Some People Are Meant to Stay — And Some Are Not

Some people walk into your life like passing seasons.

They arrive with noise, with laughter, with moments that feel warm and full for a while. They bring a kind of comfort that feels real in the moment—like something you can count on. And then, just as quietly as they came, they fade away.

At first, it hurts more than you expect.

You find yourself replaying conversations, questioning what changed, wondering if you said the wrong thing or didn’t try hard enough. You try to make sense of how something that felt so genuine could disappear so easily.

That kind of loss doesn’t always come with closure. Sometimes, it just leaves silence where connection used to be.

But over time, life has a way of softening that confusion and replacing it with understanding.

Not everyone is meant to stay.

And that truth, as difficult as it can be to accept, is not something meant to break you—it’s something meant to guide you.

Because the people who are truly meant for your life show up differently.

They don’t disappear when things get hard. They don’t pull away when your world feels heavy or when you’re not at your best. They don’t require you to be constantly smiling, constantly strong, or constantly “okay.”

They simply stay.

They sit with you in the quiet moments, when words feel too heavy to carry. They understand what you can’t always explain. They offer presence instead of solutions, and comfort instead of distance.

These are the people who see you clearly—not just in your best moments, but in your hardest ones too.

True friendship, real connection, isn’t built only on shared laughter or easy days. It’s built in the moments where things feel messy, uncertain, and real.

It’s in the choice to stay when it would be easier to walk away.

Because loyalty isn’t loud or attention-seeking. It doesn’t need to prove itself with big gestures or constant reminders.

It’s quiet.

It’s steady.

It’s the kind of presence that shows up again and again, even when there’s nothing to gain.

And maybe that’s the rarest kind of love there is—not the kind that comes and goes depending on the season, but the kind that remains through all of them.

Through change.

Through growth.

Through every version of who you are becoming.

So if you have even one person in your life who chooses to stay—who stands beside you not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard—hold onto that.

Nurture it. Appreciate it. Protect it.

Because in a world where so many connections are temporary, a loyal heart is something truly rare.

And something truly worth keeping.

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Standing Together: Why This Strike Is About More Than Just CCAs

I am a CCA, and I am currently on strike—but I’m not just striking for myself. I’m striking in solidarity with my peers and coworkers.

This is about more than CCAs. This is about the people I work alongside every single day—my friends in service support, recreation, housekeeping, dietary, and laundry.

People don’t always see what goes on behind the scenes.

Laundry workers? I know what goes into those baskets—the smell, the weight, the reality of it. These workers handle hundreds of pounds of laundry every single day for over 100 residents. Personal clothing, soaked towels, linens from daily care—washed, dried, folded, sorted—day in and day out. It’s constant, physical, and often overlooked work.

Dietary? Imagine being responsible for feeding two floors—24 residents—often on your own. Serving meals, restocking kitchens, doing dishes, supporting residents… all while sometimes facing frustration when someone isn’t happy with what’s on their plate. It’s not just food service—it’s care.

Recreation might sound fun—and it can be—but it’s also a huge responsibility. Planning activities, booking entertainment, fundraising, going room to room encouraging participation, supporting resident council, organizing holidays… all while carrying the emotional weight of making sure residents feel connected, engaged, and not forgotten.

Housekeeping? It’s far more than “just cleaning.” It’s 12 rooms, plus hallways, every single day. Working around residents and their personal belongings, maintaining cleanliness and dignity, sweeping and mopping entire floors. Cleaning washrooms , common areas, and often stepping in to help wherever needed.

Then contract time comes… and time after time, these workers are overlooked. Offered next to nothing compared to others.

During COVID, some workers were rightfully called heroes. But where was that same recognition for everyone else? Housekeeping helped prevent the spread. Dietary kept residents nourished and healthy. Laundry workers handled contaminated linens. Recreation staff found ways to bring connection during isolation.

They showed up. Every day. Just like the rest of us.

This strike is hard on everyone. It’s not easy to walk away from the people we care for. But even our residents understand—because they see us. They see the work, the effort, the care that goes into what we do.

