Anniversaries can be complicated. Some mark joy and celebration, while others carry a quieter, heavier weight. Today is one of those anniversaries for me — the day I moved out of the house I once shared with my now ex-husband.

Three years ago today, I helped my bonus kids get ready for school. This would be the last morning I would help them do this. I remember the ache in my chest as I packed boxes the last minute boxes, each one holding not just dishes or books, but memories.

I remember anxiously waiting for the moving truck to show up. While I waited, I walked into the bathroom where the littles used to sit in the extra sink, usually on their dad’s side while I did my hair or makeup, and use a dry erase marker to draw on the mirror. Scribbles or math problems, they had full range over what they could write.

That morning three years ago today, I walked in to erase the last message I would read from my bonus daughter:

“Beth, here’s some things to do when you leave.

> Read the Bible
> Pray every day
> Smile
> Give loves to Harper (my dog)
> Be Happy”

She was nine at the time of writing this. Her dad used to say that I played favorites with her, but I loved all my bonus kids the same. I just happened to have a special connection with this one.

Closing the door for the last time felt like saying goodbye to more than a house. It was saying goodbye to a version of myself, to the life I thought I would have.

Grief came in waves. Some days it was a quiet hum, other days it was a tidal force. But what I didn’t expect was how much room grief created — space for something new to grow.

As I sit here today, reflecting on this milestone, I feel gratitude weaving its way through the days when I feel sadness.

Gratitude for the lessons learned in that season.

Gratitude for the strength I didn’t know I had.

Gratitude for friends and family who showed up with open arms, listening ears, and steady encouragement.

Gratitude for the fresh start I’ve been given — one I didn’t choose at the time, but one that has led me closer to who I truly am.

The truth is, grief and gratitude can live side by side. One doesn’t cancel out the other. Instead, gratitude transforms grief — not by erasing the pain, but by giving it meaning. By showing us what we’ve survived, and what we’re capable of creating next.

So today, I honor both. The grief of what was lost, and the gratitude for what’s ahead. And maybe that’s the most beautiful part of healing: learning that even in endings, there are beginnings waiting to unfold.

Love. Give. Live.