We lost Ginger this week.

Fifteen years. She was there before my marriage, before my businesses, before most of the life I’ve built. She was the heart of this family and the house feels different without her in it. My wife is wrecked. My kids are wrecked. I am too, if I’m being honest.

I wasn’t planning on writing about this. But two days after we said goodbye to her, something happened that I can’t fully explain, and I don’t think I’m supposed to ignore it.

I’ve wanted to get into beekeeping for a while now. Researched it. Thought about it. Never pulled the trigger.

Two days after losing Ginger, a swarm of bees showed up in my yard. Out of nowhere. Settled on a branch about 30 to 40 feet up my palm tree — a cluster the size of a football.

I’m afraid of heights. Genuinely afraid. But something in me said go get them.

So I grabbed a ladder, climbed higher than I’ve ever been comfortable climbing, and cut that branch down with thousands of bees swarming past my face on the way down. I carried it to a nuc box I got from a new bee mentor of mine that I happened to connect with just two weeks prior to this.

They’re still there right now.

I don’t know exactly what to make of the timing. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s everything. But I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that something showed up right when something else was taken — and that the only reason I was ready for it is because I’d been preparing for months without knowing why.

Grief has a way of making you pay attention. To timing. To signs. To the things you’ve been putting off for no real reason.

I don’t have a clean lesson to wrap this up with today. Just this — sometimes the door opens right after another one closes, and the only thing required of you is to climb the ladder anyway.

Rest easy, Ginger. You were loved completely.

Ready to stop drifting?

Apex Forged

Apex Forged is a coaching program for men who are done negotiating with themselves. Apply at apexforged.co