Call us greedy if you want.

But if we were greedy, we would take a deal that benefits only us and leaves our coworkers behind.

We’re not doing that.

Because it’s not right. It hasn’t been right for a long time.

And we’re standing together to finally make it right.

Sometimes I look at myself and I don’t even recognize who I am anymore.

Grief has a way of changing you… aging you… in ways you can’t explain unless you’ve lived it. It’s not just sadness—it’s this constant ache that sits with you every single day. You wake up with it, you carry it, and you go to bed with it.

Some days are harder than others. Some days you wake up and wonder how you’re supposed to keep going. Because the truth is… when you lose your child, you lose a piece of yourself that you can never get back.

I miss my son every single day. He was the most important part of my life, and that doesn’t just go away. But not everyone wants to hear about your grief all the time… not everyone understands that it doesn’t have an off switch.

So you learn to be quiet.

You carry it on your own.

You smile when you have to.

And inside, your heart is still breaking.

Grief is heavy. It’s lonely. And it changes you forever.

If you’re carrying something like this too… I see you. 🤍

These little buggers

Haha they really do act like they own the place, don’t they? 😄 Those geese can be ruthless on a lawn—between the mess and the torn-up grass, it’s like they’re on a mission.

The pie plate idea is actually a good one—the movement and reflection can spook them a bit, especially if there’s some wind. But yeah… if there’s a “safe landing zone,” they’ll figure it out fast. They’re smarter (and more stubborn) than people think.

Running a string between trees and hanging a bunch of plates is a solid upgrade 👏 I am  basically creating a moving, flashing barrier, which should make them a lot more uncomfortable sticking around.

If they still try their luck, a couple extra tricks I can try :

Change things up every few days (they get used to patterns)

Add something that moves more erratically (like streamers or flags)

Even a fake predator (like a coyote decoy) can help—sometimes 😆

Geese: 1 → I  am : coming back strong 💪😂

I'll know let you tomorrow who won the war!

Cottage Life

This morning I woke up to the most beautiful sunrise over the lake. We’re staying at the cottage, and I just love it here. I sat out on the deck, looking out across the still water, listening to the birds sing—it was so peaceful.

I can’t wait to have our wedding here. It’s going to be so special 🤍

Ellen's Topless Pool Service

Here's something to get you laughing today. Have a watch.

“Nova Scotia’s Best-Kept Secret: White Sand Beaches

I’ve lived in Nova Scotia my entire life, and until about two years ago, I had no idea we were home to some of the most beautiful white sand beaches anywhere.

Growing up in the Valley, I was used to red clay shores — the kind that stick to your feet and are just part of what you expect here. When people talk about beaches in Nova Scotia, you usually hear about places like Crystal Crescent Beach, Rissers Beach, or Clam Harbour Beach. And don’t get me wrong — they are absolutely beautiful.

But over the past couple of years, I’ve discovered something I never expected… Nova Scotia has a completely different side.

A side with long, untouched stretches of soft white sand. Beaches that feel wild, peaceful, and almost undiscovered. The kind of places where you can walk for kilometres and barely see another person.

Some of these places honestly made me stop and think — how did I not know this was here?

Here are a few that completely changed how I see our coastline:

• Stoney Island Beach – One of my personal favourites. Nearly 2 km of soft white sand, perfect for long walks, sunsets, and just taking it all in.

• The Hawk Beach – Wide open, windswept, and absolutely stunning. It feels like it goes on forever. Home to the  1,500 year old drowned forest – a broad area of petrified tree stumps still rooted in the original soil that are exposed at low tide.

• Green Hills Beach – Quiet, peaceful, and a hidden gem that doesn’t get talked about enough.

• Sand Hills Beach – Known for its soft sand and warm water if you time it with the tide — a must-visit if you’re in the area.

• Causeway Beach – Easy to access and perfect for a quick escape by the ocean.

• Roseway Beach – A beautiful mix of scenery and serenity.

• Mavillette Beach – A long, sweeping beach on the Bay of Fundy side with incredible views.

