, I only had to do just enough to pass and not go to summer school. I did that all through Middle School and High School. On the day of my High School graduation, I was handed a card with money in it. I started to thank the person who had given it to me but before I could they looked at me with a serious face and said “If you don’t walk across the stage I want my card and my money back.” That crushed my soul. I graduated on time, for the first time in my life I felt like I did something right. I finally made my parents proud and I felt like that small moment of joy was snatched away from me. I went from feeling like I was on top of the world to shrinking and feeling like the scum of the Earth.

These experiences have impacted me in more ways than I could have ever imagined. I have gone through most of my life thinking that I was incapable because that is what was poured into me. Even now I catch myself asking a person I’m conversing with, “Am I slow?” Or “Was that a dumb question?” I lived in a chaotic environment growing up and school wasn’t a priority, surviving was.

So as I say “Yes” to God I am faced with revisiting my past. This is not my first attempt at going back to obtain my degree. I am having a hard time feeling excitement because multiple attempts feel shameful to me. Every attempt represents failure for me. Because I didn’t do so well in my previous semesters I am unable to qualify for financial aid. That feels like rejection for me. It’s like I am being punished for the decisions I made in the past when I was just trying to survive. My last semester was Fall 2022, and I was still navigating the loss of my mother and my sister Krystal. On top of that, I had recently gotten into the health care field which triggered me in ways that I was not prepared for. Every time I heard a siren I froze and thought about my mother and Krystal. I cried every day after work for three months. I was overwhelmed and school was put on the back burner. I should’ve communicated that I was struggling but even admitting that took me back to my childhood and being called stupid. I did not have the mental capacity to face the reality that was in front of me. I was drowning in grief and didn’t have the language to say so.

I am now in the process of appealing to get my financial aid reinstated. During the appeal process, I had to explain and provide proof of the circumstances that caused me to fail my classes. Even doing that has been challenging for me because while I’m trying to move forward I still have to look back. I am trying to shift my perspective, instead of viewing my attempts as failures I am focusing on the fact that I keep getting up and trying again. God does not call the qualified but He qualifies the called.

I think about that little girl in Kindergarten a lot these days. She thought everyone else had special powers, like they just knew the answers. What she didn’t realize was that she wasn’t incapable, she just wasn’t prepared and supported the way she needed to be.

I ask that you keep me lifted in your prayers. I know that God will work things out with the financial aid or getting my tuition paid for in general. He gave me the vision, so I trust that He will make a way. I thank Him for bringing me this far. I would also like to thank my parents for doing the best that they could in raising me. They had their own challenges that they were facing and were trying to survive as well.

Thank you for loving me and continuing to support my journey. Please keep me and my family lifted in prayer and I will do the same for you and yours.

-Jazmin Elaine

I used to resent the world
For continuing on with life
While I’m stuck in my thoughts

This feels like danger
But it’s not…

The wind continues to blow
Almost like it’s pushing me

I’m still stuck
Like a pile of cement
Full of resentment

A strong whisper in my ear
Move on, girl
Get your flowers while you’re still here

They live through me
So that’s what I must do…
Continue to live
And they will too.

-Jazmin Elaine

I thought losing my mother would be the hardest thing I would ever have to endure, but losing Kendra was different. Every loss carries its own weight, but twin loss is unique. When you lose a parent, there are more people who can meet you in that grief. You can find someone who understands. But losing a twin feels isolating. I do not know many sets of twins, and the ones I do know still have each other. The hardest part has been learning how to live in a reality that no longer feels like my own and feeling alone in it.

Every day I wake up aware that something is missing. It feels like I have been dropped into a world that does not belong to me. I am spiritually disabled. A connection I felt my entire life is no longer there. I ache in places of my soul that no longer exist. Some days, I want this to all be a dream. But deep down, I know it is not. And that truth is something I have had to learn how to live with.

Two years of pure confusion. Two years of fighting back tears when I see a set of twins. Two years of deciding whether to say “I have a twin” or “I had a twin.” Two years of pretending to be okay because my pain feels too heavy for the people I love. Two years of anger, hurt, and even moments of feeling betrayed. Two years of being upset with God, yet still following Him because He is all I have. Two years of emptiness.

