Holding Our Family in Prayer

 

Dear Frenchie,

Today has been an incredibly difficult day.

Blake called and asked whether Chloe had contacted me about a flight credit. I was confused and asked him what he was talking about. While I was still on the phone with him, Chloe called, so I switched over to speak with her.

She asked whether Blake had called or texted me about the credit. I told her he hadn’t explained anything to me, but the credit had come from the cruise. I had purchased tickets for all of us to fly to Los Angeles, and when Chloe canceled, the value of her ticket became a trip credit. Apparently, Blake wanted to use it to fly to California, while Chloe wanted to use it for something else.

I was already confused, but then Chloe told me that she and Blake were separated—and had been for quite some time. She said they were planning to get a divorce.

Eric, I was completely shocked.

I had no idea.

When I went back to my conversation with Blake, he confirmed that it was all true. He has been staying at Kaitlyn and Brian’s house. I’m grateful they have opened their home to him, but I am so worried.

Apparently, the girls have been telling him for months that he needed to tell me.

Months?

What the hell?

My heart is breaking for both of them—and really, for the entire family.

I talked with Blake for a while and told him that, if I could offer him any advice, it would be to protect the children from as much of the conflict as possible. I didn’t mean that he should hide everything from them. I meant that he and Chloe should try not to speak badly about each other in front of the children or put them in the middle of what is happening.

They are so young, and children should never feel as though they have to choose between the two people they love most.

Blake told me that Weslie had asked him, “Dad, is our family ever going to live together in the same house again?”

He was broken.

I could hear it in his voice as it cracked while he repeated her words to me. I asked him what he had said to her. He told me that he and Chloe had planned to sit down together and talk with her, but Chloe had already spoken to her about it. He was hurt that they hadn’t been able to have that conversation as a family.

I told Blake I would help him in any way he needed. I also told him I was grateful he had finally trusted me enough to tell me what was happening.

He said he hadn’t wanted to tell me because he didn’t want me to worry.

I told him never to keep something this important from me again. Of course I will worry—I’m his mother—but I can handle whatever he needs to share with me. He doesn’t have to protect me by carrying something this painful alone.

Eric, I miss you so much.

The night Blake told me, I lay in bed staring at the pillow with your face on it and cried. I wanted more than anything to hear your voice and talk through all of this with you. You would know how to calm me down. You would remind me not to react too quickly and to love everyone through it.

I’m not sure how to help Blake, and I don’t know what the right answers are. For now, I am praying and planning to go to the temple, hoping Heavenly Father will give me clarity and help me know how to support our family without making anything harder.

I wish you were here.

I love you.

Cruising with Blake, Weslie and Zeek

 Dear Frenchie

A few months ago, I asked all the kids (except Haleigh, as she is still not talking to me) if they wanted to go on a cruise together. The only one who replied was Blake, so I began scheduling the cruise with his family.

We got home today, and I want to tell you about it before I forget those special moments we had. Tomorrow I am having surgery with Dr. Lettieri and will be out of it for a few days.

So, when I arrived at the airport Blake was standing with the kids and I asked where Chloe was, he said she could not come. I was so confused, he explained that the investors of the medspa whe works at was coming to town and her boss told her the night before we left. It didn't sound right, I think something else kept her from coming. I'm worried about them. When I was at Anthony's funeral someone mentioned hearing that Blake and Chloe were separated. Of course I said, "That's not true." Still I asked Blake if everything was okay and he said, "yes." I hope he is okay he has such a tender heart and it hurts me to think of him in pain.

We flew to Los Angeles and got a cab to the ship. It was so fun to see Weslie and Zeek explore the ship. Blake is such a good dad, he made sure they went Ice Skating, played soccer and did everything they could to have a great vacation.

We went to an aquarium for the day in Mazatlan, Zeek and Weslie had so much fun getting in and out of the ocean. As I watched them playing together I thought about how fast my children had grown.

Father's Day 2026

 

Dear Frenchie,

Well, hello again—and Happy Father’s Day to you.

