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The Fourth of July was always your favorite weekend of the year.

You would have loved that it fell on a long weekend this year. I can picture it so clearly… you making your famous ribs, getting the pool ready, texting friends, setting up chairs in the driveway, and staying outside until way too late watching the kids run around with sparklers.

You loved everything about this weekend.

I’ve already walked through so many hard firsts without you—my birthday, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day—and somehow this one hit me differently.

Yesterday, I could barely drive to the party we’ve gone to for years. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to go. It wasn’t because I was scared.

It was because reality punched me in the face all over again.

You’re really not going to be there.

I hadn’t felt that kind of panic in a long time. The tears just kept coming. But good friends got me through those doors, and I’m so thankful they did.

Because once we got there, me and Ava had such a beautiful night.

Watching her laugh and run around with the other kids, seeing her so vibrant and happy… it did something to my heart. She carries a strength that amazes me every single day. More than once, she looked at me and said, “It’s going to be okay, Mom. It’s going to be okay.”

And somehow, I believed her.

I’m so glad we didn’t let grief keep us home. Even when reality was hitting us hard… even when our hearts were aching for our number one guy… we still showed up.

That’s what grief is, I think.

Learning how to carry heartbreak and beautiful moments in the very same hand.

Missing you terribly while still finding reasons to smile.

And last night, I know you would have loved every second of it.

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Homesick for a person I’ll never see again in this lifetime.

I saw that sentence today and it stopped me in my tracks.

Because that’s exactly what this feels like.

It’s not just missing someone. It’s being homesick while standing in your own home. It’s wanting to tell them something, hearing a song they loved, watching your child do something funny, and realizing all over again they’re the one person you want to share it with.

The loneliness isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s incredibly quiet. It’s looking around at the life we built together and feeling both surrounded by him and completely without him at the same time.

If I’m being honest, I’ve spent a lot of time isolating. Hibernating. Staying home because home feels safe. Avoiding things because some days it feels easier than facing the reality that my life looks nothing like it used to.

The hardest part is that grief changes you. It changes how you think, how you feel, how you move through the world. Some days I don’t even recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. And that scares me.

I’m learning that grief can become comfortable… not because it feels good, but because it feels familiar. The sadness, the loneliness, the staying home, the avoiding. Before you know it, those things start feeling normal.

And that’s what I’m trying to be mindful of right now.

I have to acknowledge these feelings before they become a place I permanently live in. I have to let myself feel the grief without letting it define me. I have to miss him without disappearing too.

Because while I don’t know how to navigate this life yet, I know Rob wouldn’t want my world to stop. He would want me to keep living, keep growing, keep finding pieces of myself again.

So for now, I’m taking it one day, one hour, sometimes one minute at a time.

I will always be homesick for him.
I will always miss the life we had together.

But I’m trying to learn how to carry his love with me instead of letting the weight of losing him bury me.

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I didn’t gain followers this weekend.
I gained stories I wish didn’t exist.

Messages from wives.
Husbands.
Families.
All living the same nightmare we just walked through.

So let’s talk facts. Not feelings.

Pancreatic cancer has a 13% five-year survival rate.
That means almost 9 out of 10 people will not make it.

Over 67,000 people will be diagnosed this year in the U.S.
Over 50,000 will die.

It is already the 3rd leading cause of cancer death
and is on track to become #2.

There is no standard early screening.

And most people are diagnosed when it’s too late…
when survival drops to 3%.

Read that again.

Three percent.

This isn’t rare.
This isn’t “bad luck.”
This is a system that is behind.

Behind in early detection.
Behind in research.
Behind in giving families a fighting chance.

Because how are we in 2026…
and THIS is still the reality?

I sat in that room.
I heard “there’s nothing we can do.”

And now my inbox is full of people hearing the same exact words.

That’s not okay.

We don’t need more awareness posts.
We need earlier detection.
We need faster action.
We need better options before it’s stage 4.

