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Family

Hope, Healing & Chemo Days

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

Hi friends,

A lot has happened since I have written in this space. I’ve written this blog post in my head while washing dishes, walking the dog, and even driving home from treatment. I’ve been thinking about you and all that I need to update you on. I love when you send me verses, and tell me that you are praying.

4 words: the surgery didn’t work. 4 dreaded words. On May 14, we had scheduled an IR appointment to oblate 3 tumors in Reid’s liver. We had a zoom call before with the IR doctor to go over the procedure. It seemed non invasive, calculated with little to no risk, using a needle and CT scan and it almost sounded too good to be true. Until it was. What the doctor explained as an outpatient procedure, with only a minimal possibility of staying over night for observation, became a long procedure (3x as long as they said it would be) with a prolonged stay and some complications afterwards. Just 4 weeks later, I’m here to report that 2 tumors grew since then. That is a very fast growth. But we are doing all we can do to mitigate the growth.

On a positive note, Reid is attending an integrative oncologist for 4 weeks in San Clemente for low dose chemo and supportive IV infusions. He is overall feeling good and tolerating the low dose chemo well. Praise!

I understand you will have lots of questions of which you can add to the comments and I’ll try to answer them as best I can.

Asking for prayers today—that this chemo does what it’s meant to do: kill every last cancer cell and stop any new tumors from forming. I’m so incredibly thankful for the loving environment surrounding Reid’s treatment, the kind and attentive nurses, and the surprising energy he’s had lately. We’re clinging to hope, leaning on faith, and so grateful for your continued love and prayers. 💛

Shalice

Family

When the Hard Things Are Gifts

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

If there’s one thing we’ve learned since Reid’s diagnosis last year, it’s that cancer doesn’t come with a handbook. Read my last update here.

There’s no step-by-step guide, no guaranteed roadmap—only a winding path of unknowns, questions, and moments that leave you standing still, trying to catch your breath. You learn quickly that grace must become your companion: grace for yourself, grace for the ones you love, and grace for the long, heavy days that seem to stretch on forever.

But even in the midst of all the unknowns, God gives us glimpses of His kindness—little mercies tucked into the chaos.

One of those mercies?

If we had rushed back into chemo immediately after Reid’s hospital stay, we would have missed something critical: the three tumors that had quietly appeared in his liver. By God’s grace, the radiologists saw them clearly in the PET scan and MRI. It was a hard discovery, but also one that led us to praise—because even the hard things, when seen in His timing, are laced with purpose.

Tomorrow, Reid has a tele-consultation with Interventional Radiology. We are praying for wisdom that only heaven can give—for steady hands, clear eyes, and for the ability to “burn off” all three tumors. One tumor is so small that we wonder if it will even be visible by ultrasound, and if it’s too small to treat right now.

But we are choosing trust over fear. Trusting that God sees what we cannot. Trusting that He is weaving together a story bigger and more beautiful than anything we could script for ourselves.

Today in church, they read Exodus 11:9:
“The Lord had said to Moses, ‘Pharaoh will refuse to listen to you—so that my wonders may be multiplied in Egypt.’”

That verse felt like it was written just for me.
As we walk through what feels like a dark valley, I can’t help but see the parallel—the children of Israel trapped under Pharaoh’s harsh rule, waiting, praying, wondering if freedom would ever come. They lived under the weight of a hardened heart and impossible circumstances. And yet… God wasn’t absent. He was working, even in what seemed like silence.

Why did He allow it?
“So that My wonders may be multiplied.”

That line stopped me in my tracks.
It reminds me, once again, that His plans are bigger, deeper, and infinitely better than mine. He allows the hard, not because He is distant, but because He is preparing to display His glory in ways we could never orchestrate ourselves.

What feels like unanswered prayers or closed doors may actually be setting the stage for wonders far greater than I could imagine.
His wonders multiplied.
His story, not mine.
His plan, not my own.

And today, in the middle of the waiting and the wondering, that gives me hope.

We would love your prayers as we walk into tomorrow.

Read more about his 18 day hospital stay HERE

Family

Updates, Honest Prayers, and a Bit of Good News

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel
Edited in Tezza with: Contrast & Vintage

Thank you for your patience, dear readers. I know it’s been quiet over here, but the silence hasn’t been from lack of movement — quite the opposite. We’ve been busy doing life in all its messy, miraculous, and sometimes maddening forms. And for us, “doing life” includes navigating the complex and often nuanced path of living with chronic illness — in our case, cancer.

