Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom: Recent Episodes
Marcy Larson, MD
When pediatrician mom of three, Marcy Larson's 14 yo son, Andy, was killed in a car accident in 2018, she felt like her life was over. In many ways, that life was over, and a new one forced to begin in its place. Come alongside her as she works through this journey of healing. She discusses grief and child loss with other grieving parents and those who work to help them in their grief. This podcast is for grieving parents and well as those who support them.
div]:bg-bg-000/50 [&_pre>div]:border-0.5 [&_pre>div]:border-border-400 [&_.ignore-pre-bg>div]:bg-transparent [&_.standard-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pl-2 [&_.standard-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8 [&_.progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pl-2 [&_.progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8"> div]:bg-bg-000/50 [&_pre>div]:border-0.5 [&_pre>div]:border-border-400 [&_.ignore-pre-bg>div]:bg-transparent [&_.standard-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pl-2 [&_.standard-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8 [&_.progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pl-2 [&_.progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8"> Jamie's mother gave her a gift years before she knew she would need it. Her mother would say, "During times of darkness, find a little bit of light. Stand in it. Be still and wait for the next bit. Then walk to that light."
It sounds simple. And then you lose your child, and you understand what it actually costs to do it.
Jamie lost her daughter Lily in September of 2025. Lily was eighteen years old, a lionheart, a girl who was fierce and loyal and creative and strong, who was studying to be a primary school teacher, who loved animals and made Christmas crafts for the whole family every year, whose last tattoo was her grandmother's birth flower in her grandmother's own handwriting. She died suddenly on a Saturday night after finishing a double shift at work, from a previously undiagnosed cardiac condition, and Jamie's world was split in two - a before, and an after, and a rupture so complete that nothing on the other side of it looked the same.
And yet she has kept walking. One small bit of light at a time.
The best friend who happened to have become a funeral director just five years earlier, and who was called to Lily's body that very night, and who knew immediately to take her fingerprints. The podcast that found Jamie at exactly the right moment, even though she had been searching for months. The counselor who drew a circle and said grief never gets smaller, but your world grows bigger around it, and the people who stay help you carry it. The TikTok reel Lily had made of everything that mattered to her, shown to her by a friend at the exact moment Jamie was paralyzed in her daughter's room, not knowing what to keep. Lily's friends, still coming over, still sitting in her room, all wearing lily tattoos on their wrists.
Light. And then another. And then another.
Jamie says it plainly near the end of this conversation, quoting something she had heard on this very podcast: God protects us from nothing. But he sustains us through all things.
She believes that. And the ten months since Lily died are her proof.
Find the light. Walk to it. Be still.
Jackie knew it was coming.
That is one of the hardest things about this kind of grief. For years, she had watched her son Sebastian struggle with mental health and addiction, and there came a point, as she puts it, where it was no longer an if but a when. She braced herself. She prepared. She thought maybe that would soften the blow.
It did not.
Sebastian was Jackie's firstborn, a towheaded, blue-eyed dynamo who walked at ten months old and never really stopped moving. He was curious about everything, passionate about soccer, and a national chess champion not once but twice before he decided it was no longer cool. He played D2 college soccer, loved the outdoors, and could make a room come alive. He and Jackie were so much alike that they butted heads constantly, but they always knew they loved each other. His last words to her were I love you, Mom.
He died by suicide in 2017 at the age of 23. He was in a rehab program. He was supposed to be safe.
Jackie says she never found herself angry at God, but she was angry at Sebastian for a long time. She clung to Jesus anyway. She went to church and hid in the front corner of the earliest service where nobody knew her, and she cried for two years. She went walking every day and listened to her Bible, unable to read it, barely retaining any of it, but letting it wash over her. She could only get through the Psalms, underlining every lament. She told people simply: I cannot see God in the midst of this, but I know He is there. Where else am I going to go?
She calls those first years her season of tears. And she allowed herself to be in it.
What she has built on the other side of it is remarkable. After thirteen writing classes, years of anonymous essays on Substack, and the steady encouragement of a writing coach and a grief counselor she would read her writing aloud to, Jackie has written a book. It is called Messy Mourning: Hope for Mothers Grieving the Loss of a Child by Suicide, and it is written specifically for the mothers who know this particular grief, the grief that comes wrapped in silence, the grief no one quite knows what to say about.
Jackie is clear: suicide loss is different. Not harder or easier than other losses, but different. The world does not know how to respond to it. People go quiet. Well-meaning things get said that land like stones. And beneath it all, there is still an unspoken stigma that Jackie is determined to push back against with every word she writes.
Her son was more than how he died. Her season of tears was not the end of her story. And no mother who has lost a child this way should have to carry it alone.
Messy Mourning is available on Amazon and at JackieMBaker.com, where you can also find companion resources including a journal, a 30-day lament guide, and a playlist her daughter made in Sebastian's memory.
Payton loved rainbows.
She knew all the colors, knew them in order, and would paint them perfectly every time. But she always added a pink line at the bottom, because she simply could not understand why pink was not already there. Every single rainbow she ever painted had that extra pink line.
The Friday before she died, she painted one more. It was still drying on the easel at her Christian school when her class came in on Monday morning.
Payton was five years old, a ray of sunshine with bright blue eyes and blonde hair, the kind of little girl who would run up to someone she had never met, say hi, give them a hug, and be ready to go be best friends. She cheered for her little brother Blake when he struggled to hit milestones. She gave her toys away to neighbors because that was just who she was. She asked endless questions about heaven, about the colors no one on earth has ever seen yet.
On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, she was struck and killed by a neighbor's car while walking her little brother around their quiet neighborhood circle.
Holly is an ER nurse and a paramedic. She ran CPR on her own daughter in the entryway of their home, called her hospital to get the trauma team ready, and walked through the trauma bay knowing exactly where she was going. She was usually the calm during someone else's storm. That day, she could not be that for her own child.
Payton was gone that afternoon.
In this conversation, Holly speaks with remarkable honesty about the six months since, about navigating grief alongside a new baby, about walking away from a career she has loved since she was eighteen, about the foundation (Payton's Pink Rainbow Project) she and her husband started in Payton's name, and about a faith that has been shaken to its core, but has not let go.
She tells God every single day: I am so mad at you. But I am going to remain faithful.
Some days she does not believe the words when she says them. She says them anyway.
And her friend asked her something that stopped her cold. When you are doubting God, who are you actually talking to? If you did not believe He was real, you would not be in conversation at all.
I shared something I carried early in my own grief. As long as I was angry at God, that meant I believed He existed. And as long as I believe He exists, I am okay. The conversations may be cruddy. But as long as we are still having them, we are okay.
That is the conversation that keeps us.
There is a line from Samuel Beckett that a friend whispered to Stephen outside the hospital room where his wife Kate was dying.
I can't go on. I'll go on.
It became, as Stephen says in his memoir, a pretty accurate summary of his life after Kate and Anna.
Anna came home from China at seven months old, a charming, sweet, luminously happy little girl who had a gift for drawing people to her. Children would flock to her on the playground, sensing something in her they could not name. She loved music, loved to sing, loved every meal she was ever given. She also had a rare and devastating neurogenetic disorder called Niemann-Pick Type C, diagnosed when she was five, after a fall and a head bleed led doctors to notice her enlarged liver and spleen. They told Stephen and Kate she would likely not live past thirteen.
She lived to be twenty.
Kate died of lung cancer in March of 2012, three years before Anna. She walked into the hospital on her own, refused to let Stephen call an ambulance, would not let him help her through the door. Doctors were puzzled by how a woman with a tumor wrapped around her lung could still be walking around. It was, Stephen says quietly, very much on brand for her.
He was left to grieve his wife while watching his daughter continue her slow decline, and to hold his younger daughter Jane together through all of it. He did not do it gracefully. He did it the only way anyone does it. Imperfectly. One foot, then the other.
I recognized something in Stephen's words that I have carried in my own grief. There were so many days when I turned to my dear friend and said, I can't do this. And every time, she looked right back at me and said, Marcy, you are doing this. That is the whole of it, right there. You feel like you cannot, and somehow, impossibly, you do.
Stephen's memoir, A Ribbon for Your Hair, captures that truth with a writer's precision and a father's aching heart. He reflects on the weather of grief, how you live in it, how sometimes you notice it and sometimes it is just there. He shares the grief advice he received over the years, much of it well-meaning, almost none of it useful. And he stands on a sidewalk outside the apartment where he and Kate were once happy, weeping, while strangers walk past him as if nothing in the world has changed.
Because for them, nothing has. That is grief's loneliest truth.
He survived it because he had to. Because Jane needed him. Because that is what we do.
I can't go on. I'll go on.
A Ribbon for Your Hair is available on Amazon and wherever books are sold.
Bryan carried the sadness.
That was his decision. Not the devastation, not the incapacitation, but the sadness. A conscious, daily choice to let his broken heart stay open rather than rebuild the walls around it. And in doing so, he discovered something he did not expect.
The broken heart made him better.
Noah was Bryan's son, born in 1987, a boy of rare and tender empathy who greeted his father every morning before work and asked, at ten years old, to attend the funeral of a classmate's father because he already knew, somehow, how to be present in someone else's pain. He grew into a young man full of promise, studying finance and Chinese, warm and funny and deeply loved. And then, quietly, the opioid crisis found him. He once told his father that the first time he took one of those drugs, it was the first time in his life he had ever felt completely free of anxiety.
What followed were years of loving a child through addiction. Rehab. Sobriety. Relapse. Bryan eventually had to fire his own son from the company he ran. He and his wife told Noah they could no longer pay his rent, that they would support his recovery but not his destruction. Noah understood. He said a friend would drive him to rehab.
The call from rehab never came. Bryan had the police do a welfare check.
Noah was gone.
In the years since, Bryan made a choice. He would not rebuild what grief had torn down. He would stay open, stay soft, stay reachable by other people's suffering. Because he had come to understand that as long as we tell ourselves we are safe, as long as we build the little narratives that say the worst cannot happen to us, we create invisible walls between ourselves and everyone around us who is hurting. Grief demolished those walls. And in their rubble, something beautiful grew.
One evening, Bryan and his wife Carolyn walked together and reached the familiar dead end of the why. And one of them said, simply, oh well. And they both laughed. Not because anything was less sad. But because releasing the need for an answer brought such relief that joy slipped in uninvited, right through the broken places.
Joy and sorrow are not opposites. The broken heart that stays open is the one that feels everything more deeply.
Carrying deep sadness, Bryan says, is a condition for me being as compassionate a person as I can be.
Bryan's book, The Gift of a Broken Heart, is available wherever books are sold and at thegiftofabrokenheart.com.
This week's episode didn't happen the way we planned.
It was supposed to be a livestream. And then, within the same week, both Gwen and I found ourselves facing something neither of us expected. My mother-in-law, who had been like a mother to me for nearly 30 years, was suddenly placed on hospice. Gwen's own mother was in hospice as well. We looked at each other and simply said, we cannot do a livestream this week. So we didn't. We let it be smaller, quieter, and just the two of us.
And in a strange way, that became exactly the right backdrop for the topic at hand.
This episode is built around questions we posed to our community about navigating grief alongside the demands of daily work. What tips would you share about going back to work? How do you balance the daily grind of work and your grief? Do your coworkers and bosses know the pain you carry, and how much do you disclose?
The answers that poured in revealed something important. There is no one right way to do this.
Some of you went back to work and told everyone everything. Others went back and told no one at all. Some of you simply could not go back, not to the same job, not to any job, at least not yet. All of those are valid. All of those are normal, depending on your circumstances, your safety, and what you personally need in order to function.
Practical tips came pouring in too, like asking for help navigating FMLA paperwork, returning part-time before full-time, and clearly communicating boundaries to coworkers and supervisors rather than trying to silently muscle through. Some of you found that work became a meaningful place to honor your child, while others found it became a place to set grief aside for a few hours, a kind of necessary, temporary relief.
The conversation around disclosure was especially honest. Some workplaces respond with grace and flexibility, and others do not. Some losses carry complicated layers underneath them that need to stay private for many reasons. Disclosure is not a one-time decision but something navigated moment by moment, situation by situation, for the rest of your life.
And things change. I once believed I could never see patients again, retreating into administrative work instead, only to find myself months later unable to bear administrative work at all, wanting nothing but my patients back. A job that meant nothing before a child's death can become someone's entire calling afterward. Grief and work are not static, and neither are we.
If you are navigating this balance yourself right now, we hope this conversation reminds you that whatever choice you have made, or are making, is the right one for you. There is no universal answer here. There is only yours.
We are all born into a house of stories.
That is something Dan, Jacob's dad, believes deeply, and it shapes everything about how he has carried his grief. Dan is a professional storyteller by trade, and when his son Jacob was born fragile and uncertain in the NICU, not expected to survive, Dan did the only thing he knew how to do. He sat by his side and talked. He told stories, sang songs, even recited Chaucer in Middle English, because he believed his voice could be a beacon, something Jacob's soul could navigate by to find his way into the world. He called the experience talking him in.
Jacob lived. He was eventually diagnosed with Prader-Willi syndrome, a condition Dan explains in simple terms as leaving someone always, organically hungry, with locks needed on the fridge not because Jacob was sneaky, but because his body simply could not register being full. He grew up big, sometimes teased, slow to make friends, but open to the world in a way Dan deeply admired. His great-grandmother told him once that he was born for a purpose, and Jacob carried that with him quietly for the rest of his life. Years later, working as a beloved school crossing guard in Toronto, he helped save a toddler who had run into oncoming traffic, and told his dad afterward, through tears, maybe that is why I chose to live.
Jacob died at 26, eight days after a car accident, with enough time for his mother and brother to make it to his bedside. Dan calls those final eight days talking him out. He believes there is a kind of circle in that. Talked in at the beginning of his life. Talked out at the end of it.
In the two years that followed, Dan did something he had spent years encouraging other people to do, first as a storyteller in residence at Baycrest Health Sciences, and later in palliative care settings. He became Jacob's story keeper. He gathered every scrap of Jacob he could find, poems, apology letters, nicknamed lists of fishing rods and fedoras, all of Jacob's own words and ways, and wove them into a book written entirely in Jacob's imagined voice. It is called I Am Full: Stories for Jacob, and a major publisher offered to print it if Dan would write about his own experience instead. He said no. The book was never meant to be about him. It was meant to be about Jacob.
Dan's belief is simple and profound. We are each other's story keepers. Not just parents and children, but everyone who has ever loved someone and chosen to remember them out loud. He shares the story of an Italian woman in a palliative care unit, encouraged to collect her dying mother's proverbs in her final days, who became her mother's story keeper in the process. He shares the old expression that a person is not truly dead until they are forgotten.
This podcast exists, in many ways, to do exactly what Dan describes. We tell stories. We collect stories. We keep them, together, so that no child is ever just a name on a headstone, but a whole, full, remembered life.
If this conversation moves you, Dan's book I Am Full: Stories for Jacob is available through Signature Editions, a small publisher out of Winnipeg and can be purchased on Amazon.
There is a fear that lives quietly inside almost every grieving parent. It rarely gets said out loud, but it shapes so much of how we carry our grief.
If I let go of the pain, will I lose them too?
Caryn, Josh's mom, spent years living inside that fear before she finally understood something that changed everything for her.
Josh was Caryn's oldest son, a champion wrestler who came within reach of Olympic dreams, smart and witty and utterly fearless. A week and a half before he died in a motorcycle accident at 23, he told her three times that he was invincible. Caryn believes now that in some sense he was right. His soul was invincible. It was only his body that was not.
The accident happened just eight days after Caryn and her husband told their sons they were separating. It was, as she puts it, the year from hell. She remembers saying out loud to her friends that she did not think she could live through it.
But Caryn had tools most people do not. As a hypnotherapist of over twenty years, she understood the power of the subconscious mind, and in the days after Josh died, she leaned on every tool she had. She also began experiencing something she never expected. Messages from Josh in the middle of the night. An unearthly peace on her deck just days after his death. A spiritual awakening she did not see coming and, by her own admission, would have dismissed as woo-woo before.