Because people are not dying from lack of strength…
they’re dying from lack of time.

And I’m not done talking about it.

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Last night was one of those nights.

The kind where your body is exhausted
but your mind refuses to shut off.
The kind where the questions get louder
the quieter everything else gets.

What if we went somewhere else?
What if we pushed harder?
What if we caught it sooner?
What if… what if… what if…

And I sat there thinking about all of it. Every decision.
Every appointment. Every moment.

But here’s the truth I keep coming back to…

There wasn’t something we missed.

Because if you knew Rob, you’d know this—
due to his family history with heart conditions,
he was more on top of his health than anyone I’ve ever seen.

He didn’t avoid doctors.
He didn’t put things off.
He went regularly.
He stayed consistent.
He followed through.

He did everything right.

So how did we not know?
How did it take 43 years to find out about a BRCA2 gene mutation that could change everything?
How did something so aggressive move so fast without a single clear warning?

That’s the part I can’t shake.

Because this isn’t just our story.
This is happening to families every single day.

And if we really are living in one of the most advanced countries in the world… then we have to ask the hard questions.

Why aren’t we catching this sooner?
Why isn’t early detection more accessible?
Why are people doing everything right… and
still finding out too late?

This isn’t about blame.
It’s about awareness. It’s about access. It’s about doing better.

Because no family should be left sitting in the dark, replaying every “what if” when they did everything they were supposed to do.

I know I couldn’t have done anything differently.
I know Rob couldn’t have either.

But I also know this…

I’m not going to stay quiet about it.

If his story can push even one conversation forward, one test earlier, one life saved… then we keep going.

Even on the nights that feel impossibly long.

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🎬 Introducing: 10 Years. 10 Voices. One Future.

To mark a decade of progress in pancreatic cancer care and advocacy, we are launching a 10-day storytelling campaign sharing the voices behind the journey.

Each day, one story.
Each voice, one message.
Together, a collective call for change.

From patients and caregivers to healthcare professionals and advocates, these voices reflect where we stand today and where we must go next.

💬 Today we begin with Pamela Deasy, patient advocate and co-founder of Pancreatic Cancer Ireland whose story reminds us why awareness and early detection matter more than ever.

Over the next 10 days, join us as we listen, learn, and stand together.

🎥 Watch Pamela’s full story: https://youtu.be/MQvpxdzPjBw

💜 Support the campaign and donate €10: https://pancreaticcancereurope.eu/donate/

📢 Please also spread the word within your community to help us raise funds so we can keep sharing these important messages.

#10Years10Voices #PancreaticCancer #PancreaticCancerAwareness #PatientVoices

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Today we celebrate your life… and somehow the world just keeps moving like nothing shattered.

I keep thinking I’m going to wake up from this.
Like this is some nightmare I haven’t fully come out of yet.
But every time it hits again… it hits harder.

There’s a version of my grief today that
I don’t even know how to explain out loud.

It’s not just crying.
It’s not just sadness.
It’s not even the kind of pain I
can point to and name.

It’s the kind that makes my chest feel
hollow and heavy at the same time.
The kind that makes everything around me feel loud…
while I feel completely numb.
The kind that has my heart in a million
different places all at once —
with him, with Ava, with our memories,
with everything we thought we had time for.

One second I’m okay enough to stand there…
and the next I feel like I’m going to collapse inside
my own body.

I don’t recognize my mind right now.
I don’t recognize this version of me that
has to learn how to exist without you.

Today isn’t just a goodbye.
It’s the start of a life I never wanted.

And that’s the part that hurts the most.

Because you weren’t just my husband…
you were my safe place.
My calm.
My best friend.
The one who made everything feel lighter.

Now everything feels… heavy.

But today, through all of it…
we honor you.

Your life.
Your love.
Your laugh.
The way you showed up for everyone around you.
The way you loved us so big, so loud, and so fully.

I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you…
but I do know one thing —

I will carry you in everything I do.

Every step.
Every breath.
Every moment.

