Happy Monday, homemakers. Welcome to Monday Motivation, brought to you by the Art of Home Podcast, where we are exploring how homemakers cultivate a place to belong. I'm your host, Allison Weeks. I'm a wife, a mom, a granny, and I've been practicing the Art of Home for over 30 years. Thank you so much for joining me for a little Monday motivation today. Every Monday, you can meet me here for homemaking tips, ideas, and encouragement in this short form episode. If you like what you hear today, be sure to check out our long form episodes that come out every Wednesday, where we feature stories of homemakers just like you and deep dives into topics related to homemaking. Today I have another preview article from our first issue of Homemakers Journal. Birthdays and celebrations aren't always joyous. Some of the hardest holidays and special days to navigate are those that come in the midst of loss. Homemaker Amber Reesor shares how embracing the memory of her father's favorite birthday cake provided a sweet path forward in her grief of losing him sooner than she expected. Angel Food Cake on a Monday Celebrations and Grief by Amber Reesor. Happy birthday to me. But could it really be happy this year? Celebrating my birthday every June was always a joyous time. Not only did we celebrate my birthday, but we also celebrated my father's and my brother's all in a span of five days. My mother called it birthday week, but you could have just as easily called it cake week. Our family would start the week off with my dad's choice of fluffy angel food cake topped with fresh whipped cream and seasonal berries, followed by a dense layered masterpiece of ice cream and cookie crumbles for mine, and usually wrap it up with my brother's tried and true, chocolate on chocolate. The week of cake in our home was a rich way to celebrate, in more ways than just the icing. As the youngest in our family, I didn't know my birthday any other way than celebrating it wedged right in the middle of that blessed week of cake. That's why when the first June rolled around after losing my dad the previous November, I didn't feel very celebratory at all. In fact, I was instead feeling the heavy weight of grief mixed with dread. Hope sprinkled with hurt. The death of my father sidelined me. I was a young mother to a toddler in the throes of navigating my second pregnancy when his health journey took a sudden turn. My parents had a beautiful 40-year marriage built upon their faith and trust in God's faithfulness. The hope of eternity through the sacrifice of Jesus filled our family with peace during his illness and death. Yet I still felt the sting of disappointment from losing him so soon. My dad had a significant influence on my life, and as I began to have children of my own, I assumed that he would have a significant impact on theirs too. My journey through grieving his loss was riddled with juxtapositions. I had a deep peace of knowing I would see him again that coexisted with the sadness of missing him now. I had a heart of gratitude for his presence in my childhood, overlaid with a broken heart that my children wouldn't know him through theirs. And perhaps what was most difficult to carry was recollecting the many precious memories I had of him, yet knowing that my young girls would carry no memory of him at all. They would never really know him. Facing my grief that June. Do I skip over it since he's not? Whether it was out of habit or necessity, I eventually resolved to approach it the only way I had ever known. With cake. On the afternoon of his birthday, I quietly began to prepare an angel food cake. I whipped the batter with my electric hand mixer and poured it into an ungreased tube pan. I pulled a carton of strawberries out from the refrigerator and ran them under the cold water of my kitchen faucet. I had made this cake many times. It was always my dad's pick for his birthday. And this time really was no different as I went through the motions of putting it together, except that it was very different. The solitude of that afternoon was soothing to my hurting heart, which is why it startled me when my daughter's little four-year-old voice echoed out behind me. She curiously asked why I was making a cake on a Monday afternoon. Everything in me wanted to remain in the solitude of grieving alone in that moment, but instead I invited her into my preparations. I pulled a stool up to the counter and held her little hand in mine as we sliced through the big red strawberries. As she slowly piled the fresh slices into a bowl, I explained that this was how Grandpa always requested to celebrate, and today was his birthday. A sweet way forward. After clearing our dinner dishes from the table that quiet Monday evening, my daughter proudly carried the sliced berries and fresh whipped cream to the table, announcing that we made grandpa's cake for dessert. We sliced the pillowy cake and delighted in the sweet seasonal berries as we piled them high upon dollops of whipped cream. And it dawned on me that a small piece of my dad was passed on to her in that moment of mournful celebration. It was the perfect way to begin our week of cake. Three Junes have passed since we lost my dad, and we have prepared his angel food cake on his birthday each year. In many ways, this simple act of remembrance has become a new form of celebration for us. My young daughters look forward to helping me while I share memories of him as we work. It may not be the start to cake week that I grew up celebrating, but this new tradition has slowly brought healing to the disappointment that came with losing my father. Each bite of angel food cake reminds me that I can choose to carry the memory of him forward with my children, whether he is present with us or not. The last bite. Whether it be a loss of life or a loss of a dream that makes celebration feel like the furthest thing from your heart right now. Trust him enough to know that he will carry you through. And that is worthy of a slice of cake on a Monday. Amber Reeser is a wife, mother, and stay-at-home homemaker. She is a Canadian navigating her first year living in the Shenandoah Valley with her young family of four. In her limited free time, she enjoys working on her home, exploring local history, and rummaging through the brimming antique shops throughout Virginia. You can connect with Amber at LittleReserhouse.com. Thank you for listening to this Monday motivation on navigating celebrations in the midst of grief. I want to thank Amber for contributing this article to the first issue of Homemaker's Journal. I know she would love it if you would message her and tell her how this article has encouraged your heart, especially if you are currently in a season of grief. Her contact info is in the show notes. If you liked what you heard today, there are over a dozen more articles waiting for you in the first issue of Homemaker's Journal. You can purchase a digital copy or a physical copy or both. When you buy the physical copy, you get the digital for just $1.99. Click the link in the show notes or go to homemakersjournal.com to get your copy. That's all for this Monday motivation. I will be back on Wednesday with a brand new deep dive into sentimental decorating with Brittany Shepherd. Until then, keep practicing your art of making a home.