Read more about his traumatic 18 day hospital stay HERE

Read more about his at home healing routine many of you have ask for.

The other day, a mom asked me tenderly, “Is Reid going to be okay?”
It caught me off guard. Not because it was inappropriate — honestly, it came from such a caring place. But the truth is, I don’t have a simple answer. And that’s the part of this journey that is the hardest: not always having a script. Sometimes people ask incredibly thoughtful questions. Other times… not so much. I’ve had to grow thick skin, learn to filter well-intended comments, and lean hard into grace — for others and for myself.

But the most beautiful thing in all of this? God has met me in the quietest and loudest parts of this storm. His Word has been a constant whisper of peace, a balm of encouragement, and the very breath I cling to when mine feels shallow.

A Quick Reid Update

Many of you have been asking how Reid’s doing. While I do try to share day-to-day updates through my Instagram “close friends” channel, I know it’s been glitchy for some of you. If you’ve been trying to get in and can’t, I see you. I’m sorry. Thankfully, this blog space is still here for us to connect more deeply and directly.

So here’s where we are:
Reid has two cancerous spots on his liver — one is 8mm, the other is 1cm. We first noticed them on his PET scan, and they became more clearly defined in the MRI. As you can imagine, those words are hard to type. Even harder to say out loud. But here’s the part where we hang our hope: we’re praying he can undergo an embolization procedure through Interventional Radiology (IR) rather than full surgery in the OR. The latter comes with more risks — physically, emotionally, and logistically — and we’re really hoping it can be avoided.

We’re waiting to hear this coming week if he’s a good candidate for IR. Waiting is always the hardest part, isn’t it?

How You Can Pray With Us

This community has always been so faithful to lift us up — and it truly means the world. Here are a few specific things we’d love prayer for:

  1. No further spread and that he qualifies for the IR procedure soon. Time feels precious.
  2. Mental health — for all of us, honestly. This road is long, and it can wear you down in ways you don’t expect.
  3. A praise report — Reid has had amazing energy lately and even jumped back into his 5:30am workouts! The other morning, Brooks looked up at him and asked, “Dad, how did you get your muscles back so fast?”
    That question did something beautiful for Reid’s spirit. Kids just know what to say sometimes.
  4. Another little praise — I was excused from Jury Duty! Honestly, such a needed relief in this season.

Thank you for being here — for praying, for checking in, for showing up for our family in big and small ways. We’re holding onto hope and trusting that God is still writing a beautiful story in the middle of this unknown.

With love,
Shalice

Family

Weekend Treats at Moulin: A Taste of Paris in Newport Beach

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

This weekend, we decided to try something new and checked out Moulin in Newport Beach. It’s this cute French bakery and restaurant, and let me tell you—it was amazing! They had all these fun Parisian goodies like French candies, wine, fancy tablecloths, and the cutest little knick-knacks. I even spotted the same salt I get from Food Nanny! The kids went straight for the cakes and croissants, and Reid and I treated ourselves to cappuccinos. Such a great spot! It has been such a gift having Reid back home from the hospital. Days like these I prayed for!

Family

Reid’s 18 day hospital stay

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

Lyrics of Flowers by Samantha Ebert

Well, blue skies and hillsides feel so far away
And I wrote in my notebook that I’ve seen better days
Than the ones as of late, I can’t bear the weight

The rain won’t stop pouring out my window pane
And I haven’t left my bedroom in 76 days
I wish something would change
‘Cause I’m losing faith

So I brought it up in a desperate prayer
Lord, why are you keeping me here?
Then He said to me, “Child, I’m planting seeds
I’m a good God and I have a good plan
So trust that I’m holding a watering can
And someday you’ll see that flowers grow in the valley”

So whatever the reason, I’m barely getting by
I’ll trust it’s a season knowing that you’re by my side
Every step of the way
And I’ll be okay

‘Cause I brought it up in a desperate prayer
Lord, why are you keeping me here?
Then He said to me, “Child, I’m planting seeds
I’m a good God and I have a good plan”
So trust that I’m holding a watering can
And someday you’ll see that flowers grow in the valley
Mm, mm

I listened to this song on repeat during Reid’s 18 days in the hospital. So much has happened since that day, starting in the early hours of December 7, when Reid was hospitalized.

