For the People Who Are Truly Yours

Last week ended with loss.

My brother-in-law, Harold, passed away after a long and brutal battle with a devastating illness. While my heart is grateful he is finally at peace — no longer suffering, no longer fighting — it breaks deeply for my sister-in-law.

She is one of the kindest souls I have ever known. A caregiver through and through. She stood by Harold's side through every hard season of this illness — the good moments and the devastating ones — and she was there with him at the very end, whispering that it was okay to let go.

That is both the most profound blessing and the heaviest of burdens. I haven't walked that road myself, but I can feel the full weight of it. I keep thinking about what the quiet must feel like for her now. The adjustment to a life that looks completely different than it did before. I know her faith will carry her through. And I know her people — our people — will be there when she needs us.

Harold's passing made me sit back and reflect in a way that only grief and gratitude together can.

I am so deeply thankful for my people.

Mark, my husband of 28 years — yes, 28 years this weekend — my girls, my family, my friends, and honestly even my co-workers. I have been surrounded by remarkable human beings, and I don't take that lightly. The ones who talk me off the ledge after a hard week at work. The ones who show up without being asked. The ones who offer a piece of advice in a fleeting moment that somehow stays with you for years. The ones who simply get you — even on the days you don't quite get yourself.

This is exactly why the #SendANoteSaturday initiative means so much to me on a personal level. It isn't just a fun community challenge. It's my opportunity to reach out to the people who have shaped me and say: I see you. I'm grateful for you. You matter to me.

Sometimes those notes are for the big, obvious moments. And sometimes they're for the quiet ones — the phone call that came at exactly the right time, the word of encouragement that landed when I needed it most.

Grief has a way of making you hold the living a little closer.

This weekend also marks 28 years of marriage to Mark. Twenty-eight years. It genuinely amazes me how quickly the time has moved. When I look back over our life together — the growth, the change, the seasons we've walked through — it has truly been a for better or worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer kind of life.

And I wouldn't trade a single moment of it.

Mark is my rock, my confidant, and my very best friend. We are two completely different people — and yes, opposites absolutely attract — but I love every bit of that, too.

So I'll leave you with the questions sitting on my own heart this week:

Who are your people?
Do you recognize the role they play in your life?
Do you acknowledge the blessing of their presence — not just in your heart, but out loud, where they can actually hear it?

If someone came to mind while you were reading this, that's not an accident.

Write to them this week. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be sent.

If you're looking for a simple way to start, choose one person and one note. It could be a quiet gesture of remembrance, like the Cardinal & Dogwood Notecard, inspired by the way cardinals so often feel like a visit from someone we miss. Or it might be a gentle reminder of God's nearness in our grief, like the Hand-Painted Angel Card. Whatever you choose, your words are the part they'll hold onto.

That's why I make what I make — every notecard, every notepad, every bookmark. To make it a little easier to say the things that matter to the people who matter most.

With hope and gratitude,
Sigried