What grew out of all of it was a hard-won understanding about the difference between holding on and letting go. For a long time, Caryn held Josh so tightly that she could feel him gently telling her it was time to let him run free, that he did not need her to hold on so tight anymore. Releasing that grip did not come easily. It felt, for a while, like losing him all over again. But what came after was lighter. Freer. And Josh was still there.
That is the heart of everything Caryn now teaches in her hypnotherapy practice and her grief retreats. Releasing the heavy emotions, the anger, the guilt, the haunting last images that will not leave you alone, does not mean releasing your child. Caryn believes, and I believe this too, that what keeps our children close is never the pain. It is the love. The pain is simply what we are afraid to put down.
Caryn now leads four day grief retreats in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, where she walks grieving parents through exactly this work. Her next retreat is coming up in July, and at the time of this release, there are still a few spots remaining if you feel called to it. You can find all the details at carynbird.com/retreat.
Whatever your path looks like, I hope this conversation reminds you of something important. You do not have to keep carrying the pain to keep them close. Your love already does that.
After losing Isaiah, Mona did what so many grieving parents do.
She disappeared.
Not all at once. But slowly, quietly, she started skipping the family gatherings where she would feel his absence most sharply, surrounded by all his cousins growing up without him. She got good at wearing a mask, at being on for other people, at performing a version of herself that did not make anyone uncomfortable. And when the exhaustion of all that pretending became too much, she retreated. Into the cave, as she calls it. Until she felt ready to come out again.
It took her a long time to learn the difference between solitude and isolation. One is necessary. The other is lonely.
Isaiah was Mona's only child, her greatest joy, a boy who told her he loved her at least ten times a day and meant it every time. He was funny and easygoing and patient in ways she was not, the kind of kid who would watch you drop the roof of a gingerbread house and just shrug and say it was okay. He was thirteen years old when he died in an accident while clearing trees on the family property. Mona was home packing for a trip. A knock on the door. A two and a half hour drive to Flagstaff Medical Center. And then a doctor who walked out and told her he was gone.
Six years later, she is still carrying it. She has started EMDR, working carefully and bravely toward the day she will be ready to process the memory of that day itself. She has learned, slowly, that letting people in is not a burden to them. It is, as she says, a way of allowing them to love her.
And she has been loved well.
At Isaiah's celebration of life, she said something out loud - that she wanted to collect some money and give it to a charity in his name. Her friend Jessica and her twin sister heard those words, and took them seriously. Within months, they had raised $80,000 to build a medical and dental clinic in Honduras, named La Luz de Isaiah. The Light of Isaiah.
When Mona traveled to Honduras to see the clinic, strangers had painted a dragonfly mural on the wall inside, because Isaiah's favorite insect was a dragonfly. She stood in that room, and for the first time in a long time, she felt something she had been afraid she had lost.
She felt like God had not forgotten her.
Out of that moment, and out of a conversation between Mona and Jessica on the phone afterward, La Luz de Isaiah Foundation was born. Their Dragonfly Wishes program helps grieving parents bring to life the tributes and memorials they have dreamed of but could not carry alone. A bench in a park. A community art fair. A clinic in Honduras. Whatever honors the child, in whatever size fits the family. Jessica does the logistics, the phone calls, the fundraising, the advocacy. Mona holds the heart of it.
Because what they both want, more than anything, is for every grieving parent to feel what Mona felt in that clinic.
Seen. Remembered. Not forgotten.
You can learn more and apply for a Dragonfly Wish at laluzdeisaiah.org.
Becky has spent her entire life adapting to a world that was not built for her.
As a woman with dwarfism who stands four feet tall, she has learned to problem solve, improvise, and push forward in spaces that were never designed with her in mind. She has built the confidence and strength to ignore the stares and the laughs. She has figured out children's recliners and gaming chairs and car beds and oxygen tanks and every other logistical puzzle that life has thrown at her.
And then she lost Jackson. And something unexpected happened.
The fear went away.
Jackson Robert was born on August 9th, 2021, a perfect baby who arrived after 39 weeks, a NICU stay, 20 days of sleep studies, a car bed, oxygen for sleeping, and a yellow sheet of paper with 20 specialist appointments waiting on the other side of discharge day. He also had dwarfism, just like his mama, and Becky will tell you that getting that news was the best news she had ever received. He was her boy. He was going to be like her.
He was six months and twenty-one days old when he died, following a catastrophic loss of oxygen during a routine sleep study at the hospital. He had not been breathing for thirty minutes before anyone noticed. The code team took four minutes to arrive. Becky was thrown out of the room. His father came back from the hotel not even having had enough time to remove his shoes.
Twelve days in the ICU followed. Twelve days of fighting to understand what had happened while simultaneously fighting to give Jackson the best possible care. Twelve days of MRIs and heart rate changes and a physical therapist who came once, lifted his leg, watched it fall, and never came back. Twelve days of Becky going to the hotel every night to sleep, so she could be fully present for him every morning. And at 8:09 PM on March 2nd, 2022, Jackson passed away in her arms. 8:09. August 9th. His birthday.
In this conversation, Becky speaks with remarkable honesty about everything that has come since. The IVF journey that stretched across two years and three states before falling apart. The massive spinal surgery that left her hospitalized for 72 days and still requiring care today. The layers of grief she has carried all at once, the loss of her son, the loss of her mobility, the loss of her marriage, and the grief that began even before Jackson was born, in every diagnosis and every appointment and every moment of bracing for what might come next.
And through all of it, she has kept going. She has written. She has sought therapy. She has found her people, slowly and imperfectly, in support groups and retreats and monthly meetings with parents who lost children around Jackson's age. She has put his photo on her hospital room walls and his picture with Santa in the family Christmas photos and his image on her phone so that every new nurse who walks into her room asks about him.
She says she used to wake up in the middle of the night consumed by a fear of death. The moment Jackson died in her arms, that fear disappeared.
She is in no rush. She has a lot to do here on Earth. But she knows she will get to see him again.
And part of what she has to do is make sure Jackson is never just a blip. She is working on a book. She is doing inclusivity advocacy so that the world he never got to grow up in becomes the world she would have wanted for him. She is telling anyone who will listen about her boy and his giggles and his determination during tummy time and the way he was, as she puts it simply and perfectly, the brightest light.
Jackson made Becky a mama. And in the end, he made her fearless too.
For more on Becky, visit beckymotivates.com
Darius made Kelly a mama at eighteen years old.
Then he made her a nurse.
And years later, after he was gone, he made her something else entirely, a certified grief counselor, an entrepreneur, and the founder of something beautiful that would not exist without him.
That is the thread running through this entire conversation. Our children become our purpose. And when we find that purpose, they are wrapped up inside it completely.
Darius Anthony was Kelly's oldest, born on Christmas Day, a gift announced to the world on the day the world was already celebrating. He was a class clown, a party in a person, a young man who dreamed of making a dent in the universe, not just for himself, but for other people. He became a realtor working specifically with first-time homebuyers, bought his own first home, and was preparing to flip it for someone just like them. He was 28 years old, thriving, and full of plans.
On January 3rd, 2023, he died in his sleep from SUDEP, Sudden Unexplained Death in Epilepsy. He had been diagnosed with epilepsy at eighteen, managed it well, and was living his life fully. Kelly and her husband were on a cruise ship in Mexico when the call came.
Before January 3rd, 2023 and after. That is how Kelly divides her life now.
In this conversation, Kelly speaks honestly about the grief journey. The permission a dear friend gave her to simply stop and just be. The Visionary Dreamer Award at his college that his colleagues announced at his funeral they were renaming in his honor. The autopsy report that arrived without warning on her second day back at work, and the ashes returned in what she can only describe as a biohazard container. Two moments that made her think: the death care industry has to do better.
So she built something better.
Timely Presence sends heirloom quality gifts on the predictable hard days, the birthday, the holiday season, the anniversary of the death, so that the people who love grieving families can show up right on time. Gifts that are not sad, Kelly says. Gifts that are reminders of love. Learn more at thetimelypresence.com.
And perhaps the most beautiful moment in this conversation is near the end, when Kelly tells the story of Darius's best friend, who brought a framed photo of Darius to his own house closing. Because there was no way to do that moment without him.
That is what it looks like when a life leaves a mark so deep that the people who loved him carry him forward into every milestone he never got to have.
Darius made Kelly a mama, a nurse, and now a purpose.
He is wrapped up in all of it.
The flowers are blooming. The days are getting longer. The world looks like it is coming back to life.
So why do so many of us feel so heavy?
In this episode, Gwen Kapcia, social worker and thanatologist, and I sit down to talk about something grieving parents experience but rarely hear discussed directly - the way the changing seasons can shift something deep inside us, often before we even realize what is happening. As Gwen puts it so simply and so truthfully, every new season is the calendar doing what the new year does, four times over. It is a marker that more time has passed without our child. And there is no denying it.
We talk about why transitions are so hard, why the body keeps score even when the mind has not looked at the calendar, and why sometimes the hardest season is not the one we expected. It might not be the season our child died in. It might be back to school, or the first warm day, or the quiet of February. It just hits, and we feel it before we can name it.
We also read through beautiful and honest responses from our community, parents who shared their children's favorite seasons, their own hardest seasons, and specific memories from each time of year that brought both tears and smiles. A boy who played hooky at the state fair every fall birthday. A girl who wore flannels and loved Halloween and was honored at her visitation the same way. A son whose love of summer camping shaped every warm month for his family. These are the kinds of memories that keep grief open, as Gwen says, to both the beauty and the pain.
Gwen also shares some practical tips for navigating the seasonal shifts, including the importance of routine, sunlight, staying active, and above all, staying connected. Because as we say on this podcast again and again — we are not meant to do this alone.
And there is one more thing I want to invite you to do, whether you are listening the day this drops or months from now. Take a few quiet minutes and write down a specific memory of your child in each of the four seasons. Not for anyone else. Just for you. To remember. To treasure. To hold them close in every season they ever lived in.
Say my child's name.
It sounds like such a simple thing. And yet for so many grieving parents, it is the thing people around them are least willing to do. They look at you with that familiar expression, the one you can see right through, and they stay quiet, thinking their silence is a kindness.
Cindy knows that look well. And it is exactly where everything began.
Abbie was Cindy's youngest, born in November of 1993, the kind of little girl who arrived like a force of nature. Full of energy, full of heart, always wanting to give of herself to everyone around her. She had ADD, a heart of gold, and a cosmetology license she worked hard to earn. She was also someone who carried a great deal quietly, and when her best friend died by suicide in junior high, something in Abbie shifted in ways that would take years to fully understand.
Abbie's road was not a straight one. There were struggles with addiction, a stint in rehab, and a season of sobriety so joyful that Cindy wrote to the judge and district attorney just to tell them she had her daughter back. That season was real. It was precious. And then Abbie relapsed, and on the night it happened, the heroin her friend had purchased was one hundred percent fentanyl.
Abbie was gone. And Lily, her little girl, was there when Cindy found them.
In the years since, Cindy turned her grief into something. It started with wristbands and a name she registered: Say My Child's Name. It grew into a child loss grief group, and then into a vision for something much bigger.
A remembrance memorial. A beautiful park-like space in Stowe, Ohio at Adele Durbin Park, with wind chimes and benches and dedications and a nook full of mental health resources for grieving families. Not a cemetery. A destination. A place where anyone who has lost a child can come and simply be.
Seven area mayors are on board. A grandmother donated $20,000. The community has raised $45,000 toward a $200,000 goal. And it is only just beginning.
Cindy will tell you she is doing baby steps. But from where I am sitting, what she is doing looks a whole lot like something sacred.
To donate or learn more, reach Cindy at saymychildsnameAbbie@gmail.com, or give directly at smfcommunity.org/mychild.
Parent. Sister. Friend.
That was the order Andrea established with her little sister Adrienne when Adrienne was just nine years old, fresh into a new life in Los Angeles after their mother signed over custody on the day after Christmas. Andrea was twenty-two. She had not planned any of this. But she looked at her little sister and she knew.
And so she laid it out simply: I have to be your parent first, then your sister, and one day when you grow up, I really hope I'm your friend.
Adrienne understood. She had a painting made for Andrea's office wall. It said: Parent, Sister, Friend.
That painting still hangs there today.
Andrea raised Adrienne from the age of eight, working four part-time jobs to stay on her schedule, becoming a substitute teacher so she could be home when Adrienne walked in the door. She gave her stability, consistency, and a love that was fierce and steady and completely unconditional. Adrienne thrived. She found herself in high school, earned a 4.0 GPA, stopped caring what anyone else thought, and became exactly the kind of bold, vivacious, deeply caring young woman you would expect from a girl raised by someone like Andrea.
And then, three weeks before the end of her freshman year of high school, Adrienne came home from school and curled up on the living room floor in pain. She could not breathe. What followed was 147 days — a diagnosis of hepatocellular carcinoma, primary liver cancer that had already spread to her lungs, caused by hepatitis B and C she had received from their mother at birth and never known about. One hundred and forty-seven days of fighting, of blue wigs and butterfly wings, of a girl who joked her way through a CAT scan and named the family cat after synthetic marijuana.
Adrienne died on October 9th, 2001. She was fifteen years old.
A year later, Andrea was suicidal. She had lost not just her sister but her entire purpose for being. Everything she had done, every job she had chosen, every sacrifice she had made for nearly a decade had been for Adrienne. And now Adrienne was gone.
It was her partner who stopped her. He said simply: if you go ahead and kill yourself, she is never going to forgive you.
And Andrea knew he was right.
So she found a way to channel her grief. She called the largest liver disease nonprofit in the country, pitched herself as a volunteer, and was turned down flat. That rejection sent her searching, and what she found was a gap so large it was almost unbelievable. There was not a single organization in the United States dedicated specifically to HCC, the cancer that had killed Adrienne. So Andrea founded one. She named it Blue Faery, the Adrienne Wilson Liver Cancer Association, after Adrienne's beloved blue hair, her blue wig, and the blue butterfly wings she was buried in.
The day Blue Faery was officially incorporated was December 19th, 2002. Eight years to the month from the day Adrienne came to live with her.
It felt like everything was lining up.
Today, Blue Faery is the leading HCC nonprofit in the country, providing education, advocacy, and community to patients and families navigating a disease that is both more common and more preventable than most people realize. Andrea has also written a memoir, Better Off Bald: A Life in 147 Days, which tells the story of the seven years she raised Adrienne and the 147 days she fought to save her.
Parent. Sister. Friend. And now, advocate.
Love, it turns out, does not need somewhere to go. It just becomes purpose.
Grief is permanent. But it doesn't have to be all-consuming.
That is the quiet, hard-won truth at the heart of this conversation with Wesley, Graham's mom. And it is the kind of truth that only comes from ten years of living with loss.
Graham was adopted at five months old, a boy who struggled from early on with questions of identity and belonging. He wrestled with being adopted, with his sexuality, with depression, and eventually with addiction. Wesley spent years in that particular kind of anticipatory grief that parents of children with addiction know all too well, always bracing, always wondering, always hoping. And then one night, the call came anyway.
Graham died in July of 2016 at the age of 33.
In this conversation, Wesley speaks with remarkable honesty about what the years since have looked like. The shame she felt in the beginning, the instinct to hide, the relentless second-guessing of every decision she had ever made as a mother. She talks about the unique and unexpected gift of seeing Graham's therapist after his death, someone who actually knew him, who could fill in pieces of the picture Wesley never had, and who has helped her understand that she did the best she could with what she knew.
She also talks about how she has channeled her grief into purpose. Her blog, When Your Child is Addicted, her Facebook group Kids on Drugs, and the book she is currently writing are all born from a desire to help other parents before they find themselves where she is now.
And she talks about what ten years of grief actually looks like from the inside. Not linear. Not resolved. Still present on holidays, on birthdays, in unexpected moments. But incorporated now, woven into the fabric of daily life rather than overwhelming it.
I share my rock metaphor in this conversation, and Wesley captures it perfectly when she says that grief will always be with you. It is just that it doesn't have to become the whole point of your life.
