03/27/2026
Tomorrow marks Ashley’s 33rd birthday.
Birthdays are supposed to be filled with celebration. Now, they’re filled with reflection… and a quiet wish for more TYME, more memories, more pictures to look back on.
The other day, someone asked how I’ve been since losing her. I said I’m doing okay—and I am. But “okay” doesn’t mean easy. Some days carry more weight than others.
When they asked which days are the hardest, I didn’t hesitate.
Almost all of them.
Every morning, I pass by her picture hanging next to the karate belts she worked so hard for. And in that moment, it all feels close again. The same thought always tries to surface: “If I only…”
But I’ve come to realize those words keep you stuck in a place you can’t change. So instead, I choose something different:
“I will…”
I will keep her memory alive.
I will honor the life she lived.
I will turn this pain into something that matters.
Because Ashley was so much more than the way her story ended.
She was my daughter.
A sister.
A granddaughter.
A friend.
A cousin.
A mother of three.
A human being facing a battle that too many misunderstand.
Addiction doesn’t look the way people think it does. It doesn’t start with giving up—it often starts with trying to feel whole.
Ashley was trying to feel okay.
But addiction takes more than it gives. It takes joy, stability, connection… and eventually, it takes everything.
Her passing is part of a larger crisis—but her life stands on its own. It mattered. It still matters.
If her story helps someone see addiction differently, or reach out instead of turning away, then her voice is still being heard through all of us.
You are missed more today than yesterday, Ashley… and that feeling never fades.