But somewhere in that emptiness, God was calling me.

On Saturday, March 28th, I was re-baptized. I had been feeling the pull for a while, but I wrestled with it. Some believe baptism is something you only do once, and for a long time, I held on to that. But this felt different. When my church announced baptisms for the day after Kendra’s anniversary, I knew this was not just a thought. It was a calling I could no longer ignore.

That morning was heavy. I cried from the moment I woke up. I could not fully explain why, but it felt like something was being pulled out of me, like I was being emptied before I could be filled again. The weight on me was intense. Doubt crept in. I told myself I could stay home and try again another time. But something in me knew I had to go. So I got dressed in all white and pressed my way to church.

Sitting in the room with the other baptismal candidates, I felt out of place. People were smiling, celebrating, and full of joy. I sat there quietly and cried. It felt like a spiritual purge, like everything buried deep inside me was rising to the surface all at once. I needed it out of me before I stepped into that water.

When they called my name, everything in me felt heavy. As I walked toward the pool, my legs felt like bricks. I could feel resistance, almost like something was trying to pull me back, telling me not to go forward. But I kept moving.

And the moment my feet touched the water, I felt peace.

Our worship leader began to sing “Goodness of God,” and my pastor looked at me and said, “Jazmin, that is your song. All your life, God has been faithful.” I thought about my mother and my sisters, and I knew that their spirits were with me.

As I was fully submerged in the water, time seemed to stop. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Everything I had gone through in my life flashed before me. I had an encounter with the Holy Spirit that I had never experienced before. His presence was overwhelming yet comforting at the same time. I felt divine peace. All was well in those moments, or what I experienced as a lifetime. It felt like Heaven.

When I emerged, I stood there for a while.

I was completely in alignment with God and His purpose for my life. Every prayer that my ancestors had prayed over my bloodline surrounded me. I could feel them rejoicing in Heaven. I was thankful to God for choosing me. In that moment, it was not just about being re-baptized. It was about being seen, carried, and called.

I no longer felt like a limb was missing. I was whole again.

Not because my grief disappeared. Not because the pain no longer existed. But because God met me in the middle of it all and reminded me that even in my brokenness, I was never without Him.

And for the first time in two years, I did not feel like I was surviving.

I felt like I was being held.

And somehow, that made me whole again.

“When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.”

-Isaiah 43:2

Thank you all for your support, prayers, and for continuing to walk this journey with me.

-Jazmin Elaine

I walked into the visitors’ center and introduced myself. I explained that I am a descendant of the Plummer family. I let them know that Adam Francis Plummer, an enslaved man who learned to read and write and kept a record of my family’s history, was my 3rd great-uncle, and that his brother, Elias Plummer, was my 3rd great-grandfather. They welcomed me and seemed honored to meet me. I was given a tour around the museum, which was in a house. I saw pictures of my ancestors, some new and some of them I had seen before. I was ushered down a narrow staircase to the basement.

The basement still had its original flooring. As soon as I stepped on the floor, I felt the world shake. I could only imagine what they had gone through in that very basement that I was standing in. I had experienced a sense of heaviness and grief that I had never felt before. There was a small candlelit table with a picture of Adam Francis Plummer and his wife, Emily. I stared at the pictures, and even though I had seen them before, their eyes pierced my soul. It felt like they were waiting for me. It was almost like they had called for me. I felt in total and complete alignment with God and His plan for me. I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment. I couldn’t take my eyes off theirs, and that’s when I understood that the prayers they prayed many years ago had covered me. I was honored and deeply humbled. As I walked back up the same set of narrow stairs, I felt a mix of pride and responsibility. I do not carry the Plummer name, but I carry their spirit, and I thank God for it.

In January, I started a 30-day fast, which ended in mid-February. God revealed so much in that season that I’m still trying to process it all. I thought that I was clear on His assignment for my life, but God has shown me things far beyond what I could have ever imagined. I am so passionate about breaking generational curses that I am constantly praying over my family. I can feel the spiritual warfare that each of them is dealing with, whether it be addiction, trauma, broken relationships, cycles of pain, etc. I have come face-to-face with the demonic spirits that have tormented us for generations. I was so focused on saving my family that I didn’t realize something. It would have to start with me. I have to face the shadows, or the darkness within, before addressing them in others.