It was around 1:30 a.m. when I drove Reid to the ER. He was doubled over in pain, and I had to find a wheelchair abandoned in the parking lot to help him sit. I still can’t believe the amount of pain he was in. After vitals were taken and a painfully long wait in the ER, Reid was visibly shaking, his color was off, and his pulse was dangerously high. The doctors kept asking if he had a history of heart problems, which we denied.

Later, a surgeon came in and said Reid needed immediate surgery—he was in septic shock. After our difficult experience in the ER and hospital back in September, I insisted that he be transferred to City of Hope, even though it was over an hour away. (You can read more HERE about how LL missed Reid’s tumor on numerous scans.)

Somehow, we managed to get Reid’s surgeon, Dr. Andrea Kaiser, on the phone on a Saturday—a small miracle. Dr. Kaiser said they didn’t have an operating room available, and the wait would be too long for the emergency we were facing. Our surgeon, Dr. Martin Rosenthal, said we had less than 20 minutes, and surgery needed to happen right away. The gravity of his words hit me hard. Reid could barely speak and was shaking. I kept thinking, Is this the last time I’ll see him? My heart was racing, and tears were rolling down my face as Dr. Kaiser supported the surgery Dr. Rosenthal was about to perform.

In that moment, I looked at Dr. Rosenthal and asked him, “How many years have you been doing surgery?” I then said, “Please treat my husband as if he were your own son.” Can you picture that? It felt like a scene from a movie, the weight of the moment so intense. I was begging him with all my heart to do his best for Reid. I kissed Reid’s forehead, and he was quickly wheeled away to the operating room.

That night, Reid was in critical condition. I called on my prayer warriors to pray like mad for his health and well-being—and you did. You know who you are. After many hours of surgery, I received a call. The surgery was over, but the doctor wanted to talk to me in person. He said, “Drive safe.”

He met me in a special room and told me that Reid had gone into cardiac arrest and they had to perform CPR for four minutes. They couldn’t finish the surgery and left him open, putting him in the ICU. The days that followed were a blur, but also traumatic. Even as I recall it now, my heart tightens.

The next day, they had to go back in for a second surgery to complete the procedure, and Reid was returned to the ICU. One night during visiting hours, I noticed Reid looked ghostly white and something seemed wrong. A nurse gently touched my back and suggested I gather my things since visiting hours were about to end. I told her I needed to speak to the charge nurse to stay overnight because Reid didn’t look good. The nurse reassured me that he was in good hands.

I insisted on checking his temperature, which read 93°F—hypothermia. Later, they used a “bear hug” device to warm him up, but something still didn’t feel right. I asked her to page the on-call doctor. It was then that we learned Reid was losing blood rapidly, likely from internal bleeding after surgery. He underwent a CT scan, which revealed the bleed, and he received several blood transfusions.

Dr. Rosenthal took Reid back into surgery a third time to stop the bleeding and clean out the large amounts of blood. Friends, it was one of the scariest nights of my life. I was forced to go home, but I found comfort in listening to scripture for sleep on YouTube. Hour by hour, I called the nurse for updates, and she filled me in on his status—moving from CT to IT, receiving blood, and then back to the OR.

That night was terrifying, but in His mercy, God watched over Reid, and he eventually healed from three back-to-back surgeries. On the fifth night, December 12th, Reid was discharged from the ICU and moved to the 15th floor in the wee hours of the morning. This was a relief because it meant I could stay overnight and keep a closer eye on him.

December 12th was also my birthday, but I couldn’t sleep. Around 3:30 a.m., I called Reid’s room, and he was upset and hallucinating, something that never happens. He asked me to come, which was unusual for him. I asked the charge nurse for permission to visit before visiting hours, and thankfully, she said yes. I drove over at 4:30 a.m. and found Reid in a soiled gown, distressed, unattended, and still hallucinating from too many days on Lidocaine. I spoke with his nurse and charge nurse about the neglect, and we had him taken off the Lidocaine. I’ll note that up until this point, his care had been excellent, and I only expected the best. I’m sure you can agree, that this was just one of the reasons why we need advocates for our loved ones in the hospital.

Once Reid was off Lidocaine, he was still seeing things, but when I walked into the room, he smiled and said, “Happy Birthday!” That sweet moment was such a gift, and I’ll always treasure it.

