2025

Happy Book Birthday!

What if grief didn’t have to be so isolating? We’ve all lost parts of our lives over the last five years. And we need stories of hope and recovery in a world that continues to ache.

Whether you are in the throes of immediate loss, or years down the road from heartache, this book will call you to the hope and healing found in quiet moments as you practice choosing joy while tending to your despair.

I’m thrilled to share “Grief Cookies & Other Comforting Things” is available today at retailers everywhere.

Thank you to the many people who helped me bring this book to life! While impossible to mention everyone, I’m grateful to Claire Schneeberger, Franklin Taggart, Liesel Mindrebo Mertes, Annie Herzig, Zach Mercurio, Ph.D., Carla Fernandez, Margo Fowkes, Tanja Pajevic, Alexia Paul, Beth Wright and her team, Teresa Funke and my book launch team for the support over the past year!

Get your copy on Amazon
Get your copy on Bookshop.org
Get your copy at Barnes & Noble

An Invitation to Grieve Differently

Ten years in the making, I’m excited to share my new will be available for purchase October 14th!

In this collection of essays, I invite readers to witness the lonely, chaotic and unpredictable swings of grief.
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Whether you are in the throes of immediate loss, or years down the road from heartache, this book will call you to the hope and healing found in quiet moments as you practice choosing joy while tending to your despair.
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​Get on the list to be the first to order a copy!

Coming Soon

An exciting update from my corner of the woods.

The book I’ve been dreaming of has a tentative publication date! 10 years of blogging has been curated down into a beautiful collection on grief, comfort and hope. Release set for mid-October!

I’m working with great artists, editors, and project managers to help bring my grief story and encouragement to the world.

I’ll announce the title soon.

If you’re interested in learning more, helping launch and/or promote the book, or cheering from the sidelines, please let me know.

In With the Wind

To return to the keyboard after months away feels delicious. Clacking is comfort.

While the world seems to spin in turmoil, I’m reminded again of the practice of looking for and engaging with the ordinary.

Spring allergies have found me, hitching Kleenex to my pockets and in my purse. I’m sneezing and blowing and swiping all throughout the day.

On one quick afternoon walk, pushing to find fifteen minutes of solitude, I fought the warm winds bringing in a storm over the mountains. These same winds, though, brought me a gift.

As I turned a corner bracing for another firm blow, I noticed all of the scents of the blooming flowers pushing to greet me. Lilacs, irises, poppies, and hydrangeas are popping up through the ground to wave hello. In with the winds come the familiar scents of spring.

Sure, the smells of flowers are easy to dismiss.

But in these blustery days, I was tickled to remember, these blooms appear without much coaxing. They sit, waiting to be admired, or ignored, as we go about our days.

Why do we plant them?

Aesthetics, sure. And perhaps, the truth goes deeper. May we hope for return. Hope for fragrance. Hope for beauty to emerge, over and over again.

Here we are again. What will you allow to grace you this week?

Honking at Me?

Applying sunscreen to a two-year old is now a two person job. This morning, I held the wriggling creature, as her dad tried to make her laugh. One hand on her waist, the other trying to hold hair back from her neck, I counted to five as we swiped the deodorant-like stick across her face. In our juggling she paused, “Earrings Mama!”

“Where?” I asked.
“Right there, on the counter.”
“If we get this sunscreen on your face, you can pick a pair.”

She agreed and the wiggling subsided. As she calmed, her focus turned toward selecting the perfect pair of stick-ons, she started humming to herself.

“Which ones do you want Mama?” she asked.
“You pick first.” I said, sucking my teeth as I looked at the clock.

“No, you.”

She insisted. And I succumbed, being given a pair of pink daisies with blue petals.

I remember once seeing a meme that said if a toddler gives you something, you must accept it. They have so little tangible things and most are connected right to their hearts.

Few people saw me out in the world today. I’m not sure if the clerk at the post office noticed my ears. But I knew that little gift was there.

On my walk back to my office, my head full of thoughts of what-ifs and anger about the current state of certain things, I noticed I was getting honked at.

“What the hell?” I thought, looking down the street.

But no, the looming big trash truck wasn’t honking at me.

They were tooting the horn for the gaggle of school children flocking to the fence at recess.

