My Story

I was raised in what I would consider a very traditional family—a hardworking father, a deeply involved mother, an older brother, and a dog. I feel like I just described every family in the '80's and ’90s.

Most of my life story revolves around my mother. My mom wasn’t just present; she was everywhere. She was my Girl Scout leader, the weekly “hot dog mom” at my Catholic elementary school, and the backbone of our family and friends. She was a constant support system—not just for me, but for everyone who knew her. My mom was a soundboard, a keeper of secrets, and someone who felt an unshakable responsibility to shield those she loved from life’s hardships.

When it came to life decisions—big or small—I didn’t just run them by my mom; she had the final say. What college to attend, where to work, which wedding dress to wear, where to live, how many kids to have, and whether or not to work after having children. Not because she was controlling, but because she genuinely believed that if she could solve life’s obstacles for the people she loved, then life would be smooth sailing for them.

The Last Perfect Moment

February 2020. My husband, our three kids, and my parents are sitting together, enjoying Dole Whip at Disney’s Magic Kingdom. Life is good. We’re financially stable, loving our jobs, and everyone is healthy. It’s like we all recognize it at the same time—this moment is perfect.

Little did we know, the entire world would shut down two weeks later. And my mom, the one who had always carried the burdens of others, would soon be carrying a secret of her own.

Surviving the Unknown

Like everyone else, we were suddenly surrounded by uncertainty—our children’s schooling, our jobs, the health of our family and friends. We put on brave faces for the kids, but behind closed doors, we cried and panicked in secrecy.

I created a daily homeschool routine to give them some sense of normalcy. My parents weren’t seeing the kids because “it wasn’t safe.” I was balancing my job as a business analyst at a large mortgage company, while my husband, who worked in the medical field, had to strip down in the laundry room and shower immediately after coming home. Some children treated ours differently because their dad could “bring the virus home.” The sadness on my kids’ faces was unbearable.

I knew I had to do something. I had no idea how long the isolation would last, but I needed to solve for their exclusion and sadness.

What makes people happy? Puppies.

I called my husband out of the blue and said, “Honey, we’re going to foster dogs, okay?”

His response: “Ummm… kkkkk.”

He knew exactly what he was getting into when he married me. And I couldn’t be more grateful that I married a man who loves me for who I am—quirks and all—rather than trying to change me.

A Shift in My Support System

As time passed, I saw my parents less and less, and my husband became my rock in ways I never expected. We had already been married for 12 years and had three kids, but this was the moment in our marriage when he truly became my soundboard.

I had always known my husband loved me, but in times of uncertainty, when life felt like it had no direction, I could feel the depth of his unconditional love. When life is smooth, love is something you see. But when life is uncertain, love is something you feel.

The Beginning of Something New

December 2021. We were back in the office a couple of days a week. One afternoon, I was getting ready to leave work when I stopped to talk with my friends, Abe and Ashley. I mentioned how I saved money on groceries and meal planning. They genuinely seemed in awe, and encouraged me to share my recipes and tips online. I will forever be grateful for them and that moment.

That’s how I started my Instagram account, FrugalFamilyofFive—a place where I shared budget-friendly dinners, most under $20, along with grocery shopping tips. My kids loved being in the videos, and my 100 followers seemed to enjoy them too.

In early 2022, I was talking to my mom on the phone about my little Instagram account when she said, “You keep this up, and one day, I see you having your own cooking show. Not just because of the recipes, but because you are bold, funny, unfiltered, and beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes even though she couldn't see me. “Every mom is supposed to say that to their daughter.”

She paused and said, “Please don’t belittle how special you are.”

The Secret My Mom Kept

Spring 2022 arrived, and I was still seeing my mom less and less. She seemed overly cautious of COVID, avoiding the kids’ concerts, dance recitals, and sports events. I missed her. Before the pandemic, she was with my kids almost daily.

I told myself to give her time. She would come around.

May 15, 2022. We celebrated Mother's Day and my grandma’s 95th birthday outside with the whole family. It was a beautiful day, and I’m so thankful I took pictures.

Friday, June 3rd. I had the day off, and my gut told me something was terribly wrong. Why was my mom pulling away? Her distance was breaking my heart, and I needed answers.

I showed up unexpectedly at my parents’ house. When I opened the door, I saw my mom lying on the couch. She looked weak, sick, and her skin was orange. She wouldn’t look me in the eyes. My dad asked me to step outside with him.

We walked to his vegetable garden. His eyes welled with tears.

“Lindsay… your mom is dying.”

He told me that back in September 2020, she was diagnosed with metastatic ovarian cancer. She had been going through chemo, trying to prolong her life, but the treatments had now caused liver failure.

I was shocked. Angry. Betrayed.

How could my mother—my best friend—keep this from me for nearly two years?

I walked back inside, shaking. I looked at her and said, “Mom, we need to tell people what’s going on. I can’t believe you kept this from us.”

Her response gutted me:

“At this point, in what little life I have left, it is not about everyone else. This is about me. For once, I am going to put myself first.”

Life Without Her

Seventeen days later, on June 20, 2022, my mother took her last breath.

I felt lost, like a young child needing their mom, but she was no longer there. I wanted her to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. I wanted to hear her tell me she loved me, please just one more time. I found myself circling my kitchen island, unsure of what to do. I avoided leaving the house, afraid that people would see grief written all over my face. I isolated myself and took a leave from my job. The depression, fog, and forgetfulness caused by grief was consuming me. One day, my daughter found me on the bathroom floor, crying in the dark. She knelt down, hugged me and whispered, “Mom, you’re going to be okay. I have you. We will be okay.”

