Author Morgan Angelique Owens Finds Purpose After Father’s Death, Empowers Grieving Women With Forever, Changed

November 2, 2026

There are moments in life that divide everything into a before and an after. You can remember exactly who you were before it happened, and you can remember the moment you realized that woman was never coming back. For me, that moment was November 23, 2022. My father died unexpectedly the day before Thanksgiving. The world I had so carefully built came crashing down. In one devastating moment, I lost my father. My hero, my best friend, the man who believed in me before I even believed in myself. The sparkle that had carried me through every challenge, every triumph, every new beginning, dimmed.

Before my father died, I understood grief in the way most of us do. I knew it meant missing someone. I knew there would be sadness, tears and difficult days. I knew holidays and birthdays might feel different. What I didn’t understand was that grief could change the way you see yourself, the way you move through the world and even the way you imagine your future. I didn’t understand that you could be surrounded by people who love you and still feel an emptiness that no one else could quite fill. I didn’t understand that you could be functioning, working, traveling, laughing and living your life while simultaneously carrying a loss that had permanently altered something inside of you. Losing my dad completely changed me.

A man in a blue striped shirt holds a young child wearing a cowboy hat and red vest on a brown and white pony against a wooden fence backdrop.

That kind of loss does something to you. Grief doesn’t simply take someone from your life. It introduces you to a version of yourself you have never met before. It changes your priorities. It changes what you consider important. It changes how you look at time. It can make ordinary moments feel sacred and milestones feel bittersweet because the person you most want to tell isn’t there to hear them. There were days when I felt like I was doing everything I was supposed to do and still couldn’t understand why I didn’t feel like myself. Grief doesn’t disappear because you know how to function. You learn how to carry it so well that people don’t realize you’re carrying it at all.

That was one of the hardest lessons for me: looking okay and being okay are not always the same thing. I started writing Forever, Changed because I needed somewhere to put all those feelings. I needed to make sense of what had happened to me, but I also needed to understand what was happening inside of me. The book became a place where I could be honest about grief, loneliness, healing, identity and the uncomfortable process of becoming someone new after life has taken something from you that you can never get back. I realized I wasn’t only writing about losing my dad. I was writing about finding myself.

I had spent so much time thinking about the woman I was before loss that I hadn’t fully stopped to meet the woman who existed afterward. That woman had different needs. She had different boundaries. She saw relationships differently. She understood time differently. She understood that life could change in an instant, and that waiting for the “right time” to do the things you want to do is not always the safe choice we imagine it to be.

Woman in pink workout outfit lying on pink yoga mat against white background, wearing white socks and looking upward thoughtfully.

Grief changed me, but it also taught me to pay attention. It taught me that life is happening while we are making plans for it. It taught me to appreciate the phone calls, the dinners, the trips, the ordinary Tuesday afternoons and the people who make them meaningful. It taught me that success means something different when you understand how quickly life can change. Most importantly, it taught me that healing isn’t about becoming the woman I was before I experienced loss. I had to learn a new me. That phrase became one of the most important ideas in Forever, Changed: sometimes you don’t get to go back to who you were. You must learn how to love who you are becoming. That is a complicated thing to accept when you are grieving. There can be an unspoken pressure to “get back to normal,” as if healing means returning to the exact person, you were before the loss. What if normal no longer exists? What if some of the things you once tolerated no longer make sense? What if you realize that your time, your peace, your relationships and your joy deserve to be treated differently? I began asking myself those questions.

The more honest I became with myself, the more I realized that I couldn’t possibly be the only woman having this experience. Grief doesn’t always come from death. Women grieve relationships. We grieve careers. We grieve friendships. We grieve our younger selves. We grieve the children we thought we would have, the marriages we thought would last, the businesses that didn’t work, the dreams that changed, the bodies we used to have and the versions of ourselves we spent years trying to become. We are grieving a life that still exists but no longer feels like ours. Women are often expected to keep moving through all of it. We are expected to be strong. To show up. To take care of everyone. To build the business, lead the team, raise the children, support the family, maintain the friendships and somehow make it all look effortless. We celebrate women for being able to carry so much, but I don’t think we talk enough about what happens when the woman carrying everything finally needs somewhere to put it down.

Woman posing at book launch event with pink and white balloons, standing next to poster reading "Forever, Changed" against black curtain backdrop.

That is why I created the Forever, Changed Wellness Tour. The tour grew out of the book, but it became something bigger than a book promotion. I wanted to create the kind of space I needed when I was trying to figure out how to live with grief and still find joy. I wanted women to have somewhere they could come without having to pretend they had everything figured out. Somewhere they could move their bodies, talk about mental wellness, experience beauty, connect with other women and have conversations about the things we don’t always know how to say out loud. I wanted the room to feel like an exhale.

The Forever, Changed Wellness Tour will begin with one stop in Detroit on October 17 and will continue with a second stop in New Orleans on November 21. In 2027, the tour will continue to Cincinnati and Dallas, with the hope of adding more cities as additional partners come alongside the vision. I want to take this conversation beyond one book, one city or one room because I believe women everywhere deserve access to spaces where they can pause and reconnect with themselves. Writing Forever, Changed forced me to sit with parts of myself that I might have preferred to keep moving past. It made me acknowledge that grief had changed my life, but it also made me acknowledge that I had changed. I didn’t lose my sparkle. I just had to learn how to find my light again.

About The Author:

Morgan Angelique Owens is a powerhouse in travel, beauty, and media, seamlessly blending her expertise as a dynamic blogger and seasoned media correspondent. She has been featured on national television and in top publications across the country, and she has made her mark internationally through travel and beauty collaborations. A multifaceted entrepreneur, Morgan thrives as an Author, Consultant, Speaker, and Brand Ambassador. Through her platform, she passionately uplifts women and young girls, sharing invaluable insights on physical and mental health, beauty, personal empowerment, and lifestyle—encouraging them to embrace their full potential and shine unapologetically.

Danielle Brooks

I am a staff writer at New York Beacon, where I focus on culture, entrepreneurship, and the emerging voices redefining Black America. My work highlights innovators, artists, and founders whose stories often unfold beyond mainstream headlines but shape communities in meaningful ways. Through precise reporting and thoughtful storytelling, I aim to document progress, challenge narratives, and contribute to a stronger Black press tradition.