The loss never goes away. But slowly, gently, life grows around it.
Some dates just carry weight.
April 23rd. The anniversary of Taylor's death. Two days after what would have been Andy's 22nd birthday.
When Jam reached out and asked to come back on, I looked at the calendar and knew immediately. There was no one else I wanted in this space this week.
If you haven't yet listened to Episode 157, I'd encourage you to start there. Jam first came on just four months after losing Taylor, her 13-year-old daughter, a girl who rode the special needs bus by choice every single day so she could sit beside her twin sister Morgan, who saved her lunch seat without fail, who never met a stranger and never stopped looking for someone to love. In that first episode, the word that kept coming to me as I listened was compassion. It still does.
Now, nearly four years later, Jam is back.
And what strikes me most about this conversation is simply that she is here. That she is still standing. That she is still showing up - for Morgan, for her husband, for the families her foundation has served, for the women in her Starlight support group who have become some of her closest friends in the world.
She didn't think she would survive this.
She is surviving it.
We talk about what these four years have looked like from the fog of the first year, the harder truths of years two and three, and now, the slow, uneven work of figuring out who you are on the other side of the worst thing you have ever lived through. We talk about the May Flowers Taylor George Foundation, which has helped ten families navigate burial expenses, sibling travel, and the crushing practical weight of sudden loss. We talk about Morgan and the particular heartbreak of watching a child grieve in a language she cannot fully speak. We talk about finding your people, even when they live a thousand miles away.
And we talk about what it means to still be figuring it out at year four. To not yet know exactly what God is asking of you next. To be healing without yet being whole.
Jam says it simply and beautifully near the end of our conversation: I honestly thought I would not survive it. And I am. It may not be pretty every day. But I'm surviving.
I want to say to every single one of you what my friend Michele used to say to me, again and again, when I told her I couldn't do this:
You are doing it.
It may not be pretty. It may not look the way you thought surviving was supposed to look. But every single day that you get up and live your life without your child, that is the work. That is surviving. And you are doing it.
Abnormalities.
That is the word that changed Matthew and his wife Hannah's lives forever. They went in for a routine ultrasound, their almost two-year-old son Walker playing happily beside them in the waiting room, and left knowing that their lives would never be the same, and that their son Noah was unlikely to live.
What followed was six months of hurrying up and waiting. Six months of grieving a diagnosis before they ever had to grieve a death. Six months of doctor's appointments and phone calls and learning, in real time, what it means to carry an impossible weight while the rest of the world keeps moving.
Noah was born with Trisomy 13, a genetic condition that is almost always fatal. He lived for 57 and a half hours. And Matthew will tell you, that was 57 and a half hours more than they ever expected to get.
In this conversation, Matthew shares what those hours looked like, what those six months looked like, and what the six years since have looked like. He talks honestly about the fog of grief, about learning to let people in, about the two questions he and Hannah developed that he believes saved their marriage. He talks about the moment a mentor told him it was okay to have a good day, and how he wept on the phone, because he couldn't imagine it. And he talks about how, five years after Noah's death, he sat down to journal on Noah's birthday and realized something that took his breath away.
Noah is the only son he never let down.
He was fully present for every moment of his son's entire life.
Out of that realization, and out of six years of quietly sending care packages to families navigating terminal diagnoses, came the Even Though We Will Foundation, and a book by the same name, released this week. The title is their family's mantra, rooted in Psalm 23. Even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil. Not because Andy died, this happened. Not because Noah died, this came to be. But even though — and in that even though, something beautiful still can.
Matthew also writes about something rarely heard from a grieving father, what it looks like to watch your favorite person in the world suffer, and feel utterly powerless to fix it. What it means to be a doer, a leader, a fixer, and suddenly not be able to do any of those things. And what it means to fall back on a faith that, in the end, held them both.
Even Though We Will is available now at EvenThoughWeWill.com and on Amazon.
We are not meant to do this alone.
That is the thread that runs through every moment of this conversation, and these are the words Gwen chose to close with, because they are simply true.
This episode is a replay of our recent live Q&A, a chance to follow up on the four-week educational series Gwen so graciously offered in February while I took a much-needed step back. We talk openly about what that break was like for me, why I needed it, and what I learned from it, including the hard-won lesson that even sacred work can wear you down if you never put it down, even for a little while.
From there the conversation opens up into something larger. We talk about the value of support groups, of finding someone a few miles ahead of you on this road and letting them show you that it is possible to keep going. We talk about the difference between the raw, gut-wrenching suffering of early grief and the longing that comes later — the stone in your pocket that never goes away but changes shape over time. And we talk about why hearing someone else's story, knowing someone else feels exactly what you feel, can be the one small thing that makes a grieving parent feel just a little less alone.
Gwen also shares a story from her recent vacation that stopped me in my tracks, the story of a ten-year-old girl on a beach, a grieving mama watching from a distance, and a moment that could only have been arranged by God.
If you missed the educational series from February, those episodes are available in the feed — Episodes 334 through 337. And if you would like a discount code for private sessions with Gwen, simply reach out to either of us at marcy@andysmom.com or gwen@grief-guide.com and we will get that to you.
Because we are not meant to do this alone.
And we never have to.
Before Angie lost her son Jake, she used to say something that I think many of us have said — or at least thought.
If something ever happened to Jake, you would just have to bury me with him. Period. End of discussion. There was no way.
And then the unthinkable happened.
Jake was Angie's only child, her greatest surprise and her greatest blessing. Born in August of 1995, he grew up to be a man of quiet, steady faith — the kind that didn't ask for recognition, that just lived itself out in the way he treated people, the way he loved his wife Hannah, the way he'd get genuinely excited talking about heaven. He loved the outdoors, he loved to hunt and fish, and Angie always called him her simple man. In fact, when he got married in 2020, their mother-son dance was to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man."
On March 8th, 2023, Jake was on his way to work when he was killed in a car accident. He was twenty-seven years old, just two years into his marriage, and days away from closing on the house he and Hannah had planned and saved for together.
Now, three years later, Angie is still here.
Not because it has been easy. Not because the grief has softened into something manageable. But because one foot in front of the other, one whispered Jesus at a time, God has held her up when she was sure she could not stand.
In this conversation, Angie speaks honestly about what these three years have looked like. The shock that she now understands as a mercy from God. The struggle to pray when the words just wouldn't come. The Bible study group of bereaved moms that has become her lifeline. The therapist who told her that one of the ways she could honor Jake was to lean into Jesus, because that was Jake. And how after he said it, she started hearing it everywhere.
Lean in. Lean in. Lean in.
This is an episode about surviving what you were sure would kill you. About faith that isn't tidy or triumphant, but shows up anyway, kicking and screaming sometimes, and keeps going.
If you have ever said there is no way I could survive this, this episode is for you.
Here is Angie, three years in, still standing.
When Samantha first came on this podcast in Episode 282, she was only a few months out from losing Raiden.
She was raw and fresh in her grief — and yet even then, just four months into her loss, she reached out to ask me about Andy. She stepped outside her own pain to offer comfort to someone further down the road. I knew then that she was someone special.
Fourteen months later, she is back. And the question that quietly runs through everything she shares is one that every grieving parent eventually faces:
How do I keep being my child's mama when my child is gone?
For Samantha, the answer has taken the shape of bubbles.
Raiden loved bubbles the way only a little boy can — rain or shine, indoors or out, in the bathtub, in the yard, anywhere and everywhere. That love became the name and the heart of the Raiden Bubble Project, a space Samantha built out of the sudden quiet of life after losing her only child. What started as something to focus on grew into water safety advocacy, autism awareness, and a community where other lost moms feel safe enough to reach out. Her own therapist tells her she has learned things from following along. Mothers she has never met write to thank her. Lost mamas find their way to her, and she holds space for them.
She also created the Little Love Lost Mamas, a small close circle of moms who have become like family. And she has been working to bring a memorial arch to her community, a place where anyone can come, padlock the name of someone they love, and know they are not alone.
Every single thing she has built is her still parenting Raiden.
We also talk about the new baby boy arriving soon, Ryatt. Samantha is clear about something that I think many people need to hear: Ryatt is not a replacement for Raiden. He is someone she gets to share Raiden with.
That is the kind of love that doesn't end when a life does.
It just finds new ways to live on — in bubbles, in community, and in the quiet, faithful work of a mama who never stopped.
In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, I sit down with Leanne, Mikael's mom, for an honest and heartfelt conversation about grief, faith, and life after losing a child to addiction.
At the center of this episode is a powerful shift in perspective. After her son's death, Leanne struggled with the words "give thanks in all circumstances." But when reading the words more carefully, she noticed a subtle difference that shifted her understanding. She began to see the difference between being thankful for her circumstances and being thankful in them.
Leanne shares her experience loving her son through addiction, the heartbreak of loss, and the reality of grieving a child. She speaks about the tension between faith and pain, and how grief becomes something that stays, rather than something to overcome.
In this episode, we talk about:
- Child loss and grief after addiction and overdose
- The meaning of "thankful in, not for"
- Grief as an ongoing presence in daily life
- Faith, anger, and healing after loss
- Writing and poetry as tools for processing grief
Leanne also shares about her new book, Tattered Hearts and Hopeful Souls, a collection of devotional reflections and poetry that explores grief, faith, and healing. Her writing offers comfort and language for bereaved parents navigating life after loss.
This episode is a reminder that grief does not disappear. But over time, we can learn how to carry it. And even in the hardest circumstances, there can still be moments of meaning, connection, and quiet gratitude.
In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, Marcy speaks with Jean and Shelly about the loss of their daughter, Chantal, and the grief journey that followed after losing a child to cancer.
Jean remembers the exact moment everything changed: 8:15, the time Chantal died. That moment became the dividing line between the life they once knew and the life that followed.
Together they share the long and difficult experience of Chantal's cancer diagnosis, the exhausting treatments that followed, and the heartbreak of losing a child. They also talk about how grief continued to unfold in the years afterward and how healing slowly takes shape over time.
Jean reflects on something many parents feel deeply after the death of a child — the instinct to fix things and protect the people they love. His book, Dads Can't Fix Everything, grew out of that realization and explores the helplessness many fathers feel when faced with a loss that cannot be repaired.
Music has always been an important part of Jean and Shelly's lives together. After Chantal's death, that part of their world felt quiet for a time, but eventually music began to return, offering another way to carry love and memory forward.
Shelly also shares a moment that surprised her. Around the five-year mark in her grief journey, she realized that life felt recognizable again. It wasn't the life they once had, and grief was still present, but she began to feel like herself again.
In this conversation they discuss: • losing a child to cancer • how grief evolves over time • the different ways parents process loss • music and writing as ways of expressing grief • and the ways families continue honoring the child who died
Nearly two decades later, Chantal is still remembered in simple but meaningful ways. Each year friends and family gather on her birthday for pizza and Caesars — her favorite — raising a glass and remembering the girl who continues to shape their lives.
This episode is a powerful reflection on grief, love, and learning to live with what cannot be fixed.
After six and a half years and more than 300 episodes, I took a month away from the podcast to rest, spend time with my family, and tend to my own heart.
When it felt right to return, there was only one person I wanted to talk with.
Stephanie — Keyan's mom — was the very first bereaved mother I ever interviewed when this podcast began. Even before that, she was someone I met in a grief support group just weeks after Andy died. She was further down the road of child loss than I was, and I remember quietly watching her, wondering how she was still standing. Somewhere in that watching was a small hope: If she can do this, maybe I can too.
Now, eight and a half years into her grief journey, Stephanie shares honestly about what life looks like today.
She talks about the days that still knock her off her feet, the complicated guilt that can come with laughing or enjoying time with her living children, and how grief doesn't disappear—it changes shape.
For five years, Stephanie poured herself into serving other grieving families at Starlight Ministries. It was good work. Holy work. But somewhere along the way, the work that once helped her heal began to crowd out her own healing. As her therapist told her, "Anything you give energy to takes away from your healing energy."
So she stepped away.
We talk about what it means to reassess. To recognize when something that once brought relief no longer does. To admit that even good, sacred things can become too much.
Together we talk about:
• what it means to be years into grief and still hurting • the tension of holding joy and sorrow at the same time • the freedom of allowing grief to change as the years pass • the difference between being healed and being cured
This episode is about scars, seasons, and the quiet courage it takes to keep learning your grief as it changes.
If you are years into loss and wondering why it still hurts sometimes… you are not alone.
In this fourth and final episode of the February educational series, Gwen Kapcia of grief-guide.com focuses on long-term grief coping and the practical ways we can expand our ability to live with loss.
Grief impacts every part of us — physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually. When loss first happens, our "coping range" narrows. We feel overwhelmed more easily. Small stressors feel enormous. Our bodies are exhausted. Our thoughts can spiral.
In this episode, Gwen explains how intentional care in each area of our lives can help widen that coping range again.
She discusses:
- How grief affects the body and nervous system
- The role of sleep, movement, and physical care
- The impact of negative thought patterns and "mental tapes"
- How gratitude and forgiveness expand emotional capacity
- Why isolation deepens suffering — and connection restores strength
- The importance of tending to your spiritual life, even when faith feels fragile
This episode offers practical grief support, emotional education, and gentle encouragement for the long haul. Healing does not mean the loss disappears. But with steady tools and compassionate awareness, we can learn to carry it in a way that is sustainable.
If you are navigating child loss, suicide loss, or any significant grief, this conversation offers grounded guidance and hope for the road ahead.
Grief is deeply personal — but it never happens in isolation.
In Part 3 of this four-part educational grief series, Gwen Kapcia of grief-guide.com explores how loss impacts family dynamics and why each person in a family often grieves differently. One may withdraw. Another may need to talk. A child may crave routine while a parent feels shattered. The same loss — expressed in different ways.
Gwen gently explains how grief can strain communication, shift roles within the family, and create misunderstandings — especially in the early months after a death. She also shares why shared acknowledgement, honest expression, and steady routines can help families move toward stability again.
This episode also addresses the "big emotions" of grief, including anger, guilt, shame, jealousy, loss of identity, and even spiritual struggle. These reactions are not weaknesses — they are human responses to love and devastation.
If you have ever wondered whether your grief is "normal," or why your family seems out of sync, this conversation offers reassurance, language, and practical guidance.
Healing may not look the way it once did, but connection, understanding, and meaning are still possible.
*If you would like a coupon code for resources or private sessions with Gwen, please email either marcy@andysmom.com or gwen@grief-guide.com
In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, grief educator Gwen Kapcia of grief-guide.com continues her four-part educational series on grief. In Part 2, Gwen focuses on the many factors that influence grief and the way individuals experience loss.
Grief does not follow a single path. Personality, life history, coping styles, cultural background, belief systems, support networks, and the circumstances of the death all shape how grief shows up. Gwen explains why people grieve differently and why comparison can be harmful during the grieving process.
This episode offers both education and reassurance, especially for bereaved parents who may feel pressure to grieve a certain way or on a specific timeline. By understanding the factors that influence grief, listeners are encouraged to approach themselves—and others—with greater compassion and patience.
This is Part 2 of a 4-part educational series with Gwen Kapcia, created to help listeners better understand grief and support healing without judgment.
Why does grief feel so overwhelming—physically, emotionally, and mentally? And why does it so often feel lonelier than we expected?
This episode is Part 1 of a four-part educational series with grief educator Gwen Kapcia (grief-guide.com). Together, we explore why grief is so hard, particularly in modern culture, and why so many grieving people feel isolated, misunderstood, or unsure of what is "normal."
Gwen explains how grief often shows up in the body through panic, exhaustion, numbness, brain fog, and anxiety—and why these responses are not signs of weakness or failure. We also talk about how shortened bereavement leave, lack of grief education, and societal pressure to "move on" complicate the grieving process.
This conversation offers grounding insight for anyone navigating loss, as well as for those who want to better support grieving people in their lives. If you have ever questioned your grief or wondered why it feels so heavy and confusing, this episode offers clarity, validation, and compassion.
What color is your heart today?