Later today, I will drive out and place flowers at your gravesite. I’m not sure why I go there as often as I do. I think I find peace in knowing your body rests there, even though I understand that your spirit has moved on.

Eric, you were the best of the best fathers. I am so grateful I had the privilege of raising our children with you. They are good, happy, and genuinely kind people. Isn’t that what success really looks like?

Most of the time, you and I disagreed about the consequences they should face for misbehaving. You wanted them to pull weeds in the backyard or clean out a room or closet that you probably needed to clean yourself. The weed-pulling punishment was especially difficult for me because Gary used to make us do the same thing. It was a real trigger, and I hated that rule. I probably raised my voice more than I should have.

Actually, there is no “probably” about it. I did.

I wish we could take back some of those moments, but I also believe they helped me understand both of us a little better now that you are gone. I have never liked the saying, “We did the best we could,” but in many ways, it is true. We made mistakes—some we would give anything to undo—but we also apologized, learned, and tried to do better.

Parenting without you has been sad and difficult. Since moving, I don’t see or talk to the kids and grandchildren as often as I might have if I had stayed in our Gilbert home. I miss that part of my life so much.

At the same time, moving has forced me to create a life with some balance. I have made new friends and found walking buddies in the neighborhood, including people you once sold homes to. I even started a Bunco group in the ward, and there is always a waiting list. They love it—and so do I. I also join the widows in my ward on Thursday nights to play cards. They are a hoot; of course, I am the youngest amongst them, but man, do they love to share life experiences I love. laugh and learn from.

Learning who I am without always being known as “Eric’s wife” or “Kayla, Blake, Kaitlyn, and Haleigh’s mom” has helped me discover more of myself. Don’t get me wrong—I still treasure those titles. They are among the greatest honors of my life.

But as I continue moving forward, I am also Monya Williams.

I am a woman trying to become a better person. I am learning to laugh at myself, to worry less about my facial paralysis, and to live fully even without the smile I once had. I am releasing the shame I carried about my mothering. I am grateful that the Lord entrusted these four amazing children to our family.

I will no longer allow thoughts of failure and unworthiness to take up space in my mind, and I will never place those thoughts upon our children. They are adults now, making their own choices and living their own lives. I love them exactly as they are.

You would too.

Happy Father’s Day, Babe.

I love you so much.

Anthony Gruninger :)

 

Dear Frenchie,

Today was exhausting. In fact, attending four funerals this week has been mentally and emotionally draining. But today was also so very special.

Anthony’s funeral began at ten this morning. I was incredibly proud of his nephew, Mele, and Bo Bigelow as they spoke so eloquently about Tony. Clyde Bawden played a beautiful medley on the piano, and, of course, everyone wore leis around their necks. Karen was so thoughtful to have them available for family and close friends.

It was an honor to be there—to cry tears of both joy and sorrow as we collectively gave our hearts and love to Anthony.

Anthony wanted to be cremated, so Bunker loaned Wayne and Karen a casket for the funeral service. I had never seen that done before, and I was grateful they could honor Anthony’s wishes while still giving everyone the opportunity to gather and say goodbye.

After the service, everyone was invited to the Val Vista Lakes Clubhouse for a Luau—and boy, was it a fun one. Garrett served as the master of ceremonies and did a wonderful job. There was Hawaiian food, music, and entertainment. You would have loved every minute of it, so would your sweet mom. I hope you were watching as we celebrated Tony’s life.

I loved seeing Polynesian culture represented so beautifully in his honor. My favorite moment was when Karen danced for her son. She performed a graceful Hawaiian dance and dedicated it to Tony. I’m not sure I could have done what she did. As she moved, I could feel her spirit shining through every step. When she finished, she received a standing ovation—and she deserved every second of it.

Garrett opened the microphone for anyone who wanted to share a memory of Anthony. When no one volunteered at first, they began calling on people.

You know I have so many memories of Tony, just as you did, but none of us have the memories that he and Haleigh shared. Besides, I felt that many of the stories I could tell probably weren’t appropriate for the microphone. LOL.