I have seen things in my lifetime that I thought I would never heal from. I have buried those memories deep inside, praying that they will never surface. God had other plans. The memories came up during my fasting season, and it terrified me. I dealt with nightmares almost every day of my fast. I knew it was an attack from the enemy. I was tortured every night until I got tired of running. I stopped praying for God to take those memories, but I asked for the courage and wisdom to embrace them. I spoke back to the memories that haunted me. Those memories gave me a clear understanding of why they resurfaced and what I needed to do in order to heal them. Once I addressed them, they no longer had power over me. The shame and fear that came along had gone away. I learned to calm my nervous system and realized that I was no longer in danger. I reminded myself that all of those scary memories are things that I survived. It was in those memories where I was reminded of Gods’ track record and how far He has brought me. It was a reminder that whatever assignment He gives me, it may hurt, but He has and will always carry me through.

My father has always heavily influenced my taste in music. When I was a child, he introduced my twin sister, Kendra, and me to a variety of genres. One of my favorite songs that he would play is “Caravan of Love” by The Isley Brothers. What I loved the most about the song was that it spoke about coming together and moving in unity for a greater purpose. The song feels spiritual to me; it calls us all to rise up and become one with another. I connect deeply with the song because my prayer is to gather one day as a family and build something stronger than the pain we inherited.

Standing in that basement, I realized that my family’s story did not end there. The prayers of my ancestors traveled farther than they could have ever imagined. The Plummers are on my mother’s side of the family, and I first began learning about them while trying to feel more connected to her. What started as a search to understand my mother’s roots led me to the faith, endurance, and hope of the generations who came before her. Their strength carried through time until it reached me. In that moment, I understood that I am not just connected to their past. I am also part of the future they were praying for. And maybe that is what the caravan really is. Each generation takes another step forward, moving closer to the freedom they believed would one day come.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,” -Hebrews 12:1

Thank you all for your continued prayers and support.

-Jazmin Elaine

I survived it.
I am currently surviving it.
I am surviving guilt.

Joy feels similar to sin.
Guilt is a dark cloud
it follows me.

Every time the sun shines,
I’m met with an overcast,
an abrupt reminder.

I survived it.
Some did not.
I am surviving it.
My loved ones are not.

The guilt overwhelms me.
I cannot save them.
God is the only one who can,
and they have to be willing to live.

I survived it.
I am currently surviving it.
I am surviving guilt.

-Jazmin Elaine 

Every now and then,
I hear a voice.

I feel a tug
an urge,
a thirst,
a deep desire.

For what?
I’m unsure.

It’s like following a recipe
and still missing… something.

I yearn for a place
that I have never been.

I don’t have the directions.
I have to rely on my instincts.

When I reach my destination,
I’ll know it.

It will be familiar.
It will be peace.
It will be joy.
It will be love.

It will be home.

-Jazmin Elaine

There is no doubt in my mind
That if I had to do it all over again
I wouldn’t change a thing.

You entered this world before me
I was not far behind

We shared a life before we understood living
Now the separation is soul shattering

I wouldn’t have had the strength
Or the courage to leave you here
Empty and broken
That’s something God knew

For you,
I’ll take the spiritual bullets
I’ll take the emptiness
I’ll take the confusion
I’ll take whatever remains

I’ll take the lashings
I’ll take the pain
That’s constant in my chest
For you, I would do it all over again

I have a lot of questions
There’s no need to ask them
Because even if they were answered
I wouldn’t change a thing

I have no regrets
Even with the permanent ache
But I would do it all over again
For you

-Jazmin Elaine

At 3:09 a.m., I mustered up the courage to return the call, and it was my mother’s nurse on the other line letting me know that she had transitioned. I was silent for a minute and then responded with an “Okay.” I told the nurse that I would be on my way soon.

I called my twin sister, Kendra, and she answered on the first ring. I asked if she had heard, and she had not. I let her know that Mom had transitioned, and she told me to get dressed because she and her boyfriend would be there shortly to pick me up.