In this episode, I sit down with Rachael, Addy's mom, to talk about grief, healing, and the unexpected ways art can help us survive unimaginable loss. After 12 year-old, Addy's death, Rachael's grief showed up not only emotionally, but physically—through panic, sleeplessness, and a constant sense of overwhelm. Words often felt insufficient.
Months later, painting entered her life without intention or expectation. Through color and movement, Rachael found a new way to release what grief held inside. Art became a language when words were unreachable—and a way to gently check in with herself each day.
We also talk about how this simple question—What color is your heart today?—creates space for honesty without pressure, allowing grief to be messy, changing, and deeply personal. Rachael shares how this mindset now informs her work with young people in suicide prevention, reminding them that while life brings hard things, they are capable of moving through them.
This conversation is a tender reflection on grief, creativity, and learning how to carry love and loss together—one day, one color at a time.
In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, Luna returns for a new conversation—one shaped by time, lived experience, and the quiet ways grief continues to unfold.
Years ago, Luna signed a letter to her son Hunter with words that have stayed with me since reading her book, Look Mom, I Can Fly. She signed it:
Love, Your devastated, aching, flailing, vulnerable, wrecked, and resilient Mama.
Those words hold so much of what it means to live after the loss of a child.
When Luna first joined the podcast, she was only weeks into her grief after Hunter died suddenly while he was sleeping. Even then, she carried a rare clarity—an understanding that grief does not need to be fixed, rushed, or hidden.
Now, five years later, we talk about how grief lives in the body, how healing asks us to listen differently, and how moments of peace sometimes arrive quietly, without explanation. Luna shares how she honors her emotions as they come and how love continues to show itself through small signs and deep presence.
Luna closes the episode by reading her poem "Signs," from her book Look Mom, I Can Fly, written from Hunter's perspective. It is tender, powerful, and filled with the kind of love that does not end.
This episode is a reminder that grief is full of contradictions—that we can be devastated and resilient, wrecked and still growing.
Some things remain. Some things grow. Both can be true.
In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, Marcy is joined by Melinda, a mother whose love for her son, Cody, continues to quietly shape the way she lives, grieves, and remembers. Melinda reflects on how Cody's life changed her family for the better—how his presence deepened their compassion, softened their hearts, and continues to guide them forward even after his death.
Melinda shares the story of the day her world changed, the confusion and shock that followed, and the unexpected moments of peace that met her in the midst of profound grief. She speaks honestly about how grief looks different for each member of a family, especially as her husband wrestled with guilt and trauma, and how love—patient, steady love—became the thing that carried them through.
Seven years into her grief journey, Melinda describes learning how to live in the love rather than the pain, allowing space for sorrow without being consumed by it. She talks about journaling as a way to stay connected to Cody, the meaning she found in small signs and moments, and the comfort that arrived exactly when it was needed most.
Rather than grand gestures, Melinda honors her son in quiet, intentional ways—anonymous acts of kindness, simple remembrances, and choices rooted in who he was and what he would have wanted. Her story is a reminder that there is no timeline for grief, no right way to carry loss, and no measure for how deeply love can continue after death.
This conversation offers a tender look at how grief evolves, how peace can arrive unexpectedly, and how love—when held gently—can still make us better.
In this episode of the Always Andy's Mom Podcast, I'm joined by Taylor, a grieving father who shares the story of his son, Ray, who was stillborn late in pregnancy.
Taylor talks about the moment fatherhood became real for him — feeling Ray kick for the first time — and the joy and anticipation that followed a healthy 20-week scan. Then, at 27 weeks, everything changed. Ray's heartbeat was gone. Taylor and his wife went through labor and delivery knowing there would be no living baby at the end, followed by precious time holding their son and saying goodbye.
Taylor speaks openly about the emotions that came next: the anger that surprised him, the fear that the world no longer felt safe, and the weight of realizing that some things cannot be fixed. As a father, he felt the pressure to stay strong, even while grieving deeply himself.
One of the most moving parts of this conversation is how Taylor found healing through an unexpected outlet. At the suggestion of his wife, he taught himself how to crochet using yarn that had been purchased for Ray. What started as a simple way to stay busy became a form of connection and comfort. With each stitch, Taylor found a way to honor his son, quiet his thoughts, and give his grief somewhere to go.
Today, Taylor continues to crochet — creating hats, keepsakes, and donations — each piece carrying love, remembrance, and Ray's presence forward.
This episode is a powerful reminder that grief doesn't disappear, but it can transform. Healing sometimes comes not through words, but through the work of our hands.
What comes to mind when you hear the word miracle?
For so many of us who have lost a child, that word can feel complicated. We prayed. We begged. We hoped with everything in us—and the miracle we were asking for did not come. This week's episode gently asks us to reconsider what a miracle might look like after unimaginable loss.
I knew the day Andy was killed in a car accident that I was praying for a miracle. I begged as the paramedics worked, believing with everything in me that he could be saved. But Andy could not be revived, and the miracle I was asking for did not come.
Today's guest, Renee, knows that place of longing well. She is the mother of Patrick, who died at the age of 29 after a fall while hiking in the mountains of Colorado. When Patrick went missing, Renee prayed for a miracle too, holding onto hope until he was found.
Now, four and a half years later, Renee offers a powerful and unexpected reflection: she believes the grief journey itself is a miracle.
As bereaved parents, continuing to live after the death of a child can feel impossible. And yet, somehow, we do. We wake up. We breathe. We carry our children with us in new ways. We persevere.
This episode is a gentle, thoughtful conversation about grief, resilience, faith, and the quiet miracles that can emerge even after devastating loss. It is an offering of companionship for anyone navigating life after child loss—and a reminder that survival itself is something extraordinary.
This episode of Always Andy's Mom is a replay of a Christmas Memories Livestream—created as a place of reflection, remembrance, and gentle presence during the holiday season.
In this episode, Gwen and I read Christmas memories shared by parents from around the world within the Always Andy's Mom community. These stories speak to the deep love that remains after loss and the complicated emotions that often surface during Christmas—joy intertwined with longing, tradition mingled with grief.
Together, we paused often. We spoke children's names. We honored moments both ordinary and sacred: gifts unwrapped, traditions remembered, laughter recalled, and absences deeply felt. This is not an episode about fixing grief or finding silver linings, but about allowing memory and love to coexist with sorrow.
Christmas after loss is rarely simple. This episode offers a place to slow down, to breathe, and to remember that grief is not something to overcome, but love continuing to move through our lives.
As always, the episode closes with Andy's voice—a steady reminder that love endures.
In this episode of the Always Andy's Mom Podcast, host Marie Crews speaks with Lisa Oris, founder of Grief Guide, about why grief is not linear and why loss cannot be reduced to stages, stories, or a tidy "journey."
Lisa shares a powerful metaphor for grief — how loss "blows up the dresser," leaving emotions scattered and overlapping rather than neatly contained. Together, they explore the harm caused by cultural expectations to be strong, move on, or turn grief into a success story.
This episode is for bereaved parents and grieving mothers who feel overwhelmed, unfinished, or exhausted by the pressure to heal correctly. It offers permission to grieve honestly, without apology or timelines.
Today's conversation with Drew's Momma, Melissa, is one that lingers long after the episode ends. She lost her vibrant, adventurous son Drew twenty-five years ago, and in the decades since, she has come to understand her relationship with grief in a way that feels both gentle and profoundly true.
She says grief has not been a journey for her. Not something linear. Not something with a clear beginning or an end.
Instead, grief has become a dance.
A dance that ebbs and flows. A dance with rhythms she didn't recognize at first. A dance that asks us to draw close, then step back, then learn to move in ways we never imagined we could.
In the early years, Melissa's dance was filled with the familiar weight of guilt and blame that so many grieving parents carry. But slowly—through connection with other bereaved moms, through grace, through honesty, and through allowing herself to sit with the pain—she found a new rhythm. Not a rhythm of "moving on," but a rhythm of moving with. Bringing Drew with her. Letting his love rise up and shape her life in unexpected, meaningful ways.
Twenty-five years later, she says she still feels Drew's presence as vibrantly as ever. The love never faded. The bond never broke. The dance simply changed.
Her new book, Dear Drew: Creating a Life Bigger Than Grief, captures this transformation beautifully. It honors Drew, honors grief, and honors the possibility of a life expanded—not in spite of our losses, but alongside them.
For anyone in the early days of breath-stealing grief, she gently reminds you: you won't always feel the way you feel today. You learn the steps slowly. You borrow strength from others who are a bit ahead of you. And over time—one breath, one moment, one tiny step at a time—your body remembers that love still lives here, too.
Grief is not something to conquer. It is something to move with. And you are allowed to find your own rhythm.
When Mika's 13-year-old son, Pike, was diagnosed with leukemia, she was devastated — but not in the way most people might imagine. Only a year earlier, Mika herself had been diagnosed with an extremely aggressive form of lymphoma. After rounds of chemotherapy and a stem cell transplant, she fought her way back to being cancer-free. She thought their family's battle with cancer was finally over.
And then her youngest son received his diagnosis, and they had to start fighting all over again.
Despite the setback, Mika carried a fierce belief that if she could beat cancer, then Pike would too. He was younger, stronger, and full of energy. He had his whole life waiting for him. She was convinced that God would make sure Pike survived — that His plan surely included a long, full life for her son.
And in so many ways, Pike himself embodied that hope. He took pride in the strength he showed during his cancer journey. He had conversations with his pastor about sharing his story to bring others to Christ. And when the family held a stem-cell drive through Earl Young's Team, the part that thrilled Pike wasn't finding a match for himself. What excited him most was the idea that his drive might save hundreds of other people who desperately needed stem cells to survive their own battles.
But just as they thought his hardest days were behind him, Pike was re-hospitalized with graft-versus-host disease. He was sent to the OR for what was meant to be a quick biopsy of lesions in his lungs. Instead, he experienced sudden bleeding and left the operating room on life support. Pike never regained consciousness.
Mika and her family were shattered. Pike wasn't supposed to die. Even in the midst of cancer, Mika said she never once believed her son's story would end this way.
Yet even in the heartbreak of losing Pike 18 months ago, Mika continues to honor her son's heart for helping others. She organizes ongoing stem cell drives in Pike's memory — carrying forward the mission he cared about so deeply. Each drive is a way to give another family the miracle Pike hoped to offer, and a way to ensure that Pike's compassion, courage, and faith continue to touch lives long after his own battle ended.
Shortly after Leigh's 22-year-old son, Josh, was killed in a plane crash, her best friend looked her straight in the eyes and said some of the most beautiful words a bereaved mother can ever hear:
"Your grief doesn't scare me."
When she told me that during this week's podcast interview, it took my breath away.
As a grieving parent myself, I remember how often my grief did seem to scare people. I saw the uncomfortable glances from across the room. I heard the mumbled apologies when someone said something that "made" me cry. It was as if my tears were a burden they didn't quite know how to hold.
And the truth is… my grief scared me, too.
There were days I collapsed to the floor, sobbing so hard I feared I would never stop. Moments when the pain felt so big, so consuming, that I wondered if it might swallow me whole. Grief can feel like that—wild, unpredictable, and utterly overwhelming.
Fifteen months into her own grief journey, these are the same emotions Leigh continues to navigate day by day. As she shared her story, I could feel both the depth of her love for Josh and the weight she carries in his absence. She spoke with such honesty about the moments when she still reaches for her phone, waiting for his daily phone call. And each day, she lights a candle for Josh, a simple yet sacred ritual that keeps his presence in the home.
But here's a lesson I've learned—for myself and for anyone walking this path—slowly and painfully, and with more tenderness than I ever thought possible:
Grief may shake us, but it does not destroy us.
We survive what once felt unsurvivable. Bit by bit, breath by breath, we learn to carry the weight. And somewhere along the way, light begins to seep back in—not because the grief is gone, but because we've grown strong enough to hold both love and loss at the same time.
If you're grieving today, I want you to know this:
Your grief doesn't scare me. And even if you can't feel it right now, there is hope ahead. Not a return to who you were, but a gentle becoming of who you're learning to be.
You're not alone.
"Now What?"
This is the question Marie found herself asking after the devastating loss of her son, Quinten, to suicide. Overcome with grief, she felt lost and unsure how to move forward. But instead of succumbing to despair, Marie made a conscious decision: her life would continue. She chose to ask herself, "Now what?" and began to take small, intentional steps toward healing. Through the darkest days, she trusted that there was a way forward, even when the road ahead seemed impossible to navigate.
In today's episode, Marie opens up about her raw, unfiltered journey through grief. She shares how she found the strength to rebuild her life, one step at a time, and how perseverance, self-reflection, and compassion helped her move through the pain. She also discusses the work she's currently doing—helping other bereaved mothers find healing through writing. Through her coaching and retreats, Marie empowers others to turn their pain into purpose, fostering deep connection, healing, and self-discovery. Writing became a tool not just for her, but one that she now shares to help others begin their own healing journeys.
As I listened to Marie's story, I couldn't help but think back to my own experience after losing Andy. I, too, felt lost and alone and wondered how life could continue without him. Marie's words reminded me that healing doesn't come all at once—it begins with small, tender moments of courage.
Hope and healing can feel distant and elusive after loss, but writing can become a lifeline to help process grief and rediscover a sense of purpose. For anyone struggling with the question "Now what?", writing can be a powerful tool. By sharing our stories and embracing the process of healing, we find the strength to move forward—one word at a time. Marie's journey and her work with bereaved moms show us that even in our darkest hours, healing is possible when we allow ourselves to be open to the process of renewal.
- Visit Marie at mariecrews.com to learn more about her coaching, retreats, and how writing can support your healing journey.
Today's guest, Jonathon's book, indigo: the color of grief, captured me from the first page—a work that feels both intimate and universal. Indigo, the hue between blue and violet, appears in rainbows and twilight skies, yet it rarely gets named. Likewise, grief lingers in daily life, hovering just out of sight, unspoken because its rawness makes many uneasy. Jonathon uses the color as a quiet metaphor for sorrow that colors our existence without ever dominating the palette.
A decade ago, Jonathon's world shattered when his eldest daughter, Quincy, died in a sudden car accident. As a pastor, the loss forced him to confront a theology he'd long trusted. The image of a distant, strategic deity did not fit his pain. Instead, he came to see God as a presence of steadfast love, a hand that holds us tightly within the storm of our hurt.
The manuscript began as a sprawling outpouring of hundreds of thousands of words. Jonathon distilled it to a lean 12,000‑word narrative, deliberately leaving white space on each page. Those empty margins are invitations: they give readers room to breathe, linger on a line, and even inscribe their own thoughts beside his. The result is less a monologue and more a quiet dialogue—a shared place where grief can be named, held, and examined without pressure to resolve it.
Jonathon aims to reshape how we speak about loss. He urges us to move beyond the instinct to "fix" one another's pain with quick solutions. Instead, he calls for us to sit together in the shadow of sorrow, bearing witness to each other's wounds. In doing so, grief becomes a bridge rather than a barrier, allowing compassion to flow freely among those who have known its ache.
Indigo reminds us that, just as the color sits between the comforts of blue and the mystery of violet, grief occupies a space—neither wholly darkness nor pure light—but a profound shade that deepens our capacity for empathy and connection. The next time twilight drapes the sky in that deep, resonant hue, let it serve as a gentle reminder that indigo is not merely a color, but a quiet testament to the enduring presence of love within our deepest hurts.
During one of the first grief‑support group sessions that Eric and I attended in the weeks after Andy died, our Starlight Ministries facilitators led us in an exercise. We were given a black‑and‑white copy of an image created by H. Norman Wright titled "Grief – A Tangled Ball of Emotions." The picture resembled a ball of yarn, but instead of yarn strands, it had strips winding around the sphere, each labeled with a different emotion.
The exercise was simple. We received crayons and were asked to color in any stripe that represented an emotion we had felt during that week. I remember starting at the top: Loss – yes, I colored it in. Sadness – that one too. Anxiety – I'd been feeling pretty anxious, so I shaded it. Then came Confusion, Panic, and Dismay. I found myself actually feeling dismayed that I was coloring all of these emotions! I wondered whether I would ever reach a stripe I didn't feel. When I finally arrived at Vindictiveness, I was relieved to leave that one white. In total, I was shocked to discover that I had colored about 90 % of the more than thirty emotions on the ball.
