Sarah Josenhans

Beloved mother, artist, truth-seeker, and force of nature.

Sarah lived boldly, in every shade of purple and blue she could find. She was the kind of woman who could explore abandoned buildings one day, dance in her kitchen the next, and still somehow make it to therapy — not because she was broken, but because she believed healing was an act of power.

She was a devoted mother above all else. Her children were her compass, her soft place, and her greatest pride. She built safety where there had once been chaos. She chose growth over bitterness. She rebuilt her life in her own image — not perfectly, but honestly.

Sarah loved deeply. Passionately. Sometimes recklessly. But always with her whole heart. She believed in magic without denying reality — drawn to the spiritual, the shadow work, the unseen threads that connect people. Raised Catholic, she found resonance in pagan traditions, in moonlight, in symbolism, in reclaiming her own narrative.

She was a foodie with a rebellious streak against her own pancreas. She loved rom-coms but skipped the slashers. She sang loudly, danced unapologetically, and never outgrew Halloween. She could photograph beauty in decay and somehow also be the muse in front of the lens.

She was rebuilding. Always rebuilding. And in that rebuilding, she became steady, strong, and safe — not just for her children, but for herself.

She leaves behind laughter, stubborn resilience, galaxy lights, and the kind of love that refuses to disappear just because it was once hurt.

Her legacy is not perfection.

It is courage.

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