A Life Update & Bittersweet Endings

Hello, my dear voyagers.

It’s been a minute. I had every intention to keep up with blogging throughout December, but unfortunately my life got a bit hectic (for good reasons), and I wasn’t able to write consistently here until now.

This post is going to be a bit different from my usual content. Instead of offering writing advice or sharing the Top 10 Things I Consumed in 2024 (although that’s coming, don’t worry), I wanted to take this time to just sit and talk. About life. About why I fell off the face of the earth. About what God’s been doing in my life over these past few months.

I’ve been keeping a secret for a few years now, and it’s time to talk about it. (You may already know what it is if you’ve been following my Instagram stories, but for the rest of you, this is gonna be an exciting little life update). So, go ahead and grab a nice cozy blanket, your favorite hot drink, and let’s catch up.

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Okay, I won’t keep you waiting in suspense any longer. The reason I’ve been so absent is because I was finishing my Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing. I finished my last assignment in December, and by the time you see this, I should have my degree in my hands (fingers crossed). I spent the last year and a half going through an online program at Southern New Hampshire University, and now I have not only my MFA degree with an focus on YA fiction, but a certificate in Professional Writing.

This is a huge accomplishment for me, but if I’m being totally honest, the most exciting part of this journey isn’t the degree—it’s the novel. Instead of a traditional thesis, I wrote a novel. It took a little over eight months to write, and then I revised it in ten weeks (which actually was more like six weeks).

This little book is the first full-length manuscript that I’ve ever written and revised. And God’s used this book to heal me in ways I didn’t know I still needed to heal. He’s used this story in ways I can’t even describe . . . and I couldn’t be more proud of the story He allowed me to co-create with Him.

Rest assured that this is not the last you’ll hear about this book, but today there’s something more important I want to share with you.

Since I completed my degree online, I had the freedom to finish my very last assignments wherever I wanted. So, in true Bree fashion, I finished school at a coffee shop. It’s my favorite local coffee shop, and it’s attached to a church. I got a decaf mocha with almond milk and a coffee cake, and I got to work. My headphones were uncomfortable, so I opted to just sit and let the noise of the bustle surround me.

And, when I finished, I had the same feeling that I’d had when I finished my Bachelor’s degree in that same coffee shop: I missed my friend.

If you’ve been here for a minute, you might remember the friend I talked about in my post, Why I Write About Grief. I’ve talked about it with a few of you, but this was the first time I’d ever actually posted about him and what happened. It was the first time I let my walls down and explained the deeper meaning behind my decision to not only write about grief but to create an entire brand centered upon it.

My friend died less than a month before we were all supposed to graduate high school together. And it completely fractured not only my life but our senior group. After that day, nothing was ever the same. And, if I hadn’t been in shock, I would’ve realized that graduating high school was only the first in a string of milestones that I would accomplish without him.

Because then I started college. Then I graduated with my Associate’s. Then I started dating my first boyfriend. Then I experienced a heartbreak unlike anything I’d ever known. Then I graduated with my Bachelor’s. Then I wrote the novel I’d dreamt up when I was fifteen. Then I graduated with my MFA degree.

And I sat in that little coffee shop trying not to cry because all I wanted to do was tell him that I did it. That I was done. That I would never have to respond to another discussion board.

But, in that same breath, I realized something else: Life goes on.

Because everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by life. Because at 6:19 on a Wednesday night, I was surrounded by teenagers in pajamas who were being loud, just like we were. Because there were students on laptops across the room and men gathered at tables talking in low voices. Because girls sat near me chatting about who knows what. Because children ran around, in and out of the building, and they were smiling. They were laughing. They were living, and I hoped with everything in me that they’d never felt the sting of death in their small lives.

And, as I sat there, writing yet another letter to my friend that he’ll never see, I think I was finally still for the first time in a very long time.

Because I’d just finished something beautiful. Because I’d finally written the book that God knew I wasn’t ready to write back then. Because I’d reached a milestone that had always felt like it would just be part of my future.

Because, after all those years, I still missed my friend.

And right now, as I re-type portions of the letter that I wrote to him, I still wish that he was here. That I could text him and he would respond with something snarky. And yet, I know that without his death, I never would’ve been able to write the book that has already changed lives.

And I still wonder if this is how all milestones will always feel. If I’ll always want to save a little space around my accomplishments so I can share them with him first before anyone else. If I will always yearn to text him about the new chapters of my life. If I will always finish something beautiful and try to pinpoint exactly how he would react if he were still here.

But, even if all of that is true . . . life still goes on. It feels weird to write that after opening my novel with the idea that when your life is split into a Before and After, your life doesn’t go on. But, when Hope thinks about that, it’s because she believes it. In that moment, in her season of grief, she can’t yet see all of the joy and beauty that awaits her on the other side. That awaits her even in the midst of her darkness.

But I do. 

I know that what awaits her is a kind of love she’s never known. Is pure unadulterated joy. Is beauty and courage. Is strength found in the unlikeliest of places. Is a life full of everything that she’s ever wanted. Is a journey and a future worth fighting for.

And I think that’s why I’m able to look back on all of this with a smile. Because I know what this story looks like now. I know, at least in part, what it was all for.

I know, at least for me, how God turned the ashes into a flickering flame and the grave into a flourishing garden.

And I know that I will probably always write him letters. When I achieve big milestones. When I miss him so much it hurts to breathe. When I see the lives he touched. When I look up at the stars and wonder what our friendship could have been if we’d had just a little more time.

But, after the letters are written and the tears are spent, I know that life will go on. Because that’s what we do after the battle. After the war. After the drought. We pick up. We rebuild. We heal. We learn. And we live.

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I don’t know what you’re going through today, my voyager. I don’t know who you’re missing, what loss you’re grieving, or what dream has shattered before your very eyes.

And I know that you don’t believe me when I say that things are going to get better. That one day this won’t hurt like it does right now. That life really does go on.

I see the doubt in your eyes. I see the kind of life-altering pain that shakes you to your core. I see the ache that still resurfaces even though you thought you’d moved on. I see the way you blink away tears because you thought that you were finally okay again.

So, I won’t tell you that life goes on. Instead, I’ll say that you are seen. In your grief. In your loss. In the ocean that you believe is going to swallow you whole.

I see the darkness that closes in around you, and I promise to stay here until it passes. I promise to sit with you until the dawn breaks. Until God’s light terrifies the dark and pushes back everything that seeks to destroy you.

You are not alone in your darkness, dear heart. The light is coming. The sun is still going to rise tomorrow. God has not abandoned you, and His plan will still come to fruition. You are not too far gone, and you have not screwed up His will for your life.

Okay?

So, hold tight to His words. Hold tight to what you know is true. Hold tight to the landline He has sent you. Hold tight to the person He has ordained to walk alongside you in this season of darkness.

Because a new age is coming . . . and I really hope you decide to stay so you can experience it.

Let’s Talk!

How are you doing, voyagers? Did you have a lovely holiday? Where is God moving in your life? How can I pray for you in this current season of life? Let’s talk all things you in the comments down below!