As I sit here, the echoes of the past year linger in my heart. The turning of the calendar feels less like a clean slate and more like a continuation of the story, a chance to pause and make sense of the chapters already written.
This past year has been one of the most challenging and transformative of my life. Through grief, self-forgiveness, and unexpected realizations, I’ve learned to embrace the messy, complicated beauty of simply being human.
Grief was my uninvited companion last year, a weight I could not shed, a shadow I could not escape. Losing my beloved Nan, our beautiful and loyal German Shepherd, Zypher, and our precious kitty, all within weeks and months of each other, felt like an impossible burden. 
How do you move forward when every corner of your heart is filled with absence? 
Each loss carried its own unique pain, but together, they created a hollow that I wasn’t sure I could ever fill again. I tried to move through it, tried to find comfort in memories, but some days the sheer ache of it was too much to bear. Grief demanded everything from me, leaving no part untouched.
But grief didn’t come alone. It brought along a companion, regret. There was one relationship I didn’t have time to mend before it was too late. The one person I let down was gone before I could put things right. That weight was crushing, a relentless ache that whispered questions I couldn’t answer. 
Living with the knowledge that time isn’t always on our side was a cruel and heartbreaking lesson to learn. Time, so often taken for granted, had slipped away before I could make things whole again. Forgiving myself for that has been one of the hardest journeys of my life.
Self-forgiveness is rarely linear. For a long time, I carried that regret like a punishment I deserved. But somewhere in the quiet moments, I started to realize that beating myself up wouldn’t honor her memory. She deserved love, not my self-loathing. Slowly, I began the work of offering myself the same compassion I would extend to a friend. It’s still a work in progress, but I’ve come to understand that forgiveness doesn’t erase the past, it simply softens its hold on you, allowing you to move forward with a little grace.
In the midst of all this pain, I was forced to confront another hard truth: how often I silenced myself. Too many times last year, I found myself interrupted or dismissed, my words pushed aside like they didn’t matter. Each time it happened, it felt like a confirmation of every insecurity I’d ever had. But then, somewhere along the way, I realized something important. When someone talks over you or disregards your voice, it says more about them than it does about you. It’s not my flaw, but theirs, a reflection of their inability to listen, to respect, or to see value in others. That shift in perspective didn’t erase the hurt, but it helped me stop internalising it. My voice matters, and so does yours.
The year also taught me that worth isn’t something to be earned through endless productivity or approval from others. In the quiet moments, when I wasn’t chasing anything or proving myself, I found tiny pockets of peace. Sitting in silence with someone I love, feeling the warmth of the sun, or laughing over a silly memory, those moments whispered to me that life’s value isn’t in grand achievements but in the connections and presence we bring to it.