As the blue truck moved towards me at the crosswalk, I watched grown men in green vests delight small children in their green Catholic school clothes.

Tears came to my eyes.

Yes, the world is hurting, but the trash men are honking. The children are laughing. And giving gifts.

We must slow down to notice them. What’s getting in the way of your ability to receive?

I’m still wearing the earrings tonight. Those suckers are surprisingly sticky. If they make it through the night, I’ll be sure to remind my daughter just how grateful for them I am.

In the Picture Window

My grandmother always started the prayer before dinner with this:
“In the rush of a busy day, oh Lord, we pause to give you thanks…”

Ironically, I don’t remember the rest of the prayer. I’m sure the blessing involved gratitude for food and abundance. The specifics were important at the time, but they’ve faded, as too have our prayers at the dinner table.

Instead, I often find myself rushing, from here to there, from dream to dream. And I think of Grandma and how she could get us all to pause, just for a moment, before we ate.

As I was rushing from the office to do daycare pickup, I found myself stalled in a long line of traffic. Red break lights shone for miles ahead of me, as the construction for the new grocery store in town brought the three-lane road down to one.

While I waited, I turned my head to the left, noticing a small alterations studio alongside road. In the large picture window, lit up by bright fluorescent lights, a young bride was standing in her gown.

I couldn’t see her face, only the veil cascading down her back. I watched her lift on to her toes as the seamstress and friends held mounds of fabric. I watched her bounce in the light.

There’s a lot happening right now, much of it shocking and sad. I find myself rushing, away from headlines, and towards the different outcomes I hope we can create. But sometimes, the break lights are there for a reason.

In that picture window, someone was excited about the future she was hoping to create. She was surrounded by white, literally glowing. And she was moving towards a new chapter, hopefully eager and with joy.

We don’t have to be brides to understand the anticipation of change. And sometimes, we need help remembering what it feels like to be on our toes, bouncing towards what could be.

I want more of that energy in this season.

Less rushing, more light. More white.

Beautiful things.

It’s Glittering

I’ve been working with an editor to turn this blog into a book. It’s a humbling experience, having a trusted partner cut ten years of musings into under 200 pages. As Stephen King says, “Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings.”

I fear that after ten years, what I appreciate may have become repetitive. Yes, my attention has been on gleaning and refining rather than generating new ideas, but I know in the cuts, I’ve held back here. I don’t want to bore you. Perhaps I’ve drawn attention to similar noticing many times before.

This morning, standing in the garage in negative temperatures, I counted to five in my head, trying to get my toddler into her carseat. The exercise tests my patience and my invites profound mindfulness. As I waited for her to pull her growing body up into her seat, on her own of course, I turned to wait.

Just beyond the driveway, I watched ice crystals glimmer in the sun and the frigid breeze.

“Look baby!” I exclaimed. “It’s glittering outside.”

And with that invitation to redirect attention, she sat her tiny butt in the seat in awe.

It’s glittering outside.

A good developmental editor can review thousands of words and find themes, building story arcs in the bulk of material. She is helping me find the glitter.

I’m not one to usually run out of words, but I am changing direction here. Posts will slow as I work to turn this collection into something with a cover. I hope you’ll continue to read when a post does emerge.

With ten years of practice, the exercise in looking for beautiful things has become a part of me. I focus on the connections in conversations happening next to me at coffee shops. The excited hellos, an older gentleman leaning down to pick up a glove my kid dropped on the sidewalk, the warmth found in a cup of tea.

In these divided times, calls to action seem loud and demand quick and constant attention. I’ve committed, though, to the appreciation for the mini moments that bring us hope in our moments of frustration, disconnect, and grief. Small is mighty. Repetition can turn to ritual.

Today, the branches were blowing, offering light in the cold. Tomorrow, there will be something different.

Maybe I’ll capture it here, but really, I hope all of this work helps you remember, to capture these beautiful things in your own hearts. Our world needs more calm and compassionate seekers.

Stay tuned, a book is coming, and in the waiting remember, we need the beautiful things. More than ever.

Find your darlings. Find your darlings. Delight in something beautiful.

PS – If you feel compelled to help finance the project of turning the blog into a book, I’ll happily accept support. I’ll also be building a book launch team later this year. Send me an email at katie at katiehuey.com and I’ll send you the info.