Looking around the room, I was comforted to see that the vast majority of parents had papers that were almost completely filled in as well. While reading the recent podcast guest Michael's book The Million Stages of Grief, I saw how many emotions had surprised him in his own grieving process. That reminded me of the exercise from years ago and convinced me that it deserved a livestream discussion. Today, we explored several emotions that have surprised listeners of the show.
It is normal to experience twenty to thirty different emotions in a single day. Grief isn't a linear path but a swirling knot of feelings—each one valid, each one a sign of life moving forward. By naming, acknowledging, and gently sitting with even the most unexpected emotions, we give ourselves the space to heal. I encourage everyone to keep their own "tangled ball" nearby as a reminder that, no matter how full it looks, every colored strand is evidence of resilience and progress.
Today's guest, Stephanie, says that her son, Jr., had a lifelong mantra that he lived by - 'me versus me.' He even had this phrase tattooed on himself for his 18th birthday. Rather than measuring himself against anyone else, he aimed each day to outdo the person he had been yesterday.
A year ago, Jr. was a senior in high school, preparing to enlist in the Marine Corps. He was an avid athlete as a cross‑country runner, weightlifter, and participant in several team sports. That autumn, he trained for a half‑marathon, hoping to break the two‑hour barrier.
The whole family was at the race, cheering Jr. on. He made his goal and finished the race in 1 hour, 57 minutes. Moments after crossing the line, however, Jr. collapsed. Stephanie rushed to his side, fearing dehydration, but quickly realized something was terribly wrong. She dialed 911. Paramedics arrived and began CPR within 72 seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Stephanie. An autopsy later showed that Jr. died of a brain bleed from a venous malformation that had likely been present since birth.
The last year has been a trying one for Stephanie and her family. The past twelve months have been a cascade of missed milestones — his high school graduation, the start of Marine basic training, his 19th birthday — each one a painful reminder of Jr.'s absence. As these days come and go, the family tries to remember Jr. and his motto: 'Me versus me.' Friends have even made T-shirts and bumper stickers with the phrase. Each time Stephanie sees one of these items, she is reminded of Jr. and his amazing spirit.
When Stephanie was invited to share a final thought, she spoke the words she believes Jr. would have lived by: 'Show up and do your very best. Tomorrow, show up again and do even better.' If we each embraced that simple challenge, the world would indeed be a kinder place.
Today's guest, Lisa, says she has always felt a special, spiritual link to her eldest daughter, Libby—starting when Libby was an infant and lasting throughout her life. One night, Lisa complained to her husband about a throbbing thumb. The next morning, Libby called, saying she had hurt her thumb and thought it was broken. When Libby's father asked if the injury happened around 9 pm, Libby confirmed the time of the injury, but she was puzzled until he answered, "Your mother felt that."
Despite being over 200 miles away and unaware of any injury, Lisa sensed Libby's broken thumb that night. Six months later, at 1 am, Libby's friends called, reporting that she had vanished after being dropped off in a taxi. Lisa instantly feared the worst, though she tried to reassure them that Libby might simply be delayed. Deep down, she knew Libby was dead. She could not feel her as she normally could.
The following day, Lisa and her husband braved a harsh English winter storm to drive to Hull. As they passed the Humber Estuary—a vast inlet leading to the North Sea—Lisa whispered, "Libby is in that water." Her husband dismissed it as being 'silly,' but Lisa insisted she wasn't imagining it. Forty‑eight agonizing days later, police recovered Libby's body from those waters; she had been raped and murdered.
In the nearly seven years since that tragedy, Lisa and her family have endured relentless trauma. At first, she felt isolated despite the story dominating UK headlines, and for two years she seemed to lose herself entirely. Over the past five years, however, she has begun to heal by connecting with other bereaved parents, listening to podcasts, and sharing Libby's story with young people and police officers. She hopes that exposing the warning signs that preceded the murder will help protect other women.
And although Libby is no longer physically here with her, through her work, Lisa still feels connected to Libby. Lisa feels her as she does her "Libby work" in Libby's old bedroom, now her office. Our love for our children keeps that spiritual connection alive long after they are gone.
Jerry's passion is helping bereaved children. When I was first introduced to her, Jerry was described as a widowed mother with a heart for grieving kids. She'd written Joy Overcame Sorrow, a fictional tale for late‑elementary and middle‑school readers about a ten‑year‑old girl coping with her father's death. The story follows Joy's grief journey, letting parents buy a companion workbook so children can record their own feelings while reading.
I booked Jerry for the show because listeners frequently ask how parents can support grieving children. I didn't realize her personal loss mirrored our own so closely. Jerry lost her husband her best friend — and raised their young family alone. Before that, she endured four pregnancy losses, including delivering and burying two infants, Jenny and Jesse. Those early tragedies marked her first encounter with deep grief and forced her to help her surviving kids navigate sorrow. Little did she know the next forty years would bring more loss, both as a widow and as a K‑9 teacher working with grieving students.
In the classroom, Jerry advised fellow teachers on supporting grieving children. Many educators feel helpless; asking parents is tough because they, too, are immersed in grief. Colleagues urged her to write a book to help grieving children. Jerry had already published a non-fiction book, helping widows rediscover joy after loss, but writing for children would prove to be very different indeed.
Instead of a non‑fiction how‑to guide, Jerry chose fiction — a powerful decision. Stories teach while comforting, allowing children to see themselves reflected without overt instruction. Kids gravitate to narrative—they don't want to feel singled out. By experiencing grief through Joy's eyes, they learn, empathize, and feel less alone. Her novel and its workbook now serve as a gentle bridge for families and teachers navigating the delicate path of loss together.
To learn more about Jerry and her writing, visit drjerrylwoodbridge.com.
Eight minutes.
That is how long it took for Michael's life to be forever changed. In late November 2016, a fire broke out in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Unbeknownst to Michael, the winds picked up while he was driving with his oldest son, and the fires swept toward the family home. Michael is haunted by nightmares of his frantic drive back through the fires, trying to get back home.
By the time he arrived, the fire had taken the lives of his daughters, Chloe and Lily, as well as his wife, Constance. In the months after the fires, as Michael struggled to sleep, he would write about his pain. One day, he posted a writing on Facebook. It "went nuts," causing Michael to start a blog.
Michael continued in his dark world until November 2023, when he stood at the memorial for the fires. He whispered to the empty air, opening his heart to the girls he had lost. In the silence, he heard Chloe’s voice, bright and urgent: “Daddy, it’s time to do the work.” The words struck a chord deep inside him. That night, he enrolled in college, determined to learn how to translate his pain into something to help others.
Thus, The Million Stages of Grief was born. Each chapter opens with an italicized fragment from his old blog — a snapshot of confusion, terror, or numbness. The remainder of the chapter presents the lessons he gathered in classrooms, therapy rooms, and through life's experiences, reshaping those dark moments into pathways forward. Before pressing “publish,” Michael whispered a brief prayer, handing the manuscript over to his girls, asking, "I am completely giving this to you. However big you want this to go, however many people you want to read it, I give it all to you."
Years ago, while working as a zipline instructor, a woman kicked Michael, knocking him over. Inexplicably, five years later and one month after that prayer, she posted the video to TikTok, garnering 1.5 million views. Curious, Michael created his own TikTok account, stitching the video to a narration of his story and book. The new post surged to 2.5 million views. I guess his girls decided that their story needed to go very big indeed.
He should be here.
Today's guest, Lindsay, says that these are the four most impactful words that have been said to her in the year since her 6-month-old son, Chase, died from bacterial meningitis. These words don't try to cheer her up or remind her of some grand plan. They simply acknowledge the wrongness of the whole situation. Lindsay's family no longer feels complete without Chase. Smiling 'Chasey' should be tagging along, trying to keep up with his big brother, Jack. Chase should be here.
From the time her two boys were tiny babies, Lindsay would read to them. She loved reading board books by Nancy Tillman, especially 'On the Night You Were Born' and 'Wherever You Go: My Love Will Find You.' This second book begins with the line, 'I wanted you more than you'll ever know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go.'
The book goes on to describe how the mother's love will follow the child wherever he or she goes, whether it be going swimming, climbing trees, or marching in parades. It reminds the child that as they grow, their mother's love will continue to follow them throughout life. The last line of the book reads, 'You are my angel, my darling, my star, and my love will find you wherever you are.'
Since Chase's death, Lindsay has truly realized the truth of that little board book. The book was certainly not written for grieving parents, but we can hold fast to the words of that book, can't we? Death does not end our love for our children. Our love continues to follow them after death.
Lindsay's love for Chase has followed him all the way to heaven. In the year since Chase died, her love for Chase has not diminished. Her love has continued to grow just as it does for all mothers. On Chase's birthday, Lindsay now donates 70 copies of 'Wherever You Go: My Love will Find You' to the NICU where she works and Baby Chase once stayed.
Certainly, Chase should be here as a laughing, smiling toddler, but as she sees parents read these books to their new babies, Lindsay remembers that their love for each other continues to grow, and these books will help spread that love even further.
I feel like God arranges for certain guests to come on the podcast just when I need them most. On the day of this interview, I was particularly weepy, missing Andy even more than I normally do. I think God knew I needed someone to cry with, and Nancy was that someone.
Nancy calls her son, Jacob, her Buddha baby, weighing 11 pounds 3 ounces at birth. The bib that they brought with them to the hospital would not even fit around his neck. However, that was not the only reason Jacob was called her Buddha Baby. Even as an infant, Jacob seemed to be a calming presence to everyone around him.
Shortly after graduating from high school, Jacob was feeling a bit tired while working a new job. He noticed a lump that was quickly determined to be lymphoma. However, cancer did not slow him down. Jacob was determined to keep living his best life and even started school after his diagnosis. When beginning a new cancer treatment, it was expected that he would be in the hospital for a relatively short stay and then move on with life.
In fact, at 19 years of age, Jacob would only let Nancy stay a certain number of hours each day so he could have some privacy. Suddenly, one evening after Nancy went back to her hotel, everything changed. In a matter of hours, Jacob suffered severe complications from the treatment, leading to brain swelling. Jacob, her amazing teenage Buddha, was gone.
In the five months between Jacob's death and this interview, Nancy feels as if she has been living in a fog. She finds that she just wants to keep moving and walking constantly. At times, she wondered if she would even be able to make it back home. Tears still come daily. She has joined support groups, where she talks to other bereaved mothers who get it. She listens to my podcast during long walks. Nancy talks to Jacob and looks for signs of him in nature.
So in today's episode, we talked about and cried for our boys. She understood my pain, and I understood hers, and after an hour of talking and crying, I knew that we both felt just a little bit better. So thank you, God, for sending Nancy just when we needed each other most.
Grief and Laughter.
At first glance, it may seem like these words could be considered polar opposites, but as we grieve, moments of laughter and joy can be a balm for the soul. The intense pain of grief oftentimes feels overwhelming. It is deep and dark, and it can feel like it will go on forever.
I remember the first time that I laughed after Andy died. I felt tremendous guilt. Andy was dead. I felt like I should never laugh again. I should be sad every moment of every day. But that is not how we were made. We were created to be beings that felt joy and happiness. My mind wouldn't let me stay in the darkness continuously, and that is a good thing.
Laughter can bring a tremendous release of emotions in much the same way that crying brings release. Most people do not feel guilty when they cry during grief, but laughter can cause guilt. My hope is to help people learn that laughter is amazing medicine for the soul and not something to avoid.
This week's podcast is an edited release of the Livestream with Gwen. (If you tuned in and had a difficult time listening due to technical problems, I apologize. This version is much better!) Gwen shares her wisdom on the benefits of laughter and learning to reintroduce laughter into our lives while still navigating through the depths of our pain.
We are certainly not suggesting that someone can simply let go of their grief and choose to be happy. (Many people have said those words to me, and frankly, that is simplistic and absurd.) We are asking you to seek out moments of laughter and joy. Seek out people in your life who make you feel good, even if it's only for a few hours or a few minutes. For me, the best people to laugh with are actually other bereaved parents. It feels safe to laugh with them, knowing that they will not judge me if I laugh and cry at the same time.
Having those people and moments in your life may help make the pit of grief feel a little less dark and help you feel a little less alone.
Today's guest, Catherine, says that in many ways, she grieved for her daughter, Helen, not once but twice. The grieving began after she suffered complications during delivery, which led to seizures that began shortly after birth and multiple medical complications. Catherine grieved for the life she had hoped and dreamed of for Helen. Then, fourteen years later, Catherine's grief started fresh when Helen died unexpectedly in her sleep.
Although Catherine says that she grieved Helen twice, Helen's 14 years were not years full of sadness and grief. They were joy-filled years. Catherine loved being Helen's hands and feet. She loved seeing her eyes light up and give big smiles. Catherine was a part of Helen, and Helen was a part of her. One day, when Helen was young, the two of them were watching TV, and Catherine saw the inspirational story of Team Hoyt, a father-son duo who competed in over 1,100 races, including numerous Ironman Triathlons. Son Rick suffered from cerebral palsy, but said that when racing in a specialized wheelchair with his dad, Dick, he felt freedom and joy.
After Helen died, Catherine felt lost. She did not know what to do with herself without Helen being beside her. When asking her priest for advice, he answered that he didn't know what she should do, but that for many, participation in sport could be a good healing modality. That's when Catherine began to think once again about the inspirational story of the Hoyts. She knew that she couldn't physically swim, run, and bike with Helen, but perhaps she could still be with her emotionally. That's exactly what Catherine did. Her first triathlon was done almost secretively, with only her husband's knowledge. As she waited in the water of the lake at the beginning of the race, wondering if she had made a mistake in signing up, until the sun began to rise, and she felt Helen with her.
Over the years, Catherine has continued to train and now races in an Ironman triathlon each year, following in the Hoyts' footsteps. She compares the training to her life, first as a mom of a special needs child and now as a bereaved mom. She chronicles her journey in her book, Finding My Stride: A Guide to Finding Power Raising a Child with Special Needs.
Belief expansion. As they navigate life, all adults develop a core set of beliefs. When tragedy strikes, sometimes these core beliefs can be shaken. Some grieving people lose their sense of spirituality, while others gain a deeper, stronger faith after experiencing trauma.
Dave was trained as a therapist, but nothing in his training prepared him for his 18-year-old daughter, Jeannine's cancer diagnosis and death. He grew up in the Christian church with some Christian traditions, but Dave's core values and beliefs were grounded in science. Dave realized in the months and years after Jeannine's death, he needed more. Science alone did not bring him the comfort or peace he needed.
Dave says by pure serendipity, an interfaith minister named Patty entered his life. (I like to think this was by divine intervention, but I digress.) Dave had a spiritual experience with Patty that changed his life forever. Over the next ten years, Dave began exploring more and more ideas of spirituality with Patty and others. Dave said that he began to realize he did not have to abandon his core beliefs and values to adopt additional beliefs that aligned with and complemented his perspective.
Dave now asks himself, "What can I add here that is going to help me get through this part of my life?" He truly feels that if he had continued in the old set of beliefs that he had when Jeannine died, he would not be where he is today. Dave said, "My journey demanded that I needed to embrace different perspectives about how I saw myself, how I saw the world, and how I saw my values if I was going to reengage in life again while still honoring my grief."
Dave wrote a book about his experiences and conversations with Patty called, 'When the Psychology Professor Met the Minister," available on Amazon. He also now hosts a podcast, The Teaching Journeys (listen for me on an upcoming episode). On the podcast, Dave continues his own journey of belief expansion by learning from the stories of others who have experienced challenges in life. Dave says, "We are all students and teachers...let's learn from each other." I cannot think of a more amazing way to learn.
