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Who we are
Adam’s Story
Adam was the first to call me Momma Bear. He said it with a grin and a hug so strong I swear I still feel it sometimes when the wind moves through the trees. His siblings picked it up, too, until it became our family badge—protective, playful, and full of love.
When I lost Adam, the world cracked open. Grief rearranged everything. It hollowed me out, but it also sparked something I couldn’t ignore. Even in the sharpest pain, I felt pulled to create, to make, to turn sorrow into something I could hold. And deep down, I knew he would want me to keep going, to rise, to breathe, to live fiercely in his name.
The Fire of Grief
Grief has always been a catalyst for creation. Across centuries, grief has driven creation into forms that outlast the sorrow itself. Michelangelo carved his mourning into the Pietà, a vision of tenderness and loss in stone. Edvard Munch poured his anguish for his sister into The Sick Child, capturing the ache of watching her fade. Mary Shelley, haunted by the deaths of her children, transformed her grief into the dark brilliance of Frankenstein. Their work is proof that grief does more than wound.
Out of my own grief came the spark for Momma Bear’s Wild Things.
The Alchemy
This work is alchemization. It is grief transmuted into beauty, memory turned into something you can touch, smell, taste, and keep. The violets and larkspur in a necklace. The oregano and garlic scapes folded into a seasoning blend. The petals gathered from old stone walls and backyard corners, pressed into keepsakes that refuse to break.
Momma Bear’s Wild Things exists because love doesn’t end, and grief doesn’t get the final say. What I make here is proof—beautiful, fierce proof—that even after loss, something new can bloom.
And at the heart of it all is Adam. He was the first to call me Momma Bear, the reason this name exists, and the reason I keep creating. This work is my way of carrying Adam with me, turning every step into a journey we still share.
