I believe we have the ability to choose our own path.

The second my husband died, I felt like I had been pistol-whipped in the jaw a few thousand times in a row. The simple things were hard like getting out of bed, taking a shower, and brushing my hair.

Justin was young, and we were just getting started. How could this have happened to us? All of our kisses, dreams, and memories had vanished in one split second, and no words could ever describe how it truly felt.

I was a widow for eight months when I finally woke up from the shock. Opening my eyes again was hard. As…


I’ve been married twice, and I’ve done it both ways.

I’ve been happily married twice. Throughout my two relationships, I learned a thing or two.

My first marriage lasted 10 years, and that might not sound very long when some couples make it to 50. But it wasn’t our choice to end it. My first husband died at the age of 33.

Justin and I were young when we married: He was 22 and I was 20. I walked the stage at my high school graduation with a diamond ring on my finger. In this day and age, how many girls can say that?

After we returned from our honeymoon…


Maybe our loved ones still have plenty to say

His time on this earth was beautiful — painted with passion like the bright red color of his hair. He lived by his frets, by the notes he produced. A rare talent everyone said — a virtuoso. But his music stopped too soon. It stopped before the bridge, before the reprise. It stopped when he was only 33 years old.

Days after my husband was killed, I reached for his face. I desperately wanted to see his smile; one that wasn’t displayed on a screen or inside of a picture frame. As I listened for the low, but steady tone…


Everyone’s trauma, everyone’s triggers are different

A few weeks ago, I was in the middle of fetching my 6-year-old from school when I went into panic mode. While waiting in the car pick-up line, I encountered a life-altering vision of my son getting hit by a car.

I flung open my door and ran as fast as I could. My heart pounded, and sweat slowly dripped down my face. I needed to get to my son, but my legs were too heavy. His teachers were dialing 911, but all I could do was run. I saw it all: the ambulance, the stretcher, and me, the desperate…


When my son was born, I couldn’t help but kiss his sweet red lips, and I haven’t stopped since.

Moms love their children, this is nothing new. We hug our kids, we snuggle them, and we wipe stinky crap off their butts. After carrying them around in our bellies for nine months, without a single bite of sushi, or a single drop of caffeine, we push their 8 to10-pound bodies out of us while experiencing the worst pain imaginable. Just kidding, we have epidurals now. Childbirth is a piece of cake. Okay, if you think I was kidding about the…

The Singing Widow

Jessica Ayers is a mother, wife, widow, singer, and writer. My journey as a writer started in music. But now I write my story, I write my path, I write my heart

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