2024 was the year, I turned 46, the age my darling dad was when he left this world. It’s a milestone that has cast a shadow over my days and lingered in my quiet moments, a poignant reminder of time’s passage and life’s fragility.
My thoughts have been heavy, yet my heart is brimming with an overwhelming tide of emotions that words often fail to capture.
My dad was my anchor, my hero, and the person who gave me a sense of unwavering safety in this unpredictable world. To me, 46 was never just a number. It was *his* number, frozen in time, a marker of a life lived and lost too soon. And now, as I find myself walking in his footsteps, I’ve felt an inexplicable connection to him, like I’m holding his hand through the years he never got to see.
This 46th year has played on my mind in ways I didn’t anticipate. The looming presence of 46 felt like a countdown at first, a point in the distance that filled me with trepidation. What if this was the year my journey would mirror his? That intrusive thought settled into the corners of my mind, whispering fears and unspoken questions. It wasn’t just about mortality, it was about legacy, about whether I had done enough, loved enough, or lived enough.
Grief, I’ve learned, isn’t a straight line. It’s a winding road that circles back, reopens wounds, and demands to be felt over and over again. And turning 46 was like walking into an echo of my dad’s life, all the things he’d accomplished, the love he’d poured out, and the gaps he’d unknowingly left behind. It’s a strange thing to grieve the future someone didn’t get to have while living out your own.
The mental weight of this year has been profound. Some days, I felt like I was drowning in the "what-ifs." What if I wasn’t as strong as he was? What if I let the people I love down? These thoughts brought waves of anxiety that left me questioning my worth, my purpose, and the paths I’ve chosen. But amidst the struggle, there was a quiet resilience, a whisper of my dad’s voice reminding me to keep going.
In the moments when the weight felt unbearable, I turned to the things that connected me to him. Music we used to listen to together, and the stories my family told me about his laugh, his kindness, his quirks. These fragments of him became my lifeline, grounding me in the knowledge that he’s still here, somehow, in me.
My 46th year has also been a mirror, reflecting not just the life he lived but the one I’m still writing. It’s made me realize how precious every moment is, how fleeting our time can be. I’ve hugged my loved ones tighter, hopefully spoken my feelings louder, and tried to live with the kind of openhearted joy my dad would have wanted for me.
As my 46th year draws to a close, I’ve learnt to embrace 46 not as an endpoint but as a bridge. It’s a connection to the man who shaped me and a reminder that life, no matter how unpredictable, is worth cherishing. My dad didn’t get to see 47, but I will. And I’ll carry him with me into that year and every year after, honoring his memory by living fully, loving deeply, and finding beauty in the ordinary.
To anyone reading this who has felt the shadows of milestones tied to loss, know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel the sadness, to let it wash over you, and to find comfort in the memories of those you’ve loved. And when you’re ready, it’s okay to find joy again, to let the light back in.
Turning 46 was hard. But it was also a gift. A reminder that every year, every day, is an opportunity to write your story. And for my dad, for myself, and for those I love, I’m committed to making it a story worth telling.

Amidst all this learning and growth, Athena and Obito entered my life, (Athena, on the 16th of December 2023 and Obito, on the 31st of August 2024.) two beautiful souls who have brought light, joy, and mischief in equal measure. Athena, my elegant, intelligent, soft-hearted, and gentle yet stubborn one-year-old Husky, has a personality that’s larger than life. Her black, grey, and white coat gleams as she bounds through life with her bi-eyes, one nearly white ice-blue and the other a rich chestnut. She is a pack leader who loves to make mischief, jumping over furniture, snuggling into blankets, and digging enthusiastically in her quest to reach Australia. Her aversion to getting wet, especially her delicate paws, and her disdain for walking on the grass in our garden, contrast amusingly with her joy in muddy fields. Athena’s unique quirks have earned her the nicknames Princess and Miss Pants.

And then there’s Obito, her clumsy, derpy, affectionate five-month-old Malamute brother. With his black face, tan eyebrows, black, tan, and grey body, with tan legs and paws, he’s finally growing into his massive paws and adorable toe beans. 
Watching him run is a sight to behold, a baby walrus in motion. His love language is wet, sloppy kisses and the goofiest smile as he places his paw firmly in your lap. Nicknamed Mr. Toe Beans, Tank, and Baby Walrus, Obito’s boundless energy and affectionate nature fills our home with laughter.
These two have transformed our lives, their quirks and personalities shining through every moment we share. I can’t express the depth of love I feel for them. They remind me every day of the beauty of living in the moment, embracing the chaos (I find this hard at times), and finding joy in the simplest things. In their presence, the heaviness of the past feels lighter, their love a balm for a grieving heart.

With Athena and Obito’s inspiration, I’ve found a new love, writing short stories about them and the fictional adventures they have. These stories have brought not just joy to me but to my mum and Auntie Jan as well. I hope they have brought you a little joy or laughter too. If you have the time, I would love some feedback on them, how I can improve the stories, or even ideas for possible adventures you would like to read about.

Another passion close to my heart is family history, an unwavering love that has, sadly, taken a back seat lately. Through my series, "The Life Of, Through Documentation," I hope to start sharing my findings again. Family research and the life stories of our ancestors hold incredible importance. They give us a deeper understanding of who we are, where we come from, and even why certain traits or passions run in our personalities. Our ancestors’ stories are windows to a world that shaped us, and revisiting them brings a profound connection to our roots.