As I reflect on those days, my heart is heavy, but God provided moments of grace throughout. Our marriage grew stronger, and we were supported by an incredible community of friends who brought us coffee, lunch, and even birthday gifts. I cannot express how grateful I am for them.

I did everything I could to help Reid get healthy again. Every day, I brought fresh beet juice, green juices, the best collagen, and vitamins. I massaged his feet and legs with magnesium lotion. I researched every wellness protocol I could find to help him recover. This routine continued, and I balanced trips to and from the hospital, managing the kids, and carrying around beet juice and homemade soups (sometimes spilling into my bag!).

This continued until Reid’s discharge on December 24th. Before leaving, his scans revealed a blood clot in his leg and an abscess in his abdomen. We took a deep breath, but thankfully, the abscess was just dried blood and wasn’t a major concern. He was put on blood thinners for the clot.

If I could share a few takeaways from this experience, it would be this: we learned so much. I wish I could forget those first five days, but funny enough, Reid was so sedated that he doesn’t remember them. I tell him he’s blessed not to remember.

Do I wonder how Reid got cancer in the first place? Absolutely. Do I believe that God brings trials to test and grow our faith? Absolutely. Do I hold fast to His word that says, “In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight?” Absolutely.

Reid is alive today, and that is a miracle. Can you join me in praising God for this?

Here are some takeaways:

If you’re wondering how to bless others in a similar situation with a loved on sin the hospital, here are some ways others have shown love and ministered to us.

1 Offer to bring a meal, a drink, or organize a meal train for them. I had a friend start a meal train for me and it was a huge blessing to our family.

2 Offer to clean their house. Especially if their hospital stay is long term. It is difficult on many levels to be away from home.

3 Offer a ride or to stay with their kids.

4 Offer to take down their Christmas tree – we were thankful to have help with this!

All of these things people have blessed us with!

Family

Packing for Chemo: What’s in Our Bag for This Journey

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

As the country awaits the transition to a new president, our family begins day one of four months of chemotherapy. I repeat, day 1!

I’ve packed a bag for this long first day of treatment (see my list below) and would love to hear what helped you get through if you’ve experienced this journey too. A friend is kindly watching our kids while we’re away today. Although we love City of Hope and it is a welcoming place, with a warm supportive staff, there’s a sense of fear and uncertainty as we start this new chapter. The unknown is daunting, but we’re ready to learn together. Reid is starting on “Oxaliplatin” chemo, and while there are many types and doses, we’ll take each step one at a time.

For those asking, Reid’s port installation went smoothly. He’s feeling a bit stiff and says he feels like a robot, turning his head carefully, but it’s a relief to know this port allows for aggressive chemo to help shrink the tumor.

Here’s what’s in my bag for today:

  • Grounding pad – A cancer diagnosis affects the mind in so many ways, and this mat has helped me sleep and feel more centered at night. Ours was a gift from John and Katie Gresko- thank you!
  • Cozy blanket, hat, and gloves
  • Protein powder
  • Essential oils – I love peppermint oil for headaches and de-stressing.
  • Oliveda lip oil – This has been great for the dry hospital air.
  • Chargers for phones and iPads and my red-light “LumeBox”
  • Healthy snacks – Kale chips, Ezekiel bread with grass-fed butter, pistachios, low-sugar gummies, mushroom hot chocolate, and plenty of teas like dandelion and green tea.

If you’ve gone through this, I’d love to hear your tips or items you found helpful. Thank you to everyone who has reached out and prayed for Reid and our family.

Chat soon,

Shalice

Family

A new chapter: chemo

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

I’m learning a whole new language—a language that includes terms like ice gloves, caps, nausea meds, vitamin C infusions, and three days of fatigue.

Reid is beginning a new chapter: Folfox, chemo.

As I was telling my son, who was wondering why God placed him in a class of all girls, I admitted I didn’t know. But I reminded him of Jonah, who tried to hide when God called him to Nineveh. “Did Jonah do what he was called to do?” I asked. “Sometimes, God asks us to do hard things.” Though we’re praying for a friend to join him in his class, I realized this is also a lesson for my own heart: indeed, God sometimes calls us to difficult paths.

I never thought cancer would be part of our story; it was always something I read about in others’ lives.