Near the end of today's interview, my guest, Miranda, said one of the most beautiful sentences that I have ever heard from a bereaved mom, especially one who is only 9 months into her grief journey. Miranda said, "Denver's death is going to be my reason, not my excuse - my reason to get up, my reason to do, my reason to survive, and my reason to love."
Denver was a happy, healthy toddler who had just celebrated his first birthday when he died from accidental suffocation while he slept. His birthday theme just weeks before had been 'One Happy Dude,’ so Miranda and her family used the decorations for his funeral. His funeral was full of yellow smiley faces and lots of bright colors. The family handed out smiley face pins at the funeral.
Every summer, their hometown of Medicine Hat, Alberta, has a hot air balloon festival. This year, Miranda had the idea that one of the pilots might be able to take a picture of Denver up in a brightly colored hot air balloon during he festival. By the time the festival began, all thirty hot air balloons contained pictures of Denver. Many of the balloonists are international and continue to bring the picture of Denver with them as they fly all over the world. This month, Denver's picture is flying with a hot air balloon over Italy.
I have shared many times about bringing Andy's teddy bear with us as we travel to help us have a symbol of Andy with us. Continuing to live and make happy memories without him is challenging. Living without Denver's smile and laugh each day is extremely difficult, yet Miranda continues to get up and try. She, too, often travels with a little teddy bear she can hug when the pain of missing Denver feels too great.
Miranda's goal is to try to keep on living in the best way that she can - her reason to live and not her excuse. Each day still contains tears for Denver, but the tears no longer flow all day. She tries to look for smiley faces around her as she thinks of Denver's little picture flying in hot air balloons. Every time I see a hot air balloon, I will wonder if a little bit of Denver might be up there in its basket.
When today's guests, Andy and Kristen, lost their almost 2-year-old daughter due to complications after a seizure 2 years ago, their lives completely changed. There was life before Juniper died, and there was life after Juniper died. Before Juniper died, they had two young girls in daycare. Days after Juniper died, their older daughter, Macie, started public school, and Juniper was gone. There was no longer a need for a daycare.
They were suddenly navigating a world where they were bereaved parents. It was as if they were suddenly living in an alternative universe. Years before Juniper's death, Andy had watched his aunt and uncle mourn their son after he died in a car accident. Andy now realized that he didn't have a clue about what they had gone through - the pain that they felt each day.
Andy and Kristen found themselves looking to other bereaved parents for support. They joined their local Compassionate Friends chapter and became regular listeners of the podcast. I sometimes have doubts about continuing to produce the podcast each week. It is certainly a labor of love, but it does require a lot of work, and sometimes, when listener numbers falter or donations stop for several weeks at a time, I wonder if the time for the podcast has passed.
Then, I hear beautiful words like I heard today, and I realize that even though most of my guests have never spoken to each other, we have created a community of grievers. Before ending my conversation with Andy and Kristen today, Andy shared, "For all of the other parents who have been on the podcast and are now listening, we have cried for your children. We have mourned for your children because we know how it feels. We have heard them."
Kristen says that early on in their grief journey, they knew that someday, they would want to share Juniper's story on the podcast. Today, almost two years later, is that day. Now, Andy and Kristen can know that all around the world, other bereaved parents are truly hearing them. They are crying for Juniper and mourning her as well. And for me, that is all that truly matters.
I have often said that different people grieve differently. Today's guest, Lori, adds a new twist to that statement. She lost two of her four sons almost 30 years apart from each other, and she is grieving so much differently now than she did the first time around, showing that the same person can grieve similar losses differently as well.
The stories of Michael and Logan's deaths are far different. Michael died at age 2 of an aggressive type of cancer called neuroblastoma. He died after 9 months of treatment in his mother's arms at the hospital, which she says gave her time to say goodbye, but also forced her to watch him endure pain and suffering. Twenty-five-year-old Logan, on the other hand, died suddenly from an accidental drug overdose in his apartment. Logan was there one day and gone the next.
Lori says that after losing Michael, she became an extremely compassionate person. She and her husband turned to each other for support. Loris describes him as her rock. She was very involved in church, turning to her faith to help ease the intense pain of loss. Over the years, Lori says that her biggest fear was that she might lose another one of her three remaining boys, but despite Logan's long history of mental health struggles, she did not ever think this would happen to them again.
Then, 18 months ago, the unimaginable occurred - Logan died, too. After Michael died, compassion emerged. This time, however, fear and anger are the dominant emotions. She has trouble going out in public. Lori hasn't gone to church, and her faith feels broken. Her relationship with her husband has been damaged, and she has moved in with her two living sons, who are now her two rocks. Online support groups and podcasts have become her coping strategies.
These vastly different responses may seem surprising. I know they were unexpected to Lori, but there is a lesson here.
Grace. We need to give others and ourselves grace. We cannot control our feelings or our responses to grief. We need to feel our emotions, whatever they may be, and work through them. Through hard work, hope for the future may come again, for Lori and for us.
Livestreams with Gwen are back! This week's livestream topic was to be about the fact that we are living in two worlds - longing to live in the past while dealing with our messy lives in the present. I talk about my struggles of missing Andy while trying to be the happy mother-of-the-groom at Valeriano's recent wedding. This conversation quickly morphed into another topic.
Respite.
First, is it OK to take a break from your grief? And second - where do I find respite when I need a break from my grief? My answers - First - YES! And Second - walks outside in the sunshine, riding in our boat, listening to birds while on my deck, listening to music, reading a good book, and playing board games with family or friends.
The most important point is this. It is OK (and actually GOOD) to take a break from your grief. Many grieving parents feel like they need to feel their grief all the time. Every book they read is about grief. Every podcast they listen to is about grief. Days are filled with therapy and support groups. While all of these things are great, breaks are needed. Our bodies and minds cannot handle the constant pain of grief. I remember in those early days feeling like I needed to feel the pain constantly. If I started to laugh or even smile, I would remind myself that Andy was dead, and the smile would disappear.
As the seven-year anniversary approaches next week, I feel the heaviness begin to worsen again, but I have learned that the best way to get through these difficult days is to take some time away from the pain as well. I will have intentional times with my family to talk about and remember Andy. There is an upcoming 5K race where 25 of my co-workers will be wearing Be Still bracelets as they run to support our local FitKids program. But there will also be time for me to have respite. I will spend time reading a book and listening to birds outside on my deck. I will play golf and go boating. Hopefully, I will be able to convince my family to play a board game with me.
Finding this balance is what gives me the strength to continue on each day.
Since becoming a bereaved parent, several phrases have irritated me. One of the most bothersome things people say to me is, 'You are so strong. I could never do what you do.' I feel like that suggests they don't think they need to help me—that I can handle everything on my own without assistance. When I first heard about today's guest, Cristi, and the 'Mentally STRONG' method she developed, I wasn't sure if I would like it. However, because Cristi lost not just one, but three children, I thought I should give it a try.
After our conversation, all my doubts melted away. When Cristi talks about being mentally strong, she doesn’t mean being a resilient hero doing everything alone. Instead, Cristi teaches people to face their grief and sorrow directly, in community with therapists and other grieving individuals. As a psychiatric nurse practitioner, Cristi believed in cognitive behavioral therapy and the power of positive thinking. But after losing her adoptive son Johnny to drowning and seeing her son Reggie—and later daughter, Miah, and husband, Bundy—suffer from DRPLA, a terrible degenerative disease, Cristi realized that simply thinking positively was not very helpful for those grieving.
We can’t just 'look on the bright side' and think positive thoughts after losing our children. That isn't realistic or natural. Cristi understands this too well. She writes, "Grief can feel overwhelming, like a weight that never lifts. It consumes your thoughts, leaves you feeling lost, and makes it hard to get through the day. It's an unpredictable journey that pulls at your heart. But in these moments of deep sorrow, there is space to feel, process, and find a path toward healing."
The Mentally STRONG method isn’t a quick fix for deep grief, but it can help you face and work through your grief. It can help you find purpose in life again. If Cristi can find purpose and experience joy after losing Johnny, Reggie, Miah, and Bundy, so can we.
For more information and access to her book and documentary, visit mentallystrong.com.
Today's guest, Jody, worked as an actor on Broadway for a year, but nothing had ever prepared her for the role she was required to play after the birth of her firstborn daughter, Lueza. After a completely unremarkable pregnancy, Jody suffered severe complications during childbirth, resulting in significant brain injuries for Baby Lueza.
After suffering from horrible seizures as a young infant, they were able to stabilize little Lueza. Once they did so, she began to show a smile that would light up a room. Still, Lueza had significant delays. She could not sit, eat, or talk independently. At one point in time, Jody remembers looking at her husband and saying, "Will Lueza ever be able to sit up on her own?" Her husband's answer stuck with her: "She may be lying down, but she may be very happy."
Over the years, Lueza proved her Dad right. She continued to be 'lying down,' but she was always very happy. She loved music, movies, and roller coasters. She would laugh and squeal and could let her family know what she did and didn't like with the slightest head movements. And her smile continued to light up the room.
Lueza had a profound effect on many people around her as she interacted with doctors and nurses in the medical community and her teachers at school. Over time, Lueza slowly developed more complications and died suddenly at home one night after getting what her family thought was only a little cold.
Then, Jody's life changed once again. She was no longer the mother of a medically complex child. She was now a bereaved mother. There were no more hospital visits. The medical equipment was no longer needed in the family home. Jody began doing arts and crafts as a form of healing. She attended spiritual support groups for bereaved parents. Most importantly, Jody began to write.
Jody wrote a memoir about her life with Lueza that was years in the making. The title of the memoir was so fitting - 'She May Be Lying Down, but She May Be Very Happy.' This memoir was a story of her life with Lueza and a heartfelt thank you to all the people who had helped her over the years. A beautiful tribute for a beautiful girl.
When today's guest, Andy, lost his 18-year-old son, Heston, to suicide, he had a lot of time to reflect on life and finding one's purpose. Early in Andy's grief journey, he saw a visual that truly resonated with him. The image was of a framed picture that was completely black. The blackness represented the grief that, early on in one's grief journey, was all-encompassing. The darkness of the grief covered every part of the bereaved person's life. Then, there was a second image of a black rectangle the same size as the first. However, the picture frame was now several times larger, so that the black portion now took up only 5% of the frame.
The explanation is simple. The deep grief does not go away. The hole in our hearts remains. What we can work to change is the rest of our lives. We can grow and expand so that our lives are bigger than the grief. There are portions with love, joy, and happiness. They do not eliminate the grief, and the grief remains a part of the picture, but it is not the entire picture. The idea is not to get stuck in our grief, but to bring it along with us as we continue to experience life.
This past weekend, my (foster) son, Valeriano, got married. It was a beautiful wedding. There were lots of smiles and happiness surrounding the couple, but there were tears, too, as we had our first big family event without our Andy. Valeriano bought a special green pen to use to sign his marriage certificate to honor Andy. I put his picture and teddy bear on the seat where he should have been sitting. The new family picture included Andy's picture and teddy bear.
We did not ignore our grief and forget about Andy on Saturday. We brought him along to be a part of the celebration. This is just what Heston's Dad, Andy, encourages as well. He brings Heston with him, feeling his presence. He has even released a powerful book, 'Overcoming Life’s Toughest Setbacks: 15 Breakthrough Core Beliefs to Transform Challenges into Opportunities!' The book is available through his website, askandycampbell.com. If it's half as good as my conversation with him today, I know it will inspire many of us on our grief journey.
Today's guest, Jackie, says that her guiding purpose is based on a quote that she has written down and keeps close by. David Viscott wrote, "The purpose of life is to discover your gift. The work of life is to develop it. And the meaning of life is to give your gift away." Jackie says that is exactly how her son, Stu, lived his life and how she works to live her own.
Initially, after her amazingly talented, loving son, Stu, died by suicide, she lost herself. Stu had been living his dream life in New York City. He had his own apartment and worked at a job he loved as a barber, cutting hair. Then, mental illness invaded his life and took him away.
Jackie was left feeling alone. Hope? What is that? Healing? That's impossible. She tried going to grief support groups but felt overwhelmed. Then, Jackie found an organization called Eric's House. Their vision is that 'no person who is bereaved by suicide or substance use will suffer these devastating losses alone.' Jackie said the organization saved her.
Ever so slowly, hope crept back into her life. Jackie didn't force healing to come, but it did, a little bit at a time. She joined one of their online support groups and then another. They gave her the tools that she needed to start rebuilding her life. She began writing an article for the organization's newsletter and started facilitating support groups for them as well. Over time, Jackie found a purpose for her grief.
Now Jackie compares herself to the old apple trees in her backyard. They appear to be 150 years old. They have branches dying each year and huge holes in them, but they persist. Each year, the trees blossom and look beautiful. They produce apples that feed the deer in the area. Whatever life throws at them, they keep going.
That is a great visual for our lives now. We may have huge holes inside and limbs that are missing, but we just keep going. As ugly as our lives may look from the outside, they can still produce beauty and help provide for others along our life's journey. We may not be who we once were, but we can still be amazing.
Maeve was a little girl who was born to be a big sister. As soon as she was able to toddle around the house, Maeve was bringing the family dog her favorite books to read and making sure he had everything that he 'needed'. Shortly after Maeve's second birthday, her little brother was born, and Maeve was truly in her element. She adored Declan and wanted to share everything with him. Baby Declan loved being a part of the 'Maeve show' as her mama, Tarah, described it. Declan would grin as his big sister laughed and danced around him. Life was good.
Then, one day, that perfect life was destroyed. The little family was on a flight to DC. The flight had been delayed, so by the time the plane landed, Maeve had fallen asleep on her dada's lap. Tarah's husband tried to rouse her, and could not. Maeve was no longer breathing. He let out a scream, and both parents immediately started CPR.
Their perfectly healthy 3-year-old daughter had died for no apparent reason while sleeping on her father's lap. Her official cause of death was Sudden Unexplained Death of Childhood (SUDC). Their world was shattered.
Tarah first wrote to me less than two months after Maeve's death. She shared her story and asked to be connected to another mom whose daughter died of SUDC. Over the almost two years since that first email, Tarah has continued to email with family updates, show ideas, and eventually, about Maeve's Foundation, the charity that Tarah and her husband started in Maeve's memory.
Initially, Tarah just wanted to collect enough money to buy a bench as a dedication to Maeve. Then, that idea grew into sponsoring a memorial garden in Maeve's memory. As more people contributed to the foundation, Tarah knew they needed to grow.
The organization now has a new mission - Maeve's Wish. Maeve's Wish is working to provide 'a truly magical respite for children battling a chronic or terminal illness - a trip to Walt Disney World.' Just as Maeve wanted to make her family dog and baby brother happy, she will help make precious family memories for others. We're pretty sure she will be laughing and dancing as she watches from heaven.
Storytelling. It's my very favorite thing about doing the podcast each week. When I meet each guest, I am privileged to help people share their child's story with people around the world. I have come to learn over the past 300-plus episodes that this storytelling helps lead to healing for both the guests sharing their stories and the listeners who tune in each week.
Emily learned about the power of storytelling years ago while writing her book, Birth Story Brave. As a perinatal mental health specialist, she recognized the importance for women to be able to work through their own birth story experiences to help them heal when things don't go as planned. Hundreds of miles away, Malhaley, a fellow perinatal mental health specialist, used the book with her patients as well, finding its 'storytelling as healing' theme to be extremely helpful.
Then, the unimaginable happened. Not only did Mahaley have her own birth trauma experience, but her daughter, Saachi, needed to be admitted to the NICU and died a few days later. Mahaley's world was rocked. She did not know if she would ever be able to work in perinatal mental health again, but as she did consider going back, she thought about Emily and her book. Mahaley knew that she needed to work through her own story to begin to heal.
As helpful as Emily's first book was to Mahaley, she quickly realized that families whose birth story leads to their babies being admitted to the NICU needed something more. The birth story was important, certainly, but for these families, it was only the beginning. They need a guide to help them after the birth, when their babies start and sometimes end their lives in the NICU.
Mahaley interviewed Emily, and an idea was born. The two of them began to write another book, 'Your NICU Story: Reflecting on Your Family’s Experience', which will be released in September. In it, they utilize the power of storytelling to help families navigate their own NICU experiences, whether they ultimately bring their babies home or not.