And somehow…
I’ll find a way to keep going.

Because that’s what you would want.

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Thank you doesn’t even feel like a big enough word right now.

To everyone who took the time to send a message, drop off flowers, leave something on my porch, or just think of me… I felt every bit of it. You made me feel so loved, so seen, and honestly like one spoiled girl in a moment where I didn’t know how this day was going to feel.

And to Moda Beauty Bar @moda_beautybar, Hannah @hanna_modamuse and your entire team… thank you for giving me such a beautiful, peaceful start to my day. Being there always feels like a second home to me, and this morning was exactly what my heart needed. Sitting with you girls, laughing, catching up… it reminded me that there is still light in a day like this.

I felt Rob so many times today. Especially on our way to school… he knows that’s one of my favorite parts of the day. Just me and Ava, music on, starting our morning together. I could feel him there, like he always was.

This whole week, I’ve had signs. Real ones. The kind you can’t ignore even if you tried. And I’m starting to understand something through all of this grief… I have to let myself be vulnerable enough to see them. To feel them. To believe them. Not push them away because it hurts, but lean into them because it’s him.

And Timehop… man, it hits different now. But what I love about it is this. Memories like these remind me that my guy loved me in a way that shaped my entire life. He paved paths for me before I even knew I’d need them. He helped me become who I am. He broke generational cycles, took away my fears, built my confidence, and loved me in a way that made me feel beautiful every single day.

That kind of love doesn’t just disappear. It lives in me now.

So if I’m being really honest… I’m learning that I don’t want to live in the dark spaces. I don’t want to stay stuck in the fear. I want to keep moving toward the things he believed I was capable of. I want to be better because of him. For him.

And today, because of all of you, I felt strong enough to take a step in that direction.

Thank you for loving me the way you do.

Miss you babe 💜🕊️🫶

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Yesterday was heavy.

A lot of moving. A lot of adjusting. Mentally, physically… it just felt like everything was shifting all at once. And I’d be lying if I said I handled it the way I thought I would.

I really believed I was prepared for this kind of pain. After everything I went through with my brother, I thought I understood heartbreak like this. I thought I knew what it looked like, what it felt like, how to carry it.

But what I’m realizing is… no two heartbreaks are the same.
Nothing can truly prepare you for loving someone this deeply and walking through something like this with them.

There are moments where I look at him and just smile like, “we’ve got this… we are going to beat this.” I feel it so strongly in my bones. Like there is no other ending for us.

And then there are moments where I completely fall apart. Where my chest physically aches for him. Where I would do anything to take even a piece of this from him.

Yesterday, he said a few things that just… stayed with me.

I was talking to the hospice nurse about how much I overthink everything… how my mind just doesn’t shut off. And in the softest whisper, he looked at me and said, “you do.”

Not in a way that hurt me…
but in a way that reminded me how deeply he sees me.
How well he knows me.
How gently he holds even the parts of me that are hard.

And throughout the day, he kept telling me to go do something. Step away. Clear my head. At one point I told him I loved him, and he said, “I love you more,” and we went back and forth like we always do.

And it hit me…

That wasn’t irritation.
That wasn’t frustration.

That was him still loving me. Still protecting me. Still taking care of me… even now.

I am in awe of him.

I always say it’s one thing to love Rob Bohacik…
but it’s a whole different thing to be loved by him.

And I am so damn lucky that I get to experience that kind of love.

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💜💜💜 12 hours. One parking lot. Endless laps. 💜💜💜

We’re running for Mrs. Shannon, an amazing teacher who is fighting pancreatic cancer. Every step we take is for her, and every lap is a reminder that no one fights alone.

You can join the fight too—every donation helps support her and her family during this battle.

Donate through the link in my bio. Let’s show her the power of community. 💜 🔗

#pancreaticcancerawareness #pancreaticcancer #cancersupport #boise #ultrarun

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April 11, 2010.

