We never imagined it would take losing Jill to bring us back together. Maybe that was her final gift to all of us- a reminder to reconnect, laugh until our stomachs hurt, hug a little longer, and never take lifelong friendships for granted. Some losses don't feel real because the memories still feel so close. When I learned that Jill had passed away, I found myself thinking about how strange time can be. High school still feels like yesterday. In my mind, we're all still youn

Some people enter our lives for a lifetime. Others for a season. Last Christmas, a young lady unexpectedly gave me this mug. It was such a thoughtful gift. I wasn't expecting anything, yet somehow this simple mug has become one of my favorites. Almost every morning, I make my coffee in it. It made me think about another mug. Years ago, my friend Eliza gave me one. After she passed away, I found myself reaching for it often. It wasn't just a mug anymore. It was a connection. A

Life has a funny way of reminding us that our story isn't finished. Sometimes that reminder comes through an unexpected opportunity. Sometimes it arrives with a simple text that says, "We should get together." Before you know it, a date is on the calendar, decades have disappeared, and you're driving to meet people who knew you long before life became so wonderfully complicated. There is something incredibly special about friends who knew you before the titles. Before you wer

When the world shut down during COVID, like so many parents, I was trying to figure out how to help my son make sense of it all. Everything felt isolated. We couldn't see people the way we used to. Activities stopped and normal life disappeared overnight. But I wanted Dorian to learn something important: even when it feels like we can't do much, we can still help. We can still be connected to our community. That's how we found the Christine B. Foundation. The organization was

Dorian with Coach Harvey As our first year with Sluggers comes to a close, I've been thinking about what this experience has meant to our family. When Dorian joined the team, I expected baseball. What I didn't expect was everything that came with it: the friendships, the road trips, the hotel pools, the post-game meals, and the families who quickly became friends. Over the course of the season, I watched a group of boys become brothers, connected by a game they love and count

Last night, I was at a networking event until 7:30 p.m., surrounded by entrepreneurs, business leaders, and community builders. The conversations centered around opportunity—how to find it, create it, and help others access it. Meanwhile, my son, Dorian and his buddy were living that conversation in real time. After spending the afternoon on the golf course, the boys decided they wanted to earn some money so they could keep golfing throughout the summer. They weren't looking

When the email came, I screamed so loud that my son, Dorian came running thinking something was wrong. Dorian had been invited to the Little League World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania- not as a player, but as a Community Hero. And he wasn't just showing up. He was receiving a $1,000 donation to Brewer Little League on behalf of everything he'd done for his community. For a baseball-loving kid from Maine, this was as good as it gets. And for me? The scream said everythi

I've been sitting with this trip for a few days now, still trying to let it fully land. Last week, Dorian and I were in Washington, D.C. My 13-year-old son was invited to meet with our Senators. And I sat there watching him- this kid, my kid - holding his own in a room where most adults would be nervous, and I just kept thinking: how did we get here? I've been reading Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers and a line that has been rattling around in my head ever since we got home. Gla

For several years, Dorian has been invited to speak with students at UTC, sharing his journey and the impact one young person can make in a community. Last time, students stepped in to help in- collecting three carloads of cereal for local families during the last weeks of school before summer break. No formal structure. Just heart and action. But this visit marked a shift. For the first time, I was there not only to support Dorian’s story, but to formally introduce the D-M

Today Dorian and I volunteered at the soup kitchen with our fellow Kiwanians . It’s a simple system. Guests move through the line and choose what they’d like on their plate. We serve them. A rhythm forms quickly- plate, scoop, smile, “thank you,” repeat. I was handing out drinks. Dorian was handing out plasticware. There were more than enough volunteers. Then he looked at me and asked if he could step out of line, get a plate, and sit with one of the men in the dining room. I

His smile radiated from his heart in a way that stopped me for a second, because it wasn’t about the hoodie or the hat, it was about being seen and appreciated in a place that has become so meaningful to him. We were dropping off our third carload of teddy bears at the Boys & Girls Club when the staff surprised him with his very own hoodie and hat. There was something powerful about watching him receive the same warmth he has been giving. It was a special girl's birthday, and

Image by Vey Damneun from Pixabay I grew up working in my dad’s office. It was normal to me — phones ringing, paperwork stacked, adults solving real problems in real time. But when I turned fifteen, I wanted something different. I wanted a job that wasn’t tied to our last name. So I applied for a worker’s permit. Filled out applications. And somehow landed an interview at a doctor’s office. I still remember sitting there — fifteen years old — in a chair that felt too big, on

I took this photo just a few days ago, and it took my breath away. Dorian is 13 now. Taller than me. Moving faster than I can keep up with. More independent, more confident, more sure of himself. And yet, when I looked at this picture, I felt it instantly — my baby boy is still there . The softness in his face. The way he curled into a pile of stuffed animals without hesitation. The quiet reminder that time moves quickly, but it doesn’t erase who our kids are at their core. A

It’s Eliza’s birthday, and she isn’t here to celebrate it. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her or quietly ask myself if I’m living up to the way she lived. Eliza was inspiration. Her love for her family and friends ran deep. Her beliefs were rock solid. She didn’t just talk about what mattered — she lived it. When I reflect on her memory, on our friendship and the many conversations we shared, I’m grateful for how much she taught me and how deep her impac

Pet Portrait Fundraiser for the Animal Orphanage A lesson in patience, presence, and the Power of Transparency After my dad died, I had to find a way to channel my grief—some place to put all the energy, emotion, and restlessness that suddenly had nowhere to go. I found it in a stained glass class. Stained glass demanded something from me that grief had already taken: focus. Presence. Patience. The pieces don’t just come together. You can’t rush them. You have to slow down, s

Everyone talks about speed in entrepreneurship. This is what it actually looked like for me. Not speed for the sake of chaos—but speed in acting on an idea, pressure-testing it, and being willing to kill it early if it’s not the right fit. Earlier this year, I had a business idea that—on the surface—made a lot of sense. There was a clear gap in the market. I did customer discovery. The need was real. The next logical step was training. The program required a certification, a

Today, thanks to the generosity of the Matson Family and Twin City Tire & Service , Dorian spent the day in three 2nd-grade classrooms in Holden. Every student got to meet him, hear his story, listen to his book, and talk about the important stuff—favorite birthday cake flavors, sports they love to play, and (in one classroom) a lively conversation about Unspeakable . At one point, Dorian shared that one of his first fundraisers was a lemonade stand he ran with his grandf

Homeschooling in Maine, youth entrepreneurship, and real-world learning Homeschooling has been getting a lot of attention lately. A recent report shows that 1 in 10 students in Maine is now homeschooled , a dramatic increase since COVID-19 reshaped how families think about education. I’m one of those parents who found homeschooling during the pandemic—and stayed. How We Found Homeschooling During COVID When schools shut down, my son Dorian was in second grade. He had an incre

Some places hold more than memories. They hold lessons — about leadership, community, and who helped shape us along the way. Over the summer, the owners of Penobscot Ice Arena reached out to let us know they wanted to honor my dad. Walking into the rink for Brewer Youth Hockey ’s kickoff, I tried to prepare myself. I didn’t do a great job. Before I even made it through the doors, I saw a little boy — maybe four years old — bouncing on his toes, helmet too big, eyes wide. He

I recently sat down with an entrepreneur in my role as Program Manager at UpStart Maine . She’s sharp. Driven. Running a successful business. And she’s right on the edge of scaling. But instead of pushing harder, she’s doing something that—on the surface—feels completely backward. She’s stepping back. She filled her own role. She intentionally went part-time. And she’s using that space to build the systems her business needs to reach the next level. More importantly, she fina