Each one offers something a little different, but they all have one thing in common — they don’t feel crowded or overdone. They feel real. Natural. Nova Scotia.

It’s funny how you can live somewhere your whole life and still find places that completely surprise you.

Now I find myself constantly looking for the next hidden beach, the next stretch of coastline I haven’t walked yet.

If you’ve only ever known Nova Scotia for its red sand and rocky shores, trust me — there’s so much more waiting to be discovered.

And sometimes, it’s right in your own backyard

Stoney Island beach “Proof you don’t need to leave Nova Scotia for white sand"

The Hawk Beach “This is not the Caribbean… it’s home.”

Documentary I Watched

I watched a documentary the other day about 9/11. It focused on police officers and firefighters who survived, and it included footage I had never seen before—which surprised me, because I thought I had seen just about everything over the years.

But what really stuck with me wasn’t just the footage—it was the facts.

As of December 2023, 6,781 people have died from illnesses or cancers linked to their time at or near Ground Zero. That’s more than twice the number of people who were killed on 9/11 itself.

And by September 2024, more than 360 firefighters have died from World Trade Center-related illnesses… compared to the 343 firefighters who lost their lives that day.

That honestly shocked me.

We often think of 9/11 as something that happened in the past—one terrible day in history. But the truth is, it’s still taking lives. It didn’t end when the dust settled. For so many first responders and their families, it never really ended at all.

It made me realize how much those men and women gave—not just in that moment, but in the years that followed. The cost of that day is still being paid, even now.

""Say their name "

Grief is a bitch.

I lost my son two and a half years ago, and I know I’ll never be the same. Grief changes you in ways you don’t expect and in ways you can’t always explain. I look in the mirror and sometimes I feel like I’ve aged so much… maybe I have, or maybe it’s just the weight I carry now that shows up differently.

Some days, it feels like I’m just going through the motions. Smiling when I’m supposed to, showing up because I have to—but inside, there’s a part of me that’s still stuck in that moment when everything changed.

And then there’s something else I’ve noticed… something that’s hard to put into words, but I know I’m not alone in feeling it.

The silence.

Heaven forbid you say your loved one’s name out loud. It’s like the room freezes. People look down, or away, or suddenly find something else to talk about. It becomes this unspoken thing—like if we don’t say their name, it somehow makes it easier.

But it doesn’t.

It makes it lonelier.

I know people don’t mean to do it. I think most of the time they’re just afraid—afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of making it worse, afraid of not knowing what to say at all. But the truth is, there is no perfect thing to say. There’s just being there.

And sometimes, the best thing you can do is not be afraid to say their name. To let them still exist in conversation. To remember them out loud.

Because yes, they are gone. We can’t change that. But they mattered. They still matter. And they deserve to be spoken about, remembered, and shared.

For me, talking about my son doesn’t make the pain worse—it keeps him close. It reminds me of who he was, of the love that’s still there, even if he isn’t physically here anymore.

We should never stop talking about the people we’ve lost. Not in whispers, not like it’s something fragile or forbidden—but openly, honestly, with love.

That’s how we keep their memory alive.

That’s how we keep them with us.

If you’ve experienced this kind of silence too, you’re not alone. And if you’re someone who isn’t sure what to say to someone who’s grieving, just know this—saying their loved one’s name, sharing a memory, or simply listening can mean more than you realize.

And if you feel comfortable, I’d love to hear about the people you carry with you. Say their names. Share their stories. Keep them alive in the way only we can.

Back to Blogging

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. I used to really enjoy it, and looking back now, I realize just how much it meant to me. At the time, I know some people felt I was putting too much of my life out there—but when I revisit those posts, I see something different. I see memories, moments, and connections with people who related to what I shared.

Whether I was writing about my day, something I saw, or even something I heard in the news, it was always just a reflection of life as it happened—and people seemed to enjoy that.

Now, I find myself at a different stage in life, coming back to something that once brought me a lot of joy. So here I am, blogging again. Whether you choose to read, follow along, or just stop by once in a while—that’s entirely up to you.