08/11/2026
Her name was Mari. š
She was a mother.
A daughter.
A sister.
A friend.
And she was a victim of domestic violence.
But that is not who she was.
Mari was creative. She loved to read. She loved fairytales, romance, and all things a little magical. She was compassionate, positive, and somehow always found a way to see the beauty in things.
She taught me things that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
She taught me how to share my love more freely.
How to be softer.
How to be a better mom.
How to appreciate the ordinary days while Iām lucky enough to have them.
I am no stranger to grief. I have lost a child. I have survived PTSD and trauma. I thought I understood what grief could do to a person.
But the layers of trauma surrounding Mariās death almost tore my family apart.
Domestic violence doesnāt only affect the person experiencing it. The devastation reaches children, parents, siblings, friends, families and entire communities. The people left behind carry pieces of it long after the violence is over.
And it doesnāt always look the way we think it will.
It doesnāt happen overnight.
It isnāt always obvious.
It isnāt always black and white.
You never think something like this will happen to someone you love.
Until it does.
So today, I donāt want to remember Mari only for the way she died.
I want to remember the way she lived.
I want to remember her laugh. Her creativity. Her kindness. The books she loved. The mother she was. The friend she was. The little pieces of her that live on in the people who loved her.
Because even through all of this grief, remembering her has helped us heal.
Talking about her helps us heal.
Honoring her helps us heal.
And loving her still helps us heal.
Today, we remember Mari for who she was and how she lived. ā„ļøš
And if telling her story makes even one person look at their own relationshipāor the relationship of someone they loveāa little differently, then her story continues to matter.
For Mari Bonnici š