10/28/2026
Today marks one year since I lost my mom.
I’ve sat here trying to figure out how to put into words what this past year has been like, and honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully explain it.
Without a doubt, this has been the hardest year of my life. Emotionally, mentally, and in ways I never could’ve prepared myself for.
Losing your mom changes you. There’s an emptiness that doesn’t really go away. Life keeps moving, the days keep passing, and you do your best to keep up with it all. But deep down, there’s a part of you that just hasn’t been the same.
I think one of the hardest things has been all the moments I haven’t been able to share with her.
The exciting things happening with Smoak Town. The frustrating days when nothing seems to go right. The little accomplishments that I know would’ve made her proud. The funny things my boys say and do. The milestones with my family that I wish she could’ve been here to experience.
And that feeling never gets easier.
My mom was one of my biggest supporters. She believed in me, she was proud of what we were building, and she loved hearing about everything going on in our lives. I miss those conversations more than I could ever explain. Sometimes I don’t even want advice or encouragement. I just want to hear her voice one more time.
One of the things I miss most is having her creative mind to bounce ideas off of. It didn’t matter what crazy idea I came up with for Smoak Town or anything else in life, her response was always, “Let’s do it!” In her eyes, every idea we brought her was the most brilliant idea she’d ever heard. And before you knew it, you could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she started figuring out how to make it happen. She had this incredible way of making you believe that anything was possible. I miss that excitement, that creativity, and having someone who believed in every crazy dream I threw her way. I’d give anything to sit down with her and dream up just one more idea together.
I also want to apologize if I’ve seemed a little distant on here over the past year. I know I haven’t been as active or engaged as I used to be. The truth is, my mind just hasn’t always been there.
Some days I’m doing great. Other days I’m just going through the motions, trying to get through the day. Some days I’ve got a hundred things running through my head and absolutely nothing at the same time.
Running a small business comes with its own struggles. The long hours, stress, financial pressures, and constant responsibility of keeping everything moving. Trying to navigate all of that while grieving the loss of my mom has taken more out of me than I ever imagined.
I don’t share that for sympathy. I share it because I want to be honest. This past year has been hard, and I haven’t always been myself.
But one thing I know is that my mom wouldn’t want me to quit. She’d want me to keep showing up, keep chasing my dreams, keep loving my family, and keep building something that my boys can be proud of.
So that’s what we’re going to do.
We’re going to keep cooking BBQ, raising our boys, and pushing forward. Even on the days when it’s hard. Even when things don’t go the way we planned. Because I know she’s watching over us, and I want more than anything to continue making her proud.
To everyone who has supported Smoak Town and our family this past year, thank you. You probably don’t realize how much your support has meant during some of the darkest days of my life.
And to everyone who knew my mom, I hope you’ll take a moment today to remember her. Remember her smile, her laugh, the conversations you shared, or the way she made you feel. One of my biggest fears is that as time goes on, the world keeps moving and people forget. I never want her to be forgotten.
Mom, I wish you could see how much the boys are growing. I wish I could tell you about everything happening with the business. I wish I could call you after a long day just to hear you tell me everything is going to be okay.
More than anything, I just wish you were still here.
One year without you, Mom. It’s been the hardest year of my life, but we’re going to keep pushing forward. For our family, for everything we’ve worked so hard for, and to continue making you proud.
I love you. I miss you. And I hope you know how much of you is still a part of everything we do. 🩷