There is one question that this week's guest, Nicole (nicolebgebhardt.com), asks each client when she first starts seeing them as a life coach.
What are three things you love about yourself?
How did you answer this question? Was it difficult? Did you even come up with three things? I have to admit something. I had a hard time. As a mom, I can think of three things I love about my kids. As a wife, I can easily name three things I love above my husband, but when asked to look inward like this, I falter.
Nicole says that 85% of her clients have the same struggle. They can't name even one thing, let alone three. There was a time when Nicole had these same feelings. After suffering through two miscarriages and the death of her 9-week-old son, Samuel, from SIDS, she didn't feel like she deserved to be happy. Nicole turned to alcohol, and when her husband began abusing her, she felt as if she 'deserved' the abuse.
Even after having three healthy children, leaving her first husband, and meeting her 'Prince Charming', she still didn't love herself. Five and a half years ago, she decided to take her own life. After surviving that suicide attempt, her outlook on life changed. She chose to become clean and sober and focus on loving herself first.
This certainly was not easy, but when talking to Nicole today, I can say that she, quite simply, radiates joy. Despite her past, Nicole does not let these experiences define her. Nicole realizes that she is not a victim. She is a survivor, and that is amazing. She is resilient, she is strong, and she is awesome.
Think about your own life for a minute. Think of all that you have gone through. Likely, if you are reading this, your child died. Perhaps you have suffered through abuse and addiction or tried to help a loved one through their struggles. Maybe you have lost other loved ones or your job, marriage, or home. Despite all of these things and more, you get up every day. You are strong and resilient. We all are.
Can I name three things I love about myself? Yes, I can. And so can you.
Episode 300. It's hard to wrap my head around a number that big. Hundreds of beautiful stories. Thousands of listeners. Later this summer, we will reach another milestone: the 7th anniversary of Andy's death—14 years of having Andy here on Earth and 7 years of Andy in heaven. Another concept that is so difficult to comprehend.
In today's episode, Gwen plays host and interviews Eric and me as we discuss the podcast and its growth over the past six years. The addition of our videographer, Jen, has been an incredible blessing as she has created beautiful video clips to share on Instagram and Facebook (@alwaysandysmom). These videos have helped us all see the featured children in real life, so to speak. Over the next few days, you will be able to see Andy featured for the first time!
We also talked about our recent family trip. Vacations can be difficult after losing a child. Part of us may feel like we don't want to make new, wonderful memories without our loved one. Certainly, there were moments of sadness and tears as we traveled, thinking of Andy and knowing how much he would have loved it. We made a point of taking Andy's teddy bear, Herky, along on the trip and capturing pictures with him every single day. Herky had his special pouch in the backpack and made appearances at St. Peter's Square, the canals of Venice, and the Acropolis. Our 'Herky pictures' certainly did not replace having Andy with us, but they gave us all a moment to think about him and feel like a tiny bit of him was there.
As we start our next 100 episodes, I look forward to seeing what new changes lie ahead. The first addition will be the opportunity to share your child on the podcast in a unique way. While some people want to share their child on an episode, others may never feel ready for such a step. I was inspired by Michael's Madre, who offered to sponsor the full cost of her episode, which is $125. Now, I invite others to do the same. If you feel called to sponsor all (or part of) an episode in your child's name, visit the Donate Page on andysmom.com, and their name will be announced in the introduction.
Thank you all so much for the love and support you have shown me. The podcast has blessed me in more ways than I could have ever realized. I cannot imagine what my life would be like today without it.
"I'm good."
This was a common response that Mary Beth's son, Michael, used when he didn't want to do something or go somewhere. "Michael, do you want to come with me?" "I'm good." It almost became a bit of a family joke. After Michael died 18 months ago at 21 years of age, his brother, a talented artist, wrote a cartoon depicting Michael in heaven. In the cartoon, his brother was longing to have Michael back with them, here on earth, with their family, so he called heaven. When Jesus answered the phone, he was asked if he could send Michael back home. Jesus responded, "Let me go ask him." Michael's response was typical Michael - "I'm good."
The problem, of course, is that although Mary Beth is sure that Michael is 'good', Mary Beth is not. She and their entire family miss Michael terribly. Michael is the second of five sons in an incredibly close family. Although Michael had a long history of anxiety struggles, his family thought he was great. He seemed happy and was completing his college education with a degree in biology. He was a brilliant and talented young man with a bright future ahead of him.
Unbeknownst to his family, however, Michael was suffering inside. Mary Beth was shocked when she found him dead in the room where he had been living at his grandparents' house, and more shocked when they learned that he had taken his own life. After searching his computer, they found an unsent email where he described having homicidal and suicidal thoughts. He was suffering a mental breakdown and shared that he feared that he might kill other people. In that moment, he seemed to feel like the way to protect others was to die himself.
Mary Beth did not know how she could go on living after losing Michael, but day by day, she is doing just that. Each day is a challenge, but Mary Beth continues to get up, go to work, and parent their four living boys. Does she expect to cry daily? Of course she does. Can she honestly answer, 'I'm good' when she is asked? Definitely not. But, until that day comes, Mary Beth clings to the knowledge that Michael is most certainly ‘good’ up in heaven.
I have long loved Faith's Lodge and, since the early days of the podcast, hoped that someday, I might be able to talk with someone from that wonderful organization. Now, that wish became a reality.
Today's guest, Kelly, is not a bereaved mom herself, but she was at the side of her sister when she lost her 12-year-old son, Carter, almost 15 years ago. As I listened to Kelly, I was struck by how instinctively she did so much 'right' after Carter died. Logistically, she handled so much for her sister in those first days and weeks, but perhaps even more importantly, she kept Carter a part of their everyday lives in the months and years that followed. When holidays came, Kelly made sure that Carter was remembered. Kelly continued to ask for parenting advice from her older sister, asking, "When this happened to Carter, what did you do?"
Shortly after Carter died, Kelly's sister's family attended a retreat at Faith's Lodge. Her sister shared that for the first time, she felt like she could fully be herself and not have to wear a mask and try to hide. Then, 13 years ago, while golfing at a charity golf event, Kelly was asked if she might consider leaving her job and becoming the executive director of a non-profit organization. She had no interest in leaving her job, but politely asked the name of the organization - Faith's Lodge. The tears came, and then, long hours of considering a career change. With her sister's blessing, Kelly started the job that has since become her passion.
Under Kelly's guidance, the organization expanded to be even more than an amazing year-round retreat center. They developed a program for employers called 'Hope Works Here' to give businesses tools to help bereaved parents return to work successfully. This month, more big changes came to Faith's Lodge as they undergo a rebranding in order to more clearly define their mission and purpose. Their new name is the Child Loss Foundation. They still offer their incredible retreats at Faith's Lodge (although they hope to spread to additional locations). They still offer resources for employers, now called Child Loss at Work. Additionally, the organization merged with another Minnesota non-profit formerly called The BeliEve Foundation, in order to expand their mission of offering immediate financial support for newly bereaved families.
I have long known that Faith's Lodge was a magical place, but now, I can't wait to see how many more lives they will be able to touch as they grow and expand.
From the first pages of reading the memoir written by today's guest, Sally McQuillen, I was quite honestly hooked. 'Reaching for Beautiful: A Memoir of Loving and Losing a Wild Child' is an absolutely beautiful story that Sally wrote after losing her 21-year-old son, Christopher, in a boating accident shortly after Christmas.
Sally shares that as she raised Christopher, she often found herself worrying about him. Christopher is described as a 'wild child' who suffered from addiction and loved to take risks. He lived every part of his life in a big way. Parenting Christopher was truly a roller coaster ride for Sally and her husband.
After losing Christopher, Sally's life was forever changed. She says that one of the greatest lessons that she learned both from raising and losing Christopher was to learn to let go of fear and instead cling to love. Sally had to "make losing Christopher a permission slip to be compassionate" with herself. Over the next months and years, Sally was challenged to let go of the fear, guilt, and regret in order to forgive herself and move forward with life.
This was certainly not a quick process. Sally says it took her seven years to feel a sense of normalcy in her life after Christopher died. After Jen, my Instagram and Facebook videographer, watched the video of today's interview, she wrote to me that she felt so comforted when she heard Sally say that it took that long to feel 'normal' again. This is the biggest takeaway from this episode. There is no timeline for grief. Everyone’s journey is their own. Some people appear to move faster and some slower, but it is not right or wrong. We need to take that lesson from Sally and give ourselves 'permission slips' when we think about our grief.
This brings me back to Sally's beautiful memoir. I found myself feeling so much love as I read this story, whether it was reading about Christopher's struggles in life or about Sally's grief after he died. The book is described as 'a luminous story of how love triumphs over pain, love transcends fear, and love never dies.' I couldn't agree more. Thank you, Sally.
Today's guest, Teresa Davis, currently goes by another name - The Grief Mentor. She hosts a podcast that is released twice a week. On the podcast, Teresa works to 'shine a light into the shadows, helping you discover that joy and pain can coexist, and that you can still have a purpose here on earth.' In addition to the podcast, Teresa offers a free grief survival guide, a free grief masterclass, a grief worship playlist, weekly newsletter, monthly support groups, and even one-on-one Grief Mentor sessions.
As amazing as all of these things are, however, the thing that I admire most about Teresa is her sharing of the story that got her to this place of hope and healing in her grief journey. Though Teresa had a strong faith and was leading Bible studies, that faith was rocked to its core the day her oldest son, Andrew, a 32-year-old commercial pilot, was killed in a plane crash. She says that the world lost its color that day. She felt betrayed by God. God could have protected Andrew that day, but he didn't. She had devoted her life to God, but she felt He had failed her.
Over the following months, Teresa found herself at a crossroads. She could either continue living in the darkness or she could choose to rebuild her life. Interestingly, a visit to the plane crash site months after the accident became a pivotal moment in her life. The smell of jet fuel was still in the air as she searched for where the cockpit had crashed into the ground. Suddenly, she heard God's voice in her head repeating Scripture - 'Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here.' Instead of feeling like the place of death and destruction, the crash site began to feel like a holy spot, the place where Andrew began his new life in heaven.
Over the next months and years, Teresa's faith continued to grow and evolve. It took on a strength it had never had before. Teresa began to pray, 'Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.' He has answered this prayer again and again. Now, by working as the Grief Mentor, Teresa takes other grieving parents by the hand, showing them how to feel joy in the midst of chaos.
Today's guest, Michelle, gave me some words of wisdom from her therapist that I will remember forever. Recently, Michelle had an appointment with her counselor and was talking about how her crying was 'not pretty'. The therapist agreed, saying, "No. Crying is not pretty, but when you are crying tears over the loss of your daughter, the tears are beautiful."
This makes me think so much about grief in general. I have often described myself over the years as a 'hot mess'. April and August are my 'hot mess' months, April because of Andy's birthday on the 21st, and August due to the anniversary of his death. Additionally, this past month was extra difficult due to having the second Andy Larson Memorial Concert. For Michelle, April is an extremely challenging month as well. Her daughter Scarlett's birthday is on April 22nd, and she died after a long cancer journey two days before her 16th birthday on April 20th, 2022.
As we spoke, nearly two weeks before these big days in our lives, we were both a 'hot mess', but I wonder now if that truly is the ugly mess that I always envisioned. I remember a few months after Andy died when I first heard the term 'lament' used with my grief. I learned that what I called the 'bad' cry or the 'ugly' cry when I completely lost control and would fall into a weeping heap on the floor, was actually when I was experiencing lament. Learning the term 'lament' helped me feel so much better about showing my emotions in that way. Lament is healthy. Lament is spiritual. Lament has a purpose and helps in our healing.
I feel like this conversation with Michelle gave me a similar epiphany. Yes - Michelle and I fully admit that we are each a 'hot mess' in April, but I see now that our 'hot mess' is not necessarily ugly. We are crying beautiful tears for Scarlett and Andy. We have puffy faces, runny noses, and red eyes. Those tears may not make us look pretty on the outside, but our 'hot mess' is truly beautiful as we are freely showing lament while mourning our amazing children.
Weddings. Graduations. Births. Empty Nesting. Divorce. No one would ever say that going through a big transition like this is easy. When reviewing my curriculum for my Starlight Virtual Support group this week, I learned that when people go through any rite of passage during life, their bodies require 20-25 minutes of rest three times a day, or they can get sick. Let's take a second and really think about that - we should rest 20-25 minutes three times a day when facing big life changes.
I'm trying to look back to whether I have ever truly put aside time like that when going through big life transitions. I don't think I have. I am quite sure I am not alone in this. We are encouraged to power through and keep going until we fall into bed exhausted at night's end. Now, let's go a step further. When we are grieving and going through additional big transitions in life, is it surprising that we are completely exhausted?
This conversation with Gwen serves as a wake-up call to me, and hopefully, it will do the same for all of you. I am certain that over the past almost 300 episodes of this podcast, I have said countless times how important it is to give yourself grace while you are grieving. Today, I am going to tell you to give yourself double grace when you are going through changes in life.
Are you going through a graduation or planning for children to move off to college? Get help from others. You are more tired than your friends. They likely aren't thinking about the child whose graduation party they will never get to have, or living with the fear that when this child moves off to college, they might never see them again. Give yourself grace. Are you planning a wedding or expecting a new baby in the family? This is awesome and wonderful, but it is still exhausting, and the grief will likely bubble up when you least expect it, while looking at the empty chair in the church or in the eyes of that newborn. Give yourself grace. Are you going through the challenge of divorce? It may bring relief for a new beginning, but you may feel grief as you remember family times together. Give yourself grace.
When Britt's 4-year-old son, Persy, died from cancer 18 months ago, Britt says that she was shocked. Now, you may question why Britt says she was shocked. Persy suffered from cancer for almost two years before dying. He underwent treatment after treatment, both in their home state of Florida and in New York. Persy was sent home on hospice to spend the last three weeks of his life. How is it that Britt says she was shocked?
The answer lies in the difference between the words shock and surprise. Was Britt surprised that Persy died? No - she was not. She knew he was dying. Although she continued to pray for a miracle, she knew that his chances of recovery were minimal, so she was not surprised when Persy took his last breath. However, Britt was still shocked. No parent can truly imagine what life will be like after their child dies. We won't ever hear their voice again, be able to see their smile light up a room, or hold them close in a loving hug. We are therefore in shock when we have to experience these things, no matter whether the death was expected or not.
As the shock slowly wears off, we now realize that we must continue living, even though it feels impossible. We may cry every day. We miss them every day, but time continues to move. Britt immediately turned to other bereaved parents to ask for help. Britt says that she and her husband have held on to two truths since losing Persy. First, their faith will bring them back to Persy. Persy lives on in heaven, and someday, they will be able to join him. The second truth is that every day, they are a little closer to the day they will be reunited with Persy.
Do these truths make it easy to live here on earth without Persy? Of course not. Britt cries for Persy each day. She misses that he is not a part of her life now. She wishes her younger boys had an older brother to teach them to run, jump, and play - an older brother who might have occasionally gotten them all into trouble. Despite this longing for Persy and the life they might have had, she will continue to remind herself of the truth that one day they will all be reunited in faith.
I am quite sure I have never spoken with a parent whose child had their own Wikipedia page, but Erin's son, Keenan Cahill, does. Certainly, when Keenan was born, Erin did not ever imagine that someday, he would become an internet celebrity. From an early age, Erin worried about Keenan and his growth and development. When Keenan was 12 months old, Erin mentioned her concerns to Keenan's pediatrician. Keenan was diagnosed with Mucopolysaccharidosis Type VI. The disease was not curable, but was treatable. He underwent a bone marrow transplant to slow the progression. Erin was told that his life expectancy was between 40 and 60 years, and they should expect medical complications throughout life.
