The Loofah that saved me.

People ask me all the time why I grow loofahs.

Most people think it's because I make skincare products. And sure, that's part of it now. But the real reason runs much deeper than that.

The truth is, this story starts with my dad.

For about four years, I was my dad's full-time caregiver. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Caregiving changes you in ways that are hard to explain unless you've lived it. Your days revolve around someone else's needs. You learn to put yourself last. You carry worries you never imagined carrying.

It becomes part of who you are.

During that time, my sister gave me a packet of loofah seeds.

I remember asking my dad about them. He told me loofahs were hard to grow, but if I put my mind to it, I could probably do it.

So I planted them.

Every day after that, my dad would ask me the same question.

"Do you see anything yet?"

Every single day.

I'd check the pots and tell him no.

The next day he'd ask again.

"Do you see anything yet?"

And I'd go look.

It became our little ritual.

A simple question.

A simple conversation.

Nothing remarkable at the time, but now it's one of the memories I treasure most.

Then one morning, it finally happened.

A tiny green sprout pushed its way through the dirt.

I was so excited.

I couldn't wait to tell my dad.

When I showed him, all he said was:

"Well, it took it long enough."

I laughed.

That was my dad.

No big speech. No dramatic reaction. Just a comment that still makes me smile when I think about it.

As those little seedlings began growing, something else was happening.

I was watching my dad decline.

Every day I saw those tiny plants getting stronger.

Every day I saw my dad getting weaker.

One life was beginning.

One life was slowly coming to an end.

I don't think I'll ever forget what that felt like.

I was living in two worlds at once. There was hope growing in those pots on the windowsill, and there was heartbreak waiting for me every day.

Looking back now, I realize those little loofah plants carried me through one of the darkest seasons of my life.

My dad passed away in December 2025.

As I write this, it hasn't even been a year.

The grief is still fresh.

I still miss him every single day.

Sometimes I still think about calling him before I remember I can't.

Sometimes I still hear his voice in my head.

Sometimes I still find myself wishing I could tell him something that happened in my day.

He never got to see what those little seeds became.

He never got to see the vines stretching across the garden.

He never got to see the loofahs hanging from the trellises.

He never got to see the harvest.

And he never got to see Iron & Ivy Apothecary.

I wish he could have.

Today, that garden means more to me than I can ever explain.

It's not just a garden.

It's my sanctuary.

It's where I go when I need peace.

It's where I go when I need to think.

It's where I go when I need to cry.

And it's where I go when I miss my dad.

Sometimes I sit among the vines and talk to him.

I tell him what's growing.

I tell him what's blooming.

I tell him about the harvest.

I tell him about Iron & Ivy and what I'm trying to build.

I know that might sound strange to some people.

But grief has its own language.

And somehow, I know he's there.

Not in a way I can explain.

I just know.

The loofah didn't save me because it's a plant.

It saved me because it gave me something to hold onto during the hardest season of my life.

It gave me something to nurture when my heart was breaking.

It reminded me that even in seasons of loss, something beautiful can still grow.

Sometimes when I walk through the garden, I can still hear my dad asking that same question.

"Do you see anything yet?"

Dad, I do now.

I see the vines.

I see the harvest.

I see the dream that grew from a handful of seeds.

And more than anything, I hope you're proud.

Because every loofah growing in this garden started with a conversation between a father and a daughter.

And every step I take with Iron & Ivy Apothecary carries a little piece of you with it.

From my garden to your glow. 🌿💚