In the exam room, time seemed to stretch on as the oncologist gave us an overwhelming stream of information. My head started to ache. Later, an older nurse came in with more information about what the treatment would feel like. I immediately liked her. There’s something about older nurses—she was like a sweet grandma in a sterile place. But one scary thought kept surfacing: will Reid’s have another abscess? Also – can Reid’s body handle the intensity and rigor of chemo?

Not forgetting that this is a fashion blog, I distracted myself from the chemo talk by deciding that I need an LV neverfull for my birthday to hold all of Reid’s paperwork. Do you have one and love it? Let me know. My current bag – Midi Demellier was overflowing with hospital folders and water bottles…I digress . . . .

If anyone has tips on supporting a chemo patient with natural supplements, I’d love to hear them! I’m currently researching so Reid can have the best chemo experience possible.

Back to the schedule . . .

On Tuesday, they’ll install the port in his chest, and Wednesday, the first dose begins. It will mean six hours at the hospital and 46 hours total, as he’ll go home with a pump. How will he—or I—sleep without worrying about this pump?

But somehow, I tell myself, we’ll be okay. We’ll take each moment as it comes.

My friend Tracy set up a meal train for our family next week with the new demands of chemo. Thank you to those who have signed up to bless our family. I won’t lie, this diagnosis has been hard to juggle with a big family.

But we have a big community. God knew what we needed.

Until next time.

Shalice

Family

Next steps for Reid’s cancer journey

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

I wanted to keep this brief but share an update following our appointment with the surgeon and radiologist at City of Hope yesterday. We discussed Reid’s diagnosis and treatment plan in detail.

We were grateful that the doctors took the time to answer all our questions and didn’t rush us. They reviewed Reid’s CT scans from his hospital stay in September, showing his 7 cm tumor. I asked why this hadn’t been identified earlier, and while the surgeon acknowledged this was an oversight, we need to focus on moving forward. When he saw me struggling with the news, he told me, “We’re here to cure.” I feel confident that Reid is in good hands.

There was a lot to take in. The radiologist explained the next 8 months—laying out the plan through a thin mask and slight accent, with my mind racing to absorb it all as I jotted questions on scrap paper. Reid will undergo 4 months of chemotherapy, followed by 2 months of radiation, 2 months off, and then surgery. We are hopeful the tumor may even shrink before treatment begins. Prayer warriors, please pray for this—to see the tumor shrink now on its own.

Many have asked what stage is the cancer, the surgeon thought it was stage 3, without seeing the recent CT and MRI scans.

This journey isn’t easy, and I’m learning to accept that. There were moments I felt overwhelmed, yet I found myself planning next steps: new, nourishing recipes for Reid, positive affirmations, and self-care ideas. We’re ready to tackle this together. A friend from school sent me this verse the morning of our appointment, and it’s brought me comfort: “The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him.” (Nahum 1:7)

Thank you for all your love and prayers—your support means everything to us.

xx

Shalice

Family

Reid’s initial diagnosis

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

Many of you have asked how we found out about Reid’s diagnosis and what his symptoms were, especially since he’s young, fit, and we maintain a healthy diet. Honestly, it was a shock to us, too.

Before I share our journey, I want to remind everyone to never hesitate to schedule a colonoscopy. You never know what they’ll find, so don’t put it off!

Reid had been dealing with digestion issues for about three years. We often brushed it off, calling it the “Thoma stomach,” something his grandpa suffered with and I gave him extra enzymes to help. He’d occasionally complain about a stomach ache, but we didn’t think much more of it.

This past summer, we decided to join the annual family reunion in Texas to escape the Southern California heat. Maybe wishful thinking. We packed up the car with all our favorite snacks—because let’s be real, snacks are half the fun of a road trip! We had chomps, SmartSweets, sour gummies, licorice, and chips. It was definitely a fun car ride.

We made it to Flagstaff and spent the night at a less-than-5-star hotel, trying to make the most of it. But that night, Reid was in a lot of abdominal pain, worse than usual. He spent most of the night soaking in the hotel’s bathtub—the only thing that seemed to ease the pain in his back and abdomen. That’s when the questions started: Why has this pain been ongoing? Why is it getting worse?

At that point, morale hit rock bottom. The kids’ excitement deflated like a party balloon when we told them we had to turn around. It wasn’t easy giving them that news, especially after driving eight hours. The next morning, I drove us the eight hours back home.