My husband, my unwavering support, sat across from me one day, watching me stare at the wall numb and said, “Your mother wouldn’t want this for you. She wouldn’t like seeing you like this.”

He was right.

Finding My Path

In September 2022, I returned to work. I remember looking up at the sun and telling myself, It’s time to wake up. You’ve got this. Every single day we breathe is a blessing. Just look around.

Slowly, I started posting on Instagram again. But something about FrugalFamilyofFive didn’t feel right anymore. It no longer reflected who I was or the journey I was on. So, I changed the name to Mom’s Dinner Bell—a tribute to the woman who taught me the power of a home-cooked meal, the joy of laughter, and the magic of deep conversations around the dinner table with the people you love.

And maybe, just maybe, if I shared my story, I could help others laugh, smile, feel loved, and believe that one day, they too would look up and see the beauty in the sun again.

A Fork in the Road

In June 2023, a gentleman reached out and asked if I’d consider becoming a content creator for his shopping recipe platform, Flavrs. My first thought? Why me? I only had 700 followers. Did I even have anything to offer?

A month later, in July 2023, I was on my way up north with my family when my team leader called. A buyout was being offered to all technology team members. The interest rate market was struggling, and things weren’t looking promising.

That trip to Burt Lake, Michigan, became a turning point. Surrounded by family and friends, we spent long nights discussing my future. We talked about my mom—the rock of our family. If I couldn’t be there for my kids, she always was. When I worked in Detroit and one of my children got sick at school, she picked them up. When I couldn’t drive them to school, she made sure they got there.

When my mom passed, my oldest looked at me and said, I feel like I lost a mother.

That sentence echoed in my mind. After deep conversations with my husband and family, the answer became clear—my children. They needed me. So, after 18.5 years of dedicating my adult life to one career, I made the leap. I took the buyout and left.

Now What?

It felt surreal. My mom wasn’t here to guide me through this major decision, and making such a big leap without her was unnerving. Would she be proud? Would she think I was making the right choice?

But deep down, I knew—I was exactly where I was meant to be. It was my time to do for my children what my mother had done for me.

While they were at school, I poured my energy into Mom’s Dinner Bell. My mission became clear: to help families prioritize homemade meals and quality time together.

If I could provide simple, 20- to 30-minute meal ideas, maybe parents would have a few extra moments to sit together before rushing off to soccer practice.

If I could show families how quick, homemade meals could save them hundreds of dollars, maybe they wouldn’t have to take on that second job.

Maybe this was my way of making a difference—not just in my own home, but in the lives of other families. Maybe this was my way of giving back.

Finding My Voice

By December 2023, I had grown from 700 to 12,000 followers. I launched my website, fully stepping into a space I never imagined for myself. For the first time in my life, I was forging my own path—not with my mom’s guidance, but with her love and belief in me still lighting the way.

By April 2024, I had reached 25,000 followers. But more than the numbers, I had found my voice. I shared my grief journey openly. I embraced authenticity. And through my business, I created meaningful content for brands I truly believed in.

The Journey Over the Destination

What started as a small Instagram page had transformed into something bigger—something deeply personal, purposeful, and fulfilling.

Five years ago, I never could have imagined the life I’m living today. Life takes you on a journey, often leading you down paths you never expected. You set goals, make plans, and envision a future, but sometimes, the final destination shifts. And that’s okay. I barely know what tomorrow looks like.  Life happens.  The good and the bad. 

We often become so focused on where we think we should be that we overlook the beauty of where we are. The small moments—the laughter over family dinners, the deep conversations with loved ones, the unexpected opportunities—those are the moments that shape us.

Be present. Embrace the detours. Appreciate the people who walk alongside you, even if only for part of the journey. Cultivate and cherish your support systems—whether it’s your Dinner Club, your Creators & Blogging group, former co-workers, fellow motherless daughters, your best friend, or the incredible spouse and children who stand by your side.

Because in the end, it’s not about reaching a specific destination. It’s about the experiences, the lessons, and the love you collect along the way. That’s what truly matters. 

Parting Words of Advice

I wish someone had shared these words with me before I lost my mom. So bear with me as I share them with you.

A loss as deep as this reminds you to truly live and love wholeheartedly. You can never say “I love you” too much. My mom always made sure to tell me she loved me—whether it was the end of a phone call or just me walking out the door.

Give more grace. Be more understanding. Everyone is fighting battles, many of them unseen.

Take lots of pictures. At first, looking through them will be painful, but in time, the memories and happiness will come flooding back.

If there’s something you want to do, do it. Tomorrow is never guaranteed.

It’s okay to cry in front of others, including your children. It’s healing.

Smile and laugh often. Laughter is one of life’s best medicines—don’t hold back.

Stress is poison; it can make you physically ill. Let go of what doesn’t serve you.

Don’t waste precious time worrying about what others think. This is your life—live it fully and unapologetically.

Be kind. Be humble. Be you.

Tell your mom you love her. Laugh with her. Hug her tight. Savor every moment together, because one day, you won’t have tomorrow.

Not a day will pass where I won’t miss my mom. But in her honor, I will strive to be as loving, involved, and strong as she was—for my family.

I miss you so much, Mom. I hope you’re proud of me. I love you.