The day after my birthday I was at a hometown bar with friends when Rob Bohacik walked through the door. I can still picture it like it was yesterday. White T shirt, jeans, and white Nikes. Your typical Rob.

The second he walked in I leaned over to my friend and asked, “Who is that?” Then I joked, “I’m going to marry that boy one day.”

At the time that was the furthest thing from reality.

We were both in other relationships and living completely different lives. But somehow we became friends. Real friends. The kind who stayed in touch, shared the same hometown circles, and kept showing up in each other’s lives.

Behind the scenes though, I had the quietest little crush.

Years went by like that until 2014, when everything shifted.

I was going through one of the biggest transitions of my life and Rob was patient with me. He waited. He listened. He showed up in the smallest ways. A simple text. A breakfast invite. Somehow always checking in when I needed someone the most.

And when we finally admitted what we felt, we fought hard to be together. Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But honestly.

I fell in love with him in a way I had never experienced before. The kind of love where you sit at dinner for hours just talking, ordering another appetizer because neither of you wants the night to end.

He became my best friend. The person I could share every dream, fear, and emotion with.

And all these years later he is still the same man.

The man who opens my car door every single time I get in the car. Even when we are fighting. Sixteen years later he still opens that door.

Every morning I wake up to a cup of coffee sitting next to my bed.

And every morning I get the same text.

Good morning beautiful.

This man has loved me at my best and at my absolute worst.

And somehow he still chooses me.

That day in a hometown bar I joked that I would marry him one day.

Turns out my heart already knew.

He was my soulmate.

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🫠🏃‍♀️🏃Running in Circles for 12 Hours… and It’s Not for Fitness 💜🏃‍♀️🏃 #fableticspartner

Next Friday Joey and I will be doing something completely normal… like running around a parking lot for 12 hours.

Why? Because June’s incredible 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Shannon, is battling pancreatic cancer and we want to help her family however we can.

So we’ll just keep running circles and see how many miles we can rack up.

If you’d like to support her, we’ll link her GoFundMe in my stories and keep sharing it on run day.

Every mile is for Mrs. Shannon. ❤️

#pancreaticcancer #moveinfabletics #myfabletics #pancreaticcancerawareness

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When things are heavy… like really heavy… and it feels like the bad is outweighing the good, I try to remind myself of one thing: we never actually know how the story ends. And sometimes, miracles still find their way in.

Yesterday was hard. This round of chemo was harsh. The last two have felt like absolute crap if I’m being honest. It almost feels like we’re still coming off that small break, that tiny window of freedom from chemo, and now the weight is crashing back down.

Rob has had a migraine for over a week. We went in hoping for answers, relief, something that would make it make sense. What we learned is there’s no cancer in the brain, but it has spread to the bones (which we knew), but we now know the skull too. And I’ll be honest… I let the doctors get in my fucking head. I let their words and “no’s” creep in. But I remind myself of what I always say: they are not God. They do not know the future. I refuse to let anyone take my hope or my positivity.

I could see it in his eyes yesterday… the defeat, the exhaustion. But we do what we always do. We come home. We get him settled. And then there’s that moment… that five-second pause before dinner, homework, life. I washed my hands, looked in the mirror, and that’s when the breakdown hit.

And somehow, my village knew. Calls came in at the right moment. We cried. We laughed. We got our shit back together. Homework done. Showers done. Everyone to bed.

Then I stood there. My dog asleep. My daughter asleep after the best day with her friends. My husband asleep after a long day… his snoring didn’t even annoy me. It meant he was resting.

And even though everything feels so fucked up and unfair right now, I can still say this: we are so unbelievably lucky. Lucky for the life we’ve lived. Lucky for the love we’ve built.

Even on the hardest days, I refuse to believe this is the end of our story. This season doesn’t get to steal our joy, our hope, or our faith. Ava will grow up remembering love, laughter, and a family that never stopped believing. And that will always be bigger than fear.

#PancreaticCancer
#PancreaticCancerAwareness
#FightPancreaticCancer

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