I Got Rid of His Toothbrush and Cried for Three Days

The Sound the House Makes Now

At some point after loss… the house starts to sound different. Not louder. Not quieter. Just… different in a way that's hard to explain to someone who hasn't felt it. In this episode I'm sitting with you in something that doesn't get talked about nearly enough - that particular kind of silence that moves in after loss. The one that isn't empty exactly, but somehow feels heavier than empty ever did. You know the sounds I'm talking about. The hum of the refrigerator you never noticed before. The clock ticking in a room that used to have other sounds in it. The creak of the house settling at night. And then there are the sounds that are just… gone. The ones that used to be so ordinary you never thought to appreciate them. Those are the ones that stop you mid-step sometimes, aren't they? If your home doesn't feel like the same place it used to be - you are not imagining that. You are not being dramatic. You are not stuck. You're adjusting to a life that changed in ways that go all the way down to the quiet corners of your own four walls. And in this episode? We're sitting in that together for a little while. Because sometimes just knowing someone else hears what you hear… makes the silence just a little less heavy. 💛 Earthling, your love is not lost—it's just learning a new language. The porch light's on, the door's unlocked, and there's always room at this table for your beautiful, broken heart. If you’d like to come sit a while, you can find me at GrandmaFarmer.com.

I Got Rid of His Toothbrush and Cried for Three Days

You wouldn’t think something as small as a toothbrush could undo you… …but sometimes it’s the smallest things that hit the hardest. In this episode, I’m sharing a moment that caught me completely off guard - and what it taught me about the “little” losses that live inside the big one. If you’ve ever stood there holding something that shouldn’t feel so heavy… this one’s for you. You’re not doing this wrong. You’re just loving deeply. Earthling, your love is not lost—it's just learning a new language. The porch light's on, the door's unlocked, and there's always room at this table for your beautiful, broken heart. If you’d like to come sit a while, you can find me at GrandmaFarmer.com.

BONUS: When the World Goes Quiet — Stories for Stillness: A Valentine’s Story

BONUS EPISODE — When the World Goes Quiet: Stories for Stillness This is a gentle, long-form audio story created for rest, quiet, and slowing down — something you can listen to at bedtime, at the sink, on a walk, or whenever the world feels a little too loud. This Valentine’s story is not about hearts, flowers, or romance. Instead, it’s a soft balm for tender or broken hearts on a day when “love” can feel loud, complicated, or even painful. You’re invited into a quiet, sensory journey through memory, nature, and presence — a space to breathe, let your shoulders drop, and simply be. In this story, you’ll wander back to my very first day at horse camp as a twelve-year-old: the smell of hay, the steady rhythm of hooves, and a slow, sunlit morning in the barn. Come rest awhile in that wide-open country calm. You don’t need to do anything but listen. If this story helps you settle or feel less alone, there are more When the World Goes Quiet — Stories for Stillnessavailable in my private audio library here: https://app.helloaudio.fm/feed/3d016946-4520-4928-95f5-3c55048d8579/signup [https://app.helloaudio.fm/feed/3d016946-4520-4928-95f5-3c55048d8579/signup] Earthling, your love is not lost—it's just learning a new language. The porch light's on, the door's unlocked, and there's always room at this table for your beautiful, broken heart. If you’d like to come sit a while, you can find me at GrandmaFarmer.com.

What Do I Do With All This Love Now?

Grief doesn’t take all the love with it - it just leaves it with nowhere to land. In this tender porch conversation, Ro gently explores what to do with the love that remains after loss. From unexpected tears to the ache of unspent affection, this episode invites you to hold your love with kindness and discover new places it can flow—whether it’s reading to shelter dogs or holding hands with kindergartners. You’ll hear encouragement, a soft breath prayer, and a reminder that your love is not wasted. Not one bit. 🎧 Runtime: ~10 minutes 🕯️ Gentle faith-based support 🕊️ Includes breath prayer + practical comfort ideas Earthling, your love is not lost—it's just learning a new language. The porch light's on, the door's unlocked, and there's always room at this table for your beautiful, broken heart. If you’d like to come sit a while, you can find me at GrandmaFarmer.com.

When Grief Hits the Grocery Store

When Grief Hits in the Grocery Store Perfect for anyone navigating loss, supporting a grieving friend, or wondering why the produce section made them cry last Tuesday. You went in for bananas and milk. Somehow you're ugly-crying in the bread aisle, wondering what just happened to your Tuesday afternoon. Here's the thing nobody tells you about grief: it doesn't wait for the "appropriate" moments. It sneaks into Target runs and coffee shop visits. It shows up when you're just trying to buy cereal and suddenly remember he's never going to eat breakfast with you again. If you've ever had a grief ambush in the most ordinary places—this gentle chat is for you. We're talking about why the small things become big, how Jesus meets us in aisle 7, and one simple tool that became my lifeline during those early grocery store meltdowns. Because friend, you're not falling apart. You're being human. And that tender heart of yours? It's not broken—it's just learning a new language. Perfect for anyone navigating loss, supporting a grieving friend, or wondering why the produce section made them cry last Tuesday. Earthling, your love is not lost—it's just learning a new language. The porch light's on, the door's unlocked, and there's always room at this table for your beautiful, broken heart. If you’d like to come sit a while, you can find me at GrandmaFarmer.com.