Once back, we started researching and asking around for the best urgent care or ER options. Eventually, we ended up at an urgent care, where they advised us to go straight to the ER at Loma Linda Hospital. We arrived around 1 p.m. and stayed until 4 a.m., when Reid was finally admitted for potential surgery. That was the beginning of a nightmare week.

The doctors were general practitioners, each day bringing a new, negative opinion about his health. It was frustrating because no one could figure out what was going on. Was it diverticulitis? Ulcerative colitis? Crohn’s disease? They kept asking if Reid had a history of Crohn’s, which he didn’t.

Eventually, they performed “exploratory endoscopy” surgery. After seven incisions, they removed his appendix and an unexpected abscess. Later, we found out from pathology that his appendix was clean and didn’t need to be removed. Reid felt much better post-surgery, but we had to wait for the next milestones: gas and a bowel movement. Without those, he couldn’t be discharged. It felt like an eternity, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up the daily hospital visits from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. The kids kept telling me they missed me at home, but they also understood how important it was for me to be there with Reid, advocating for him and pushing the doctors with the hard questions.

Finally, after a long week, we were cleared to go home. I hadn’t felt that kind of relief since we bought our house—it had been a while. It was such a joy to have him back under our roof, where I could make him homemade bone broth instead of the junk food from the hospital.

That first night, all seven of us slept so well, knowing Reid was home. I hope that helps answer some of your questions regarding how could Reid, a healthy 40 something get a bad report from his colonoscopy.

Stay tuned for more updates.

Holding onto our maker.

Shalice

Family

Life Update

by Shalice Noel
written by Shalice Noel

Hi everyone,

This isn’t the blog post I had hoped to write, but I feel it’s important to share. When Reid was hospitalized, I started posting health updates on my Instagram channel. Unfortunately, the platform has been glitchy, and many of you have mentioned that you’re unable to join the channel or access the updates.

Though this is hard for me to write, I wanted to provide this update here, hoping it reaches those of you who’ve been concerned and following Reid’s journey.

On a bright Friday morning, Reid and I drove down to Mission Viejo for what we thought would be a routine colonoscopy. When we arrived, the nurse seemed a bit abrupt, telling us Reid wasn’t “cleaned out” enough for the procedure. Confused and frustrated, I asked for clarification. He had taken the Suprep and drank the water as instructed the night before. But apparently, he was supposed to drink more water. Note to self for next time—at least when I have to face the dreaded colonoscopy.

The nurse popped into the waiting room, advising me not to go far. I assured her I was just planning to grab some groceries two miles away while I waited. “Perfect!” she said. I walked out, headed for the parking garage, and drove to the grocery store. I picked up our usual staples that barely last two days in my house and returned to the parking lot. Sitting in the car, I took a deep breath.

Something in my gut told me the news I’d be getting in the next 20 minutes wouldn’t be good. I can’t explain how I knew—it was a sobering thought. But soon, I was distracted by the beauty around me: the boulevards lined with birds of paradise and the fresh morning air. A nice distraction from the heaviness that was settling in my heart.

I got the call from the surgery center that Reid was out and ready to go. I quickly made my way back. After a few minutes, they called my name. I found Reid in a corner office with our doctor. His usually cheerful face looked grave.

“I don’t have good news for you,” he said.

He explained there was a tumor growing in Reid’s colon, and we’d need a CT scan to see if it had spread. He even showed us pictures of the tumor, explaining that it had blocked the way, preventing them from completing the colonoscopy. Exactly the news I was dreading. Exactly what I didn’t want to hear.

A heavy swarm of emotions hit me—too hard to articulate. Grief hits differently. Even the simplest tasks, like getting directions to a new place this week, felt overwhelming and frustrating. I’ve found myself staring at walls, lost in thought. Grief hits differently.

When we got home, we shared the news with the kids, and we all cried together. I know this isn’t an ending, but the beginning of a long road ahead. Please understand if I take breaks between posting campaigns—bills still need to be paid, especially with hospital expenses. I had already signed two campaigns before we learned about Reid’s condition, so if you see me posting, it’s because I need to keep working. It’s not dissonant—it’s survival. Your support means everything right now. Like, comment, share—every bit helps. We’re in this together, right? And honestly, the distraction of work is welcome as we figure out our next steps.

We love you all. Please be patient with us as we figure this out.

Shalice

“But you oh Lord are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head”

Psalm 3:3

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