Four Years Retired: Not Fading — Forged

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This month marks four years since I retired. I spent 15 years with the housing authorities. Then seven years as an office manager at a funeral home. Twenty-one years of service, responsibility and showing up.

Then COVID hit. Working in a funeral home during those two years changes you. It was heavy, constant and it was humanity at its most fragile. After two years of that, I was done. Not bitter, not dramatic. Just finished.

On my last day, I felt everything relief, fear, excitement, loss. All of it at once. I thought retirement would feel like a long exhale. What I didn’t expect was how much life would happen next.

Retirement Didn’t Slow Life Down

In these four years, I didn’t just “retire.” I lost my best friend, Tiffany, unexpectedly in a traffic accident. There is no preparing for that kind of loss. One phone call and the world tilts. Our Jet passed. And in 2024, my dad died from dementia. That felt like the closing of a chapter. Not unfinished or chaotic. Just a chapter ending.

I had the privilege of helping my mom through that season and I still do. She lives up the street from me and BigDog. Being close matters now more than ever. Retirement didn’t bring quiet. It brought responsibility in a different form.

I Am Not Bored

People assume retirement equals slow days. Not here. I am busy. Busy being present with BigDog. helping my mom, gardening, earning new platforms. Busy building something at 67 that I didn’t even know I wanted four years ago and just busy being Gigi.

What I’m still working on? Routine, I’m still figuring that part out. But I’m not lost.

Peace, Not Regret

Four years later, I can say this clearly: I am at peace with retiring. No part of me wishes I stayed. That chapter served its purpose. And when it was time to close it, I closed it. What I didn’t lose when I retired was drive. I didn’t lose curiosity, didn’t lose ambition, didn’t lose the need to build. If anything, those got stronger.

Loss Changes You — But It Doesn’t End You

Losing Tiffany changed me. Jet passing softened me. Losing my dad matured me in a way that only caregiving and goodbye can. But grief did not take my future. It walks beside me.
It doesn’t lead me. And that’s strength I didn’t know I had.

Four Years Later

Four years ago, I didn’t picture blogging. I didn’t picture YouTube, affiliate marketing. Or job searching again. I didn’t picture becoming a student of reinvention at 67. But here I am.

Not fading, fragile, not finished. Forged. Retirement didn’t shrink me. It reshaped me.

And if you’re in your own transition whether it’s retirement, loss, caregiving, or reinvention hear me clearly:

We are not done because a job ended, or invisible because we turned a certain age.
We are not weak because we’ve grieved. Four years retired. And I’m still building and so can you.