I stayed quiet because I am still so fragile after losing you—and now losing Anthony in Hawaii too. But one of my favorite memories came flooding back to me.

You and I were in Mexico with Anthony and Haleigh, and we attended church on Fast Sunday. I think they were only twelve years old. Together, those two best friends stood up and bore their testimonies of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

I don’t remember exactly what they said. I only remember how deeply moved I was that they made the decision together and were brave enough to stand up. They didn’t know the language, but that is the beautiful thing about the Spirit. It isn’t always about the words someone speaks. Sometimes, it is simply about how those words leave you feeling.

I was so proud of them.

Oh, Eric, we have such beautiful, kind, and compassionate children. I like to believe they received some of that from both of us.

I know you would have loved the entire celebration. You would have been searching the room for people to talk to, making sure everyone felt welcome and thanking them for coming. I tried to do that too. You know I am trying to become a little more like you were—social, welcoming, and kind—without losing my humor or my genuine compassion for people.

When the mariachis arrived, I sat and cried because I knew you would have grabbed either Karen or me and insisted that we dance with you.

I miss you.

Nearly everyone who knew us expressed concern for me, knowing that Anthony had also died in Hawaii, just as you did. That connection made the day especially emotional.

Haleigh, our sweet, kind, and compassionate daughter, gave the closing remarks. She did a wonderful job describing her and Tony's friendship from the time they were only 10 years old. She thanked Karen and I for trusting them to be friends, and allowing sleep overs and many trips to Mexico. 

Anthony was kind, generous, and really lived his life to the fullest. He served others and loved to wheel and deal like you did. I am going to miss his laugh, his love, and most of all not being able to make new memories with him.

You know what? Because of the things that happened leading up to that day on the beach, I believe that somewhere in your spirit, you knew Heavenly Father was preparing you. Maybe you didn’t know it would be that particular day, but I believe you could feel that something was coming.

Thank you for talking with me that night and into the early morning about the things only you and I know. Those conversations have comforted, strengthened, and even sanctified me through some very difficult times.

I love you, Babe. Haleigh sent me these pictures! What a treasure I will frame them for our home.

Cathie Beecroft & Erika Garner

 

Dear Frenchie,

Today was the memorial for Cathie Beecroft, and on Tuesday I will attend the funeral of Erika Garner.

Cathie had been dealing with health problems for the past year and a half. Last month, she suffered a brain aneurysm. The doctors told Charlie and the kids that recovery would be extremely difficult and that, even if she survived, she would likely be unable to speak or have any real quality of life. She would need around-the-clock care.

Charlie and the kids were forced to make an unimaginably difficult decision, and they chose to let Cathie go peacefully—to move on to Heaven and begin her new life.

Curtis said he didn’t want to have a traditional funeral where everyone stood up and said only nice things about his mom when everyone knew Cathie was a tough cookie who could sometimes be a little difficult. I laughed because you and I both know exactly what he meant. But honestly, that was part of what we all loved about her.

So instead of a funeral, it felt more like a huge Sixth Ward reunion, which was probably exactly how Cathie would have wanted it. I was so happy to see how many people came.

It felt strange to be back in the cultural hall where you and I spent so many years. That room holds countless memories with some of the best people I have ever known. Being there brought so much of our life together rushing back to me.

Charlie told me how much he loved you. He said he is now going through what I went through two years ago. I tried to comfort him, but I know there are no words that can bring peace when the person you love is suddenly gone. Sometimes, all we can do is sit beside someone and let them know they are not alone.

Tomorrow, I will attend Erika Garner’s funeral. She lived in Las Sendas and was in Utah for a family reunion when she suddenly collapsed while playing pickleball. They believe she may have had a heart attack, but the family is still waiting for the coroner’s report.

Four of our dear friends have left us this week. They are gone from this life, but they will never be forgotten.

I love you, Babe, and I miss you so much.

Lloyd Ryan

 

Dear Frenchie,

I attended Lloyd’s funeral today. I don’t think I have ever been to a memorial where so many people laughed and smiled.