I got out of the bed and hit the ground before I could fully stand. I felt like I had gotten run over by a train. The wind was knocked out of me, and I found myself gasping for air. I crawled across my bedroom and into my prayer closet. I cried harder than I ever had before. My world had come crashing down. This was a storm I was not fully prepared for. I prayed silently because I did not have the strength or energy to speak. Peace came over me. Relief came over me. There was no more pain and sorrow for my mother, no more doctor’s appointments to take her to. It was over.

We arrived at the hospice center where my mother was staying. The hallway must have expanded overnight because the walk seemed longer. My legs felt heavier than normal. I felt like I had bricks for feet. I walked into the room to see my mother for the final time. My father had arrived before us. While my parents were no longer together, they had always remained good friends after going their separate ways.

I remember walking into her room and seeing my dad drinking a cup of coffee and watching the news. That detail stuck out to me because it felt so strange. I looked over at my mom, and she looked like she was sleeping. Before I could process anything, Kendra went off. She was screaming and crying, begging my mom to come back. I froze. There was so much chaos that my body shut down. A lot of people rely on fight or flight, but one thing my body does is freeze.

Throughout the morning, family members came by for their final goodbyes. Before the funeral home arrived, we stood over my mother and I prayed. I thanked God for her life and asked Him to cover us all as we grieved. I reached down to hug my mom for the last time. I leaned down and pressed my forehead against hers, and she was cold. That was when it finally hit me. She was gone.

As I reflect on the last six years, I never would have imagined it being this difficult. I feel like I have taken hit after hit. But through it all, I have remained blessed. God has covered me and protected me from things seen and unseen. I lost my mother and two sisters, one of whom was my twin. That alone is enough to drive anyone crazy.

I had to grieve while living alone during the pandemic. I was lonely, and the silence became too loud. I started drinking more and entertaining people I should not have, but God protected me even from myself. Jesus and therapy got me through, and that is who I owe it all to.

As 2026 is just getting started, I am excited to see God move in this ministry. The doors flew open for me in 2025, and I know He will continue to guide me. I am my mother’s youngest child, and I was truly her baby. This ministry was created to honor my mother and her legacy, but it has also grown into a community where we can all relate to one another.

Death is inevitable. We will all face it one day. My prayer, as I continue to honor my mother, is to build a safe space for future generations to come. God willing, one day someone will pick up a book of mine when I am long gone and feel seen during their darkest days. I want them to know that God is the ultimate comforter and that He will carry them through. I pray they find answers to the questions that have pierced their souls. That they find peace knowing there is no right or wrong way to grieve. That they never allow anyone to rush their healing process. And that God gets all the honor and glory, even in the toughest storms.

I ask that you keep me lifted in your prayers today as I remember not only my mother, but my two sisters as well. I have a great support system, but I would be lying if I said I did not feel alone. My mother used to always play “Sadie” by The Spinners. Toward the end of the song, one of the singers says, “It’s a mean world without you,” and I can definitely agree. The world has been mean and cruel since she left.

Thank you all for your continued support.

Happy Angelversary, Mommy.

Until we meet again.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” -Psalm 73:26

We share the same name.
It is my reminder
that family can stand in the gap.
You’ll forever be my Elaine.

An auntie when needed,
a mother when I needed mothering,
a friend when my world came to an end.

My angel on earth.
My peace in the storms.

When I got the worst news of my life,
I called you first.
When I couldn’t face my father’s grief,
I called you first.

My Elaine…

You carried a weight too heavy for me to bear,
and you held it up with grace
reminding me that I am stronger than I think,
that I too should give myself grace,
while also giving me space.

You taught me how to find my feet and walk,
but you also comforted me because
we all need a soft place to fall.

My Elaine…

I love you deeper than words.
Thank you, Aunt Debbie.
Thank you, Elaine.
Thank you for giving me your name
and allowing me to never forget:
I am loved,
I am held,
I am not alone.

-Jazmin Elaine

I could not get out of bed the day before Thanksgiving. I did not have the energy or the desire to. I could not eat, I could not sleep. All I could do was lie there and let my mind wander. Depression is exhausting, and even the smallest tasks can take so much effort.