I also hope to reignite my love for crochet and to begin creating again in 2025. Over the years, crochet has been a powerful ally in managing my anxiety and depression, bringing me peace and purpose. A passion or hobby, or simply taking time to do what you love, can work wonders for mental health. Crochet reminds me that creativity has the power to heal and ground us when life feels overwhelming.

Though I find it extremely hard to read books these days due to brain fog and medication, I have discovered immense gratification in listening to audiobooks. They allow me to escape reality for a while, their stories a sanctuary for my mind. The art of great storytelling is a beautiful gift, and I look forward to listening to many more books in the coming year. Audiobooks have shown me that even when traditional reading feels out of reach, the joy of stories can still be a comforting constant.

Unfortunately, my love for gardening and growing flowers from the tiniest seeds will be taking a back seat this year. With two adorable puppies and the unfortunate lack of light to my greenhouse, the odds are against me. Our garden, surrounded by the most beautiful trees, suffers from limited sunlight, and last year’s efforts yielded heartbreaking results. Despite my hard work, hardly anything grew. To be honest, this hurts my soul, as I find so much peace in my garden while watching seeds grow into flowers and burst into colour. It’s a place where I connect with nature and feel a deep sense of tranquility, and I hope to return to it more fully in the future.

Among the moments of joy in 2024, my favorite was undoubtedly our holiday to Morocco. My husband and I stayed at RIU Palace, Tikida, Taghazout, the most amazing hotel. Our suite was out of this world, the perfect place to relax and reconnect away from the hustle and bustle of life back home.

Just one week away with my husband was pure bliss. Quality time together is the secret to a happy, long-lasting marriage, and I count my blessings every day that I get to step forward in life with the love of my life.
One of the most unforgettable highlights of the trip was the mesmerizing sunset, a sunset like no other, totally out of this world. The sky transformed into a masterpiece of fiery oranges, deep purples, and soft pinks, blending in ways I had never seen before. It felt as though nature was putting on a show just for us, a reminder of the beauty and wonder this world has to offer. It was a moment of pure magic, the world at its finest, and it will forever be etched in my memory as a perfect ending to an extraordinary day.

2024 was the year I made a life-changing decision. I changed my name. 
For personal reasons, I had always disliked my given name and felt it didn’t truly reflect who I was. I had decided long ago that when my beloved Nan passed away, I would take the step to choose a name that felt more like me. After much thought, I chose an abbreviation of my middle name, Elaine, and settled on the name Lainey. It wasn’t an easy decision, and I fully understand how difficult it must be for my family and friends to adjust after calling me by my old name for so many years. I truly appreciate the effort they’ve made to honor my choice and use my new name. Their support means the world to me. While the change has brought challenges, it feels like a step toward embracing who I truly am, and I plan to make it official by deed poll in the near future.

As I step into the new year, I carry with me a heart that is both tender and fiercely resilient. The grief I’ve endured, the regrets I’ve wrestled with, and the forgiveness I’ve offered, both to others and to myself, have reshaped me in ways I never could have imagined. These moments of pain and healing have taught me to hold my loved ones a little tighter, to speak my truth even when my voice trembles, and to treasure the fleeting, beautiful moments we so often overlook.

To you, reading this: if you’ve ever felt the heavy weight of grief, regret, or self-doubt, I need you to hear this, you are not alone. You are not defined by your mistakes or your heartache. You are a stunning mosaic of strength and vulnerability, a testament to the beauty of being human. You are deserving of love, forgiveness, and the chance to grow into the incredible person you’re meant to be.
So, let’s move forward together. Not perfectly, because none of us are, but with courage, grace, and the quiet determination to keep going, one step at a time.
Here’s to another year, a messy, unpredictable, bittersweet gift, filled with moments of grace and glimmers of hope.

Until next time,
Toodle Pip,
Yours,
Lainey.

🦋🦋🦋