Lloyd was such a wonderful example to everyone who knew him. His brother spoke about how he worked at the hospital for more than thirty years. When Banner took over and introduced new policies, Lloyd didn’t like the changes, so he quit. You know as well as I do how difficult major changes in routine can be for someone on the spectrum. Good for him—he knew what worked for him and stayed true to himself.

He lived in the same ward for sixty-eight years. It was amazing to hear how many lives he touched and how much happiness he brought to others. He was never late for work, never missed a day, and followed the same routine each and every day.

They said he didn’t spend much of the money he earned; he saved it. I found myself wondering what he was saving it for. You did that too. You worked so hard and rarely enjoyed the money you made, except when we traveled together. I am so grateful for those vacations and the memories we created.

I would be amazed if anyone walked away from Lloyd’s funeral without wanting to become a better person. His life was quiet and consistent, yet his influence reached so many people.

I know how much you loved your family, so today I felt as though I was there representing you. I was surprised that no one else from your family attended. I called Kurt on my way home and felt terrible when I realized he hadn’t known that Lloyd had passed away. Raylani and Doran didn’t know either.

Even with the sadness, it was a good day—a day filled with laughter, memories, and a reminder that a simple life lived with kindness and dedication can leave a lasting impression.

I love you, Babe, and I miss you.

Anthony Gruninger (The Best)

 

Dear Frenchie,

This morning, Brian and I had a phone appointment with Nate Skinner, my probate attorney, who is now helping me with my trust so the kids and grandchildren won’t have to go through what I have endured these past two years.

When the meeting ended, Brian called me right back and said the words I knew would be followed by terrible news.

“Are you sitting down and in a safe place?”

“Yes,” I said, “but Brian, you’re scaring me. What is going on?”

He hesitated, then told me that Anthony had been found dead in Hawaii the day before.

I was heartbroken. I loved Anthony. An uneasy feeling came over me knowing he had died so far from home. I asked Brian what had happened, but the news was still so new that the family didn’t have any answers yet.

I have been thinking about Haleigh all day. It is so hard not to be able to call her or wrap my arms around her. Oh, how I pray that someday she will let me back into her life. I miss her so much. I understand that it is out of my control, so all I can do is pray that she finds some kind of peace in knowing that she and Anthony created so many wonderful memories together.

Our family has such fond memories of him, and I have my own sweet memories too. He always had a smile on his face. I remember how much he worried about his mom whenever he thought she wasn’t doing well. He definitely loved his mama.

I spoke with Karen this week while she was in Hawaii, trying to make the final arrangements to bring Tony home. It was heartbreaking to talk with her and try to make any sense of this. Tony was so young—only thirty-three years old.

I remember taking him to Mexico with Haleigh and Kaitlyn and how much fun the four of us had. Karen and I always thought Haleigh and Tony would end up married. I think a lot of people believed that about those two.

I am also grateful that Haleigh and Scott found their way to each other. Scott is a wonderful husband and father, and we could not have asked for a better man to share Haleigh’s life.

I am learning to trust that, somehow, it will all work out according to the Lord’s plan. He has a plan for each of His children, and perhaps we are not meant to understand or figure it out. When it is our time, it is our time. But that doesn’t make it any easier for those of us left behind, missing them so terribly.

When Brian told me about Anthony’s passing, I immediately thought of you. I know how much you loved him. You two had a rough start, but over time, you learned to love and appreciate each other. I know you were proud of the man he had become.

I can picture you hugging him and welcoming him home to Heaven. I see you showing him around, then doing one of your little dances. And, of course, Anthony would answer with that famous laugh of his—the laugh I am going to miss so much.

So, while you and Tony are celebrating together, please know that the rest of us down here are heartbroken.

I love you, Babe, and I miss you very much.

Happy Birthday

 

Happy Birthday, My Love

Today is your birthday.

I am in Mexico with some friends from my ward. It has been a while since I have been here, and being back has stirred up more memories than I expected.