I was able to pull myself together on Thanksgiving Day. I put on some makeup and did my hair, and I was looking GOOD!!!! But on the inside, I was crumbling. I was smiling and pretending to be okay because I did not have the capacity to explain if someone asked me what was wrong.

I have been thinking about my mom a lot lately. She always knew when something was wrong with me. No matter how much I tried to convince her that I was okay, she would shake her head and say, “No, you are not. I can see it in your eyes.”

I have not felt seen since my mom left this Earth. I cannot fully describe it. I have many good days, but the ache in my soul is debilitating at times.

Sometimes I feel guilty for being sad. The holidays are supposed to be about gratitude and family. I believe that two things can be true at the same time. You can be absolutely heartbroken while still being thankful. I cherish the memories I have, but I also mourn the future.

I do not have a family of my own, and if I ever decide to get married or have children, there are parts of me they will never know. Thinking about my twin sister not being here to meet my babies is the most devastating of them all. It just does not sit right with my spirit.

The grief fog has cleared, and my reality has brought a lot of clarity in many different ways. My village has changed. My purpose has become clearer. My connection with God is stronger.

My therapist said something recently that really stuck with me. After reflecting on 2025, I realized my circle has shifted. Some of the people who entered the year with me are no longer connected to me for various reasons. She said, “Jazmin, you are divinely connected. God and your ancestors are not going to keep allowing people to play with you.”

That was confirmation.

God has stretched me this year, and as I grow, I am realizing that not everyone can go with me into every season of my life. That does not mean we will not reconnect in the future. Sometimes it is simply a not right now disconnect.

I have come to understand that I am not only mourning physical deaths but also the loss of certain relationships. I love deeply, and I hate having to let people go, but I believe that is part of the cost of the calling on my life. The picture is not fully clear yet, but what I do know is that I do not want to be out of alignment with God’s will for me.

As we step into the Christmas holiday, I am determined not to focus on the losses but on the memories etched in my heart.

When I hear “Silent Night” by The Temptations, I think of my mom. She loved that song so much. On the last Christmas we had with her, my niece Jayda, my sister Krystal, and I played and sang it for her as she lay in her hospital bed. She did not have much strength, but she waved her hands and smiled at us.

I honor my sister Krystal, who was born on Christmas. She was truly a gift to the world. Even though it was her birthday, she always went above and beyond for others because that is what made her happiest.

When I hear Whitney Houston during the holiday season, I automatically think of my twin sister, Kendra. She loved her some Whitney. When Kendra was here, anytime I tried to sing along, she would remind me that it was a solo and then tell me to be quiet.

Those are the memories that will get me through this season. Understanding that they are with me every day will get me through. Holding on to God, who is the ultimate comforter, will get me through.

If you are struggling this season, embrace it. God will not waste your story. Accept the emotions and acknowledge your new reality. God can use your story to help others survive theirs.

As I close this blog, I am reminded of my great-great-great uncle, Adam F. Plummer, an enslaved man whose writings became one of the most important firsthand records of Black life in the nineteenth century. His words endured, and so did the love that shaped me. I carry my mother and my sisters with me in every story I tell, and I pray that God uses my words to honor their lives and guide the generations that come after me.

As always, thank you for your love and continued support. Please keep my family lifted in prayer and I will do the same for you and yours.

-Jazmin Elaine

Scripture for Reflection

• Psalm 34:18 – “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

• Isaiah 41:10 – “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

• 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 – “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

• Proverbs 13:22 – “A good person leaves an inheritance for their children’s children.”

I see a big smile,
but I see the sadness in your eyes too.
Who hurt you?
The tears well in your eyes,
but you don’t let them fall.

The weight of the world is heavy,
and carrying it takes your all.
But we all need a soft place to fall
a space to rest and reflect,
to breathe,
to not worry about the next thing.

I pray for your peace, my brother.
I pray for your comfort, my sister.
I pray that we’ll understand it
by and by.

But until then,
don’t allow the enemy to win.
Free yourself of the obligations.
I pray that you no longer have to be
the “strong one.”
I pray softness over your life.

Give it to God.
He can fix it
and He will.
We are His children.

-Jazmin Elaine