How Handmade Memorial Paper Became Continuing Bonds

When I first began this journey, I was grieving too.

And in many ways, I still am.

My dear friend lost her 15-year-old daughter, Rylie, to Leukemia. Nothing about it felt fair. There are some losses that simply leave you speechless, and this was one of them.

I did not know what to do with the sadness.
Or the anger.
Or the helplessness that comes when someone you love is hurting beyond what words can reach.

At the center of all of it was one question:

How could I provide comfort to Rylie’s Mom?

I could not bring Rylie back.
I could not fix the grief.
I could not take away the emptiness left behind by losing a child.

All I had were the flowers from Rylie’s memorial service and the memories of a beautiful little girl who should still be here.

I knew writing is often said to be therapeutic, so I searched for a memorial journal.

What I found were mass-produced books that looked no different than the notebook I carry in my briefcase every day.

So I searched again.

“Custom memorial journal.”

Surely something existed where photographs, handwriting, memories, or meaningful pieces of someone’s life could be preserved within the pages themselves.

But nothing felt personal.
Nothing felt like Rylie.

I remember sitting there thinking:

No.
I’m not doing that.

Rylie deserved more than a cold commercial book.

So I researched how to make paper.

Not just any paper.
Special paper.

I tore paper back into pulp by hand with a stick blender, filled a vat with water, and slowly began pulling sheets one by one. At first, they were uneven and inconsistent, but I kept practicing.

Eventually, I created 80 individual handmade pages with flowers from Rylie’s memorial carefully embedded into the pulp itself.

Each page stood on its own.
Each page carried part of her story.
Each page was created with one important purpose:

Rylie had to be present within it.

Since Rylie’s passing, the incorporation of meaningful remnants from loved ones has continued to grow within my work.

Flowers are deeply connected to memory. Certain flowers immediately transport us back to a service, a moment, or a person we love. But flowers are only the beginning.

Today, I carefully incorporate botanicals, fibers, handwriting, photographs, fabrics, and other meaningful pieces into the handmade paper itself. Anything that can safely become part of the page while still allowing the journal to remain writable and lasting is approached with care and intention.

Continuing Bonds was born from one unimaginable loss.

But it continued through many others.

Including the loss of my own Dad.

As I continue writing through grief inside my own journal, I realize something important:

Having him present throughout the pages keeps the connection alive.

It gives me space to continue speaking to him.
To share memories.
To express the things still left unsaid.

And perhaps that is what Continuing Bonds truly became.

Not a journal.

But a place for love to continue living on within the page.