We rented a car from Hertz. I didn’t feel comfortable taking my new car because it still has temporary plates. Maybe that sounds a little crazy, but one of my friends is a little nervous about being in Mexico. Obviously not nervous enough not to come, but nervous enough. Her husband, Chris, is a DEA agent and never really wanted her to come down here. It reminds me a little of Kevin Bennett being a police officer. I suppose people in those kinds of jobs know much more about what “really” happens than the rest of us do. As for me, I think there is some peace in not knowing everything. Sometimes ignorance really can feel like a blessing.

The weather has been beautiful. The sunrises and sunsets are absolutely gorgeous. There is something about the sky here that feels different to me. Softer. Warmer. More peaceful.

When I drove up to the security gate, they remembered me. They asked how I was doing and welcomed me with big smiles. The HOA office remembered me too, and they talked about Blake’s and Brian’s families. It touched me more than I expected.

Walking into the condo brought back so many memories of you. I had no idea how many little things would take me right back to the two of us being here together—the walks, the talks, the vendors, the security guards, the familiar streets, the places we loved. Everywhere I turned, there you were.

Of course, I ran and got fruit bowls for one of my friends. She loved hers so much, and it made me smile because I knew you would have loved that.

We shopped at the Malecón and had lunch at Poncho’s. He gave me a big hug and welcomed us like no time had passed. I took my friends to all your favorite places to eat, and we loved every one.

There is such a peaceful feeling I have here. The sunrises and sunsets mean so much more to me in this place. I can almost feel you smiling down on me with your twinkling eyes. And, of course, the mangos were ripe and delicious.

Estifano’s wife was so kind. She asked me about Kaitlyn and her family. I thought that was so sweet of her, and it reminded me again how many pieces of our life are still here, tucked into this place and these people.

Happy birthday, my love.

I appreciate you and love you more and more every day.

Love,
Monya

My April Lesson

Hey Babe,

Today I taught in Relief Society. The lesson was based on Dallin H. Oaks’ talk “Alive in Christ and the Resurrection.”

As I stood there teaching, I felt you with me. Not just a passing thought—but a real, quiet presence. It was emotional… in a way I didn’t expect.

I shared stories about my birth father, Colby—and about you.

I told them Colby was a good man. All I ever wanted was for him to be my dad. He was kind and gentle… but he carried demons he couldn’t overcome. The night he hit me in a drunken rage—that wasn’t who he truly was. Addiction changes people. It clouds memory, distorts truth. I don’t think we ever really knew what happened that night.

He said I was playing with the ironing board, that he asked me to stop and I didn’t. Then he struck me—his hand across the side of my three-year-old head.

I believe that moment haunted him for the rest of his life.

Mom divorced him, and over the years, we barely spoke. Maybe ten times, if that. But every time we did, he would say the same words: “I’m so sorry, honey.”

And every time, I would stop him and say, “I forgave you a long time ago.”

But now I see it differently.

When he sobered up, the weight of what he had done crushed him. And instead of healing, he ran back to the very thing that destroyed him. Over and over again.

Now, I find myself wishing I could say something different:
“I’m sorry too… for the anger I carried. I just wanted you to be my daddy. I wanted you to rescue me.”

I believe he’s in Heaven now. Whole. At peace. I wonder if you’ve seen him. I hope you have.
I look forward to the day I see you both again… along with your mom and dad.

The lesson also touched on something that stayed with me. As members of the Church, we sometimes feel misunderstood—but we’ve also had moments in our history where we didn’t fully accept others either. That has to change.

You and I never lived that way. We’ve loved people from all walks of life, all beliefs. And truthfully, many of them have been better at loving than I have.

That’s what I’m learning—really learning.
To love people where they are. Not where I wish they would be.

Because if we are judging, we are not loving. And if we are not loving, we are not living like Christ.
That’s the part I’m still working on every single day.

Haleigh still hasn’t reached out.

And I’ve come to a hard realization… I can’t keep doing this to my heart. It’s exhausting. I love her unconditionally—I always will. And I will always be here when she’s ready. But I think it’s time for me to write one final letter and let her know that.

