A life full of
unshakable joy.

When the last of her four children moved out of state, Connie found herself looking toward a future she couldn’t quite picture.

She was a widow, working full time as a nurse in a labor, delivery, postpartum and nursery unit. She owned a home and had four little dogs to keep her company. Her days were full of things to do and lives to care for.

But in the quiet moments, she felt the ache of what had changed.

She thought about the holidays and the traditions they’d shared as a family. Even when everyone couldn’t be together, there had always been someone nearby to celebrate with. Now she tried to imagine those familiar days and couldn’t see what they would look like.

She loved being their mom. So much of the life she knew had taken shape around having them near. Keeping busy couldn’t fill the place of that togetherness.

Somewhere in the ache, a question began to take shape.

What did she want this part of her life to look like?

She couldn’t choose where everyone lived or bring back the life she had known. But there was still a life before her, and she knew she could either passively allow it to happen to her or she could have a hand in making it.

So she chose to create a life full of unshakable joy.

She would have to learn what that meant while still missing her children, still feeling the distance. The choice would need a place in ordinary days—something she could practice and return to.

Some of its beginnings were already growing in her garden.

She had planted wildflowers for the monarchs. She had always loved them, and making a place where they might come was something she did for herself—a little happiness she could grow.

Nature had long drawn her attention. An avid birder, she loved walking through forest preserves, watching and listening, taking time with the miraculous details of things going about their lives.

The garden gave her a place to look close to home. She planted it for the butterflies, but the bees found it, too. She had made room for something she loved, and something else to love had come along with it.

So when she decided to choose joy, her mind went straight to those bees.

Choose to BEE happy.

The words belonged to something she already knew: the pleasure of planting flowers, watching for monarchs, and discovering who else had come.

Then she began finding the words themselves.

On a towel. A mug. A package of napkins. A candle. Choose to BEE happy. Each discovery felt like confirmation, and gradually her home filled with bees and bright yellow things.

There were mugs, of course. She had always loved mugs. Drinking her morning coffee from one that reflected her hopes for the day felt sacred—religious, almost. Before the day asked anything of her, there was that small moment to remember how she wanted to live.

Her youngest daughter, Summer, called it “romanticizing her life.”

Connie was learning to linger over what she loved. To give beauty her attention. To let a small thing bring her joy without questioning whether it deserved so much affection.

She told anyone who would listen about the choice she had made and the joy it had sparked when she desperately needed it. She shared the small encounters that made her smile or feel cared for. She called them sparkles, glimmers, God winks.

Giving those moments words let her cherish them again. Something that might have passed and been forgotten became part of a conversation. Sometimes, someone else began looking, too.

These were the moments she would come to call honeydrops.

The name came later. First came the practice: spending time in nature, losing herself in a book, allowing a moment of happiness to have her full attention. The more she noticed, the more she found. Looking back on an ordinary day, she could remember sweetness she was glad she hadn’t missed.

Then cancer put that practice to the test.

Could she still find joy in the middle of pain and uncertainty?

She discovered that she could. There were still honeydrops. Pain and joy could exist within the same day, and those moments of sweetness gave her strength to keep going.

What she had been practicing had become part of how she lived.

Christmas was her daughter Kassidi's favorite time of year, and she loved choosing gifts that made people feel seen, known, and loved.

Making them herself gave her a way to make the best of the holiday when resources were limited. She could put her care into every choice, every detail.

Christmas of 2024, she hand-sewed a bookmark and gifted it to her mom.

Connie loved to read. A bookmark would have a place in something she already enjoyed. As for the fabric, Kass knew what belonged there.

Bees, of course.

She knew all about her mom’s choice to BEE happy. Honeybee fabric held a meaning they already shared.

The bookmark carried both of their choices: Connie’s decision to make room for joy in a changing life, and Kass’s decision to meet a difficult Christmas with creativity and care.

Connie had been surrounding herself with reminders. Here was one made by someone who had been paying attention to her.

That gift became the inspiration for The Hive.

A bookmark has a quiet place in a person’s life. It waits between pages, keeping a place until the reader returns. Picked up and set down, tucked away and found again, it offers another opportunity to remember.

Choose to BEE happy.

For Connie, those words hold a practice she wants to share: acknowledging what is difficult, recognizing what is still within reach, and giving the good a place in the day.

Honey takes its flavor from what grows around the hive. Each life has its own landscape, too—its own sources of beauty, comfort, wonder, and delight. The honeydrops are different for everyone. The invitation is to discover them, create them, and let them matter.

She planted a garden for the monarchs, and the bees came, too.

She made room for joy, and the message spread throughout her life.

It reached her daughter, who chose joy herself, and crafted it into a tangible reminder.

Now, with the help of The Hive's donors and volunteers, lovingly called "Pollinators", that reminder can find its way into another pair of hands, meaningfully crafted and given with love.