I’ll pray. I’ll fast. I’ll make sure it comes from love—not pain.

As I prepared this lesson, a thought kept coming to me: she’s not there yet.
Not in the place of unconditional love.

And maybe that’s okay—for now.

Because I know who she is.
She is kind. She is gentle. She has always been that way.

She stood beside me during cancer. During her senior year—when people constantly asked her about me, about my illness. I know that hurt her more than she ever said out loud. And I will never forget it.

And I will never forget her final dance at Highland High… “Curing Cancer, Dancer by Dancer.”

I sat there, bald, watching our little girl cry as she danced to a song she chose just for me.
She doesn’t cry easily.

That moment… it held everything.

I have made mistakes. I see them more clearly now than ever before. But I am so grateful that every day, I can repent. Every day, I can forgive—and ask for forgiveness.

I am trying to become more like Christ. I fail often… but I’m changing. I can feel it—in my thoughts, in my actions, in the way I see people now.

And I want you to know something, too.

Thank you… for asking me for forgiveness—for a lifetime of hurt.
That mattered more than you may ever understand.

And I need you to hear me clearly:

I forgive you.

All of it.
Even the things that almost broke us.

We’ve carried things that could have destroyed our marriage… but they didn’t.
Because love—real love—chooses to stay, to heal, to forgive.

And I choose you. Still.

I love you.
Monya

Remember when?

Hey Babe,

I’ve been thinking about you so much today.

I finally closed on our Gilbert home. Saying goodbye was harder than I expected. As I walked through the halls one last time, memories came rushing back—some beautiful, some not so easy.

I realized something as I stood there.

Not every moment in that home was healing or happy.

You and I… we were both stubborn. There were times I was so frustrated with you I wanted to scream—and I’m pretty sure I did. And yet, there were just as many moments when I fell in love with you all over again.

Funny thing is, I don’t think I knew you as well back then as I do now.

So much of our story feels like a blur of love, confusion, and misunderstandings.

---

I still think about our first date.

I remember thinking you seemed like a nice guy—someone I might be interested in. Then I found out you had asked another girl to the same fireside and canceled on her. She still showed up, and she was not happy with you. I remember thinking, " Who does that?

And then… You took me to your grandmother’s house.

You walked through every room, checked under beds like you were protecting me from something, and then asked if I wanted a foot rub.

I thought, " This is weird.

And then… well, things escalated quickly, and I remember thinking, I need to leave.

When you walked me to my car, I honestly hoped it would be the last time I’d see you.

---

But it wasn’t.

You kept calling.
You kept showing up.

And somehow, every time I was with you, I found something else to admire.

I had my eyes set on a mission, and I made that clear from the beginning. That didn’t seem to scare you away—in fact, looking back, I think it may have been one of the reasons we stayed together.

Maybe because marriage wasn’t on my mind.

And now I know… it wasn’t really on yours either.

---

As I got closer to your family—especially your mom—I realized something.

I wanted the Williams name to be part of my life forever.

---

We had so many good times.

Your softball games.
Trips to Prescott.
Staying in the Cozy Cabin with your parents.

Walking through the woods, finding quiet places just to be together, laughing the whole way back.

That’s when we really started to fall in love.

---

I remember being so jealous of your ex, Vicki.

She would come around your parents’ house, even sit down for dinner once, and I was furious. Your mom had to gently remind me that she was part of the past—and not the one for you.

She was right.

---

We spent hours playing Pac-Man at that arcade on Alma School and Southern before Fiesta Mall was built. It felt like everyone in town was there. And right across the street, that old movie theater—where you always wanted to sit in the back.

Of course.

Years later, after we were married, we went back there with friends. I will never forget that night—the rain pouring down, and suddenly a section of the ceiling collapsed right into my lap.

I laughed.

You? Not so much.

You went after that theater like it was personal until they finally gave us free tickets.

---

I still laugh thinking about that.

---

I also remember the day I stopped to help a stranger on the side of the road.

I was late getting to your house, and everyone was waiting for dinner. You were worried, and when I told you I had given someone a ride, you couldn’t believe it.

Looking back… You were probably right.

But that was me. Completely clueless about the dangers of the world, a true blonde!

---

Lately, I’ve been thinking about those early days—when life felt simple, carefree, and full of possibility.

I’m so grateful for those memories.

Because missing you… It is the hardest thing I have ever lived through.

If I could trade all the trauma I’ve experienced in my life for this grief, I would take the trauma again and again just to have you here.

---

I still talk to you.

You know that.

But not hearing you respond… that’s what breaks me.

Sometimes I close my eyes and try to feel you near me. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can’t.

At night, I imagine your arms around me, holding me, and there are nights I cry myself to sleep.

---

This wasn’t supposed to happen to us.

We were supposed to grow old together.

We had more trips to take. More memories to make.

I still ask God why.

I know I may never get that answer.

---

But I hope I’m making you proud.

Because I am so proud of you.

We had a life full of experiences—both beautiful and hard—and I am who I am today because of all of it.

Because of you.

---

Thank you for loving me the way you did.

I know I wasn’t always easy.

But you stayed.

And you helped shape me into the woman I am today.

---

I love you.

Always.

The Wizard of Oz

 Dear Frenchie,

Besides our magical first trip to Paris together, Weslie and I just returned from the second most wonderful trip I’ve ever taken. You know how much I’ve always loved The Wizard of Oz—and Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I remember telling you I wanted that song sung at my funeral. You wrinkled your nose and dismissed the idea completely. Now that you’re gone, I suppose I get to make the decisions for my own funeral party.

This time, Weslie and I headed to Las Vegas for the weekend. We stayed at the MGM Grand, and the room was beautiful—comfortable, calm, and just right. On Saturday morning, we went to see The Wizard of Oz at the Sphere. I had no idea what I’d bought when I purchased the tickets, but imagine my surprise when we discovered we had VIP seats. We were escorted into a private lounge with unlimited food and drinks. You would have loved that part—and I would have loved seeing your face when you realized it was all included.

We were given a beautiful poster and $50 to spend at the merchandise shop. Of course, I handed the money straight to Weslie. She chose the softest Wizard of Oz sweatshirt, and I picked one too—There’s No Place Like Home. Something I know you would’ve happily bought for both of us.

Our seats were perfect—front and center, Section 206, with no one in front of us. I’ll admit, it was worth every dime. I know you wouldn’t have spent that kind of money… but if you’d seen what we saw, I think you might have changed your mind.

When the screen opened up, Weslie gasped. The screen wrapped completely around us, alive with movement and color. It was interactive, immersive, and breathtaking. There was never a moment when either of us looked away. Watching Weslie experience it for the first time reminded me of being a little girl, seeing the movie change from black and white to color on our bulky television with rabbit ears—too heavy for the stand it sat on. I remember wondering how color could possibly appear like that. It felt like magic.

When the tornado came. Frenchie, it felt like we were inside it. The wind blew through our hair, leaves flew all around us, and our seats actually moved.  And then Dorothy sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I cried—just a little. When the Wicked Witch threw fireballs at the scarcrow big bolts of fire shot towards us. When the monkeys appeared, they flew all around us. It was astonishing—truly the most wonderful show I’ve ever seen.

Weslie loved it so much that she asked me to play "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" over and over again. She wants to memorize it.

These are the moments you and I were supposed to share with our grandchildren. I promise you—I will continue to prioritize them. I want them to have good memories of me while I’m still here. That’s what life is really about: sharing joy, creating memories, and loving each other well.

Some days are harder than others. Haleigh still won’t speak to me. It’s been a year and a half since I last saw Ellis and Sena. My heart breaks over it. Blake says it’s her pride, but I still don’t understand what I’ve done to cause the distance. All I can do is pray that her heart softens. I don’t want to leave this world knowing she carries regrets—because you and I both know she would.

I miss you every day. Sometimes at night, I sit outside and imagine you looking down at me with that familiar grin. It brings me comfort.

I love you, babe.
Always have. Always will.
Until we meet again—
Good night.