Despite these challenges, Keenan wanted to be a regular kid, and Erin worked hard to make him feel that way. When Keenan wanted to play sports, Erin signed him up, although he could never hope to keep up with other kids. Nothing stood in his way. As Keenan started high school, he began playing around with the desktop computer he got for his birthday. He released a hilarious video of himself lip-syncing to Katy Perry's song, "Teenage Dream." People loved it, and soon it was played on The Jimmy Kimmel Show. His life changed forever.
Keenan was off to do events to entertain people. Celebrities visited their home to be in Keenan's videos, but with this newfound fame, many had negative, hurtful comments. Just as Keenan did not let his disease hold him back, he didn't let those hateful comments hold him back either. Eventually, he graduated from college and was able to produce his own music videos.
Complications after heart surgery ended Keenan's life in 2022 at the age of 27, far earlier than expected. While the world mourned a Youtuber, Erin mourned her amazing son. As Erin shared his story, I just kept thinking about how he spread joy in his short life. That should inspire all of us, shouldn't it? Despite the grief and pain, we too can spread joy and inspire others. While we may not end up with a Wikipedia page, it will be enough to help spread some happiness or relieve a little pain in those around us.
When today's guest, Danielle, went into her 21-month-old daughter Lydia's room to wake her from a nap on Christmas Day 2022, she noted how peaceful Lydia looked. She began to gently rub her back to rouse her gradually, but Lydia did not move. Danielle started to jostle her a bit more and soon realized that something was very wrong. Lydia was not waking up. Danielle screamed for her husband's help and quickly called 911. Even as she drove to the hospital, Danielle says she did not realize the gravity of the situation.
Lydia had died. They learned from Lydia's autopsy that she had a rare congenital mesenteric defect that caused a volvulus and bowel obstruction that day. Their previously healthy, smiley, chatty girl and only child was gone. All they were given when they left the hospital were the pajamas Lydia had been wearing - pajamas that matched Danielle's own. They had no idea what to do. She desperately wanted some guidance - resources to help navigate these first unimaginable days and weeks, but they felt alone.
Feeling lost, Danielle went home and started crocheting little white hearts. She buried Lydia with one in her hands and kept a matching one for herself. She crocheted hundreds of these tiny hearts, giving them away so others could remember Lydia's kindhearted spirit. Over the next weeks, Danielle thought more and more about walking out of that hospital with nothing but Lydia's pajamas. Within 4 months of Lydia's death, Danielle had started an organization in Lydia's memory that she named Love From Lydia. She began working with two local hospitals to help make care packages for grieving parents. Included in the package would be a pair of crocheted white hearts and information to help parents in this new, unexpected pain.
Over time, Danielle realized that she wanted to do more than send comforting words on paper. She wanted to help make personal connections. She created COPE (Connecting Our Personal Experiences) which works to match parents with other grieving parents who are at least a year out from the death of their own child, making sure that newly bereaved parents don't feel as lost and alone as she once did.
Andy always loved dogs. I think he loved dogs so much because his personality was similar to a puppy's. He was always on the move and always excited to meet new people and to see new places. Over the years, Andy tried in vain to talk Eric into getting us a family dog. Eric came from a cat family. I came from a dog family. I am allergic to cats and Eric did not really like dogs, so our poor children ended up with pet fish instead. Once, when Andy was young, he asked me, 'If Dad dies, can we get a dog?' I was caught completely off guard but eventually had to answer that we could likely get a dog, but that we did NOT want Dad to die so it could happen.
Just like Andy, today's guest, Debbie, and her daughter, Kelsey, have always loved dogs. In Debbie's memoir, My Grief Jar, Debbie relates the stories of the many dogs in Kelsey's life. As a young girl, Kelsey initially struggled with painful urination, which led to more and more struggles with chronic pain throughout her teen years and into adulthood. Throughout it all, however, dogs were a constant in her life, bringing her much joy.
As an avid reader of memoirs, Debbie always said to Kelsey that someday 'something good' would come from all of the pain and suffering in her life. In all of the books that Debbie enjoyed, it seemed that the writer of the story would have 'something good' that would emerge from the tragedy they were experiencing. She was certain that would happen for Kelsey. After Kelsey moved into her own home at the age of 27, she got a lab named Brody. Kelsey dreamed that Brody would become a therapy dog and visit nursing homes and hospitals, bringing a little joy to people living with chronic pain.
Although Kelsey's pain was not thought to be life-threatening, she died from a severe bowel obstruction before Brody was old enough to be trained. Tragically, Kelsey never realized her dream, but Brody and Debbie have been able to do so. Debbie knows she is bringing Kelsey with them on every visit she and Brody make. Although Kelsey didn't get to experience her 'something good' in life, she plays a huge part in it.
Adlai Stevenson famously eulogized Eleanor Roosevelt, saying, 'She would rather light a candle than curse the darkness.'
When today's guest, Sherri, first heard this quote, she knew that she wanted it to apply to her life as well. Sherri's youngest daughter, Conni, battled through addiction and mental illness for 10 years. Sherri stayed by her side for all of that time, supporting her through the good years as well as the bad. She attended 12-step meetings with Conni and learned about addiction during Conni's low moments and celebrated with her when it seemed she was beating the addiction at last. She learned to love and support Conni while hating her addiction.
Months after Conni died by intentional drug overdose, Sherri thought of that famous quote. She had a decision to make - 'I can curse the darkness or I can light a candle.' It would be so easy to want to curse the ugliness of the world when watching a loved one battle addiction. It would be easy to simply sit in darkness after your child dies by suicide. However, Sherri did not make the easy choice. She made the heroic choice to light a candle instead.
Sherri realized that her journey with Connie taught her three valuable lessons. Firstly, Sherri has far more compassion for others in pain. Secondly, she is far less judgmental of others and their actions. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, Sherri is not afraid of ugly. She has lived through the ugliest of the ugly and is still breathing. Sherri knew that she could demonstrate to others that they can do the same. She started posting on Instagram as @itsalifeunexpected to show that it is possible to love and support people through addiction without losing yourself in the process.
You see, Sherri knew that she was not going to be the last mom to watch their child battle addiction. She would not be the last mom whose child took their own life. Sherri also knew she wanted to be a light to those who would come after her. She wanted to hold a candle for them and work to light hundreds more along the path so they would not feel quite so lost and alone.
When Larry lost his son, Rob, to suicide six years ago, Larry was devasted. He immediately found a grief counselor and signed up to be in a grief support group. After two months of waiting, he attended his first support group meeting. He said he did not expect to like being in a support group, but, shortly after starting, Larry realized that he had found 'his people'. Larry felt like they could speak a language that 'ordinary' parents could not understand.
When one of the other parents in his support group wished out loud that there was a guidebook for bereaved parents, Larry felt inspired to write such a book. Larry wrote 'A Space in the Heart' (available on Amazon) as an honest guide to help bereaved parents while they are in their deepest, darkest pain.
Larry writes:
"When your child is taken from you, you are no longer ordinary parents. Ordinary parents don’t visit their child in a cemetery. Ordinary parents don’t cry themselves to sleep at night. Ordinary parents don’t wake up each morning knowing they’ll never see their child again. We become extra ordinary. But after a while, something strange takes place that’s right out of a Marvel comic book. A metamorphosis occurs during our grief and mourning, transforming us from extra ordinary to extraordinary.
We are extraordinary parents who must go on living in the world with a hole in our hearts. We are extraordinary parents who, in many cases, still love and care for our other children. We are extraordinary parents who go to work every day and function as human beings, while most people are unaware of our secret identities. We are extraordinary parents who feel things that no ordinary parent has ever felt, and we can endure the deepest pain because that has become one of our superpowers."
You may not feel like you have superpowers. You may feel weaker than you have ever been in your life, but Larry's words inspire me to hold my head a little higher. We are no longer ordinary parents. In fact, we are no longer ordinary people at all. We are extraordinary and have so much to offer the world.
I have been told that my podcast is an important part of the therapy process for many grieving parents. Today is the first time, however, that I have interviewed someone whose therapist instructed her to reach out to me and be on my podcast as a guest.
When Robyn's son, Drew (Andrew), was killed in a motorcycle accident in 2021, she was 'shocked, but not surprised.' She certainly had that shock of losing Drew, but Drew was a daredevil most of his life. He had no fewer than three accidents in the months before his death that could have taken his life, but he had miraculously walked away each time. After Drew's death, Robyn did everything she thought she should do. She started therapy. She decided to live life to its fullest and bought two kayaks to take up kayaking. She got a healthy diet plan and lost 50 pounds. She bought equipment to start her own podcast. Everyone around her said she was doing great, and from the outside, she looked like she was doing great.
Her therapist, on the other hand, said, 'Robyn, you are not doing great. You are not allowing yourself to truly feel. You need to lean into your grief,' but Robyn did not listen. She kept on as she was, until eventually, she couldn't. The grief caught up with her. She needed to grieve. She started in a Compassionate Friends support group. A member of the group told her about my podcast, another 'Andrew's Mom' with a podcast. Hmm. Was this a little sign?
In the meantime, Robyn had been going to her new therapist, who had been brainstorming ways that she could help others in her grief. "What about a podcast?" he suggested, "or a book?" Robyn went to her therapist one day and told him about my podcast. "So you emailed her, right?" the therapist said. "No," Robyn admitted. He suggested that she get out her phone and do it right then. She promised to instead email in the next week.
Robyn emailed me, and the rest is history. Months later, Robyn is sharing Drew's story with the world to help others heal. I am so excited to see the next steps of Robyn's journey and what this may lead Robyn to do in the days and months to come.
This week's podcast was supposed to be from a Livestream I had planned to do with Gwen earlier this week. If you follow me on Facebook, you already know that the Livestream was canceled. Gwen got very sick with Influenza A, making it impossible for her to do the Livestream. I told her not to worry at all and that I would just 'wing it' so to speak. (By the way, Gwen assures me she is beginning to feel better.)
This made me think of the saying, 'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.' Thinking back over the past six years since Andy died, I realize I have been forced to make a lot of lemonade. When I think back to 'the old Marcy,' I probably would have been a little panicked at the prospect of recording, putting together, and releasing a podcast episode in only two days. This is a great reminder that in many ways, this new Marcy is a better version than the old one. I don't sweat the small stuff anymore and I think that my 'winging it' produced a pretty good episode this week.
During the first portion of the episode, I invited Betty to come back and talk about the 'Threads of Gold' book I have been mentioning on social media and during the last few podcasts. As a reminder, Betty and Kyle are the parents of Ella (Episode 138) who started a non-profit, Ella's Umbrella, in their daughter's memory to help fund research for congenital heart anomalies. Their newest endeavor is 'Threads of Gold' and I was thrilled to be one of twenty-six authors invited to a part of this anthology. The book tells stories of grief and loss and how we persevere through life's tragedies.
The second portion of the podcast this week was extra fun for me. My dear Aunt Penny, an avid listener of the podcast, loves the episodes I have with Eric because he always makes me laugh. Every time I do a show with Eric, I learn something new from him, and I realize we should do more episodes together. Eric and I talk about how our marriage has changed since Andy died and how men grieve. We also answered a few other questions listeners have asked over the past two days.
Thank you Betty and Eric for helping make some tasty lemonade today.
I was so touched by talking with today's guest. Erin has been an elementary school music teacher for more than 10 years. Music was an important part of Andy's life, whether he was singing in the choir or playing the piano, drums, or French Horn. I often wonder how music would have shaped his future growing up. Although Andy said he wanted to be a pilot, Eric always felt he would have become a music teacher instead. Music touched him in such a special way. Andy's elementary school music teacher was important in introducing him to his love for music, so I felt drawn to Erin immediately.
Music played an important role in Erin's family life as well. After suffering from fertility struggles, Erin had a simple surgical procedure and quickly became pregnant with twins. As the twins grew, they both had Erin's love for music. They loved to dance and sing and Erin could see the joy that music brought to their lives. Then tragedy struck and 20-month-old Brennan died in his sleep a few days after being diagnosed with RSV.
Erin didn't feel like she wanted to go on living. For months, Erin would go to bed at night secretly hoping that God make it so she did not wake up in the morning, but, each morning, Erin did wake up. People commented as to how strong she was, but Erin said she had no choice. She had to continue to be a wife to her husband and a mother to Avery so she kept going.
This included returning to school and teaching music only days after Brennan died. Erin posted a picture of Brennan in her classroom and began to talk about him. Erin hopes that posting that picture will help others realize that she wants to talk about Brennan. In fact, I think she is an amazing example to others showing that it is healthy to talk about hard things like death, and not avoid them. People often wonder how Erin continues to work with kids every day after losing Brennan so suddenly, but Erin knows that is the best way to honor Brennan. Erin hasn't started a foundation or become a public speaker or done anything big and flashy. Erin teaches kids to love music just like Brennan did, and that is more than enough.
None of us want to be bereaved parents. We love the idea of being a new parent. It is a title we wear proudly. We love the first time our children call us mama or dada. Although many thoughts go through our minds when welcoming our new baby, the average parent certainly does not think that they could ever be a bereaved parent. Our children aren't supposed to die before us, so those thoughts don't enter our minds. When talking to Hollis's mom, Amanda, she is quick to admit that she does not want to be a bereaved parent. She wants to continue to be Hollis's mom, but she wants to be a regular parent and not a bereaved one.
Of course, this is impossible. Amanda wants to continue to be Hollis's mom, which means she is a bereaved parent. In the almost two years since Hollis died, Amanda has started two new jobs. She dreads the questions that will invariably come asking about her children. How many children do you have? Four. What are their ages? This is when Amanda needs to take a deep breath before answering, knowing that this answer will now ruin someone's day.
Amanda longs to be able to answer this question and not have the asker suddenly become awkward and start fumbling with words. She wishes that they could accept the simple fact that she gives when she says that her son passed away at the age of four, but she knows this will not happen. They will mumble an apology and avert their eyes. They likely will turn away and not ask her further questions about her family at all. They don't want to think too hard about being the parent of a child who died because they certainly don't want it to happen to them.
This conversation makes me think more about the podcast and my social media accounts. My primary focus will always be helping bereaved parents heal, but perhaps a secondary focus should be helping everyone be more accepting of us as bereaved parents. I am so proud to be Andy's mom, and that means I am a bereaved mom. I never want to be ashamed to say it. Maybe announcing it will help others realize the term is not taboo, and they can accept us as we are today.
Can TikTok be therapy?
After today's guest, Lindsay's 2-year-old son, Mason, died in his sleep due to complications from a febrile seizure, Lindsay felt lost. She didn't know what to do. She tried seeing two different therapists early on in her grief, but at the time, that didn't feel right to her. Lindsay says that she couldn't even begin to process her grief.
That is when Lindsay turned to an unusual place. She turned to TikTok. Lindsay (@LinzMason'sMama) began making videos about Mason, showing him running around and giggling. Mason was never going to meet new people who would see his fun personality, but TikTok could introduce Mason to people all over the world. Lindsay also recorded herself while in the depths of her grief, showing anger, tears, and everything in between. As Lindsay posted these videos, she began to see comments back from people who thanked her for sharing. Thousands of people got to meet Mason and enjoy his silly antics, but Lindsay also became a voice for others as they saw her pain.
Watching Lindsay's videos reminded me so much of my journey in making the podcast. I started the podcast to help others in their pain, but that is not all that happened. As I shared my story and the stories of so many others, I felt myself slowly start to heal. Sharing stories led to amazing friendships and gradual healing.
I see that same process happening in Lindsay's life. It has now been two years since Mason died, and Lindsay continues to share her grief journey with her tens of thousands of followers. Many of those followers have become close friends, and people who have helped Lindsay begin to heal.
So this leads us back to our original question as well as a few more. Can TikTok be therapy? Absolutely yes! Can podcasts be therapy? Again, the answer is yes. Can friends and support groups be therapy? Of course, they can. Whatever you do that brings you comfort and peace on your grief journey can be your therapy.
When today's guest, Samantha, became a mother, she was overjoyed. Although Raiden was diagnosed with developmental delay and autism early in life, Samantha did not let these diagnoses slow them down. Raiden went to different therapies and the family went on living their best life.
To me, almost 4-year-old Raiden seemed to be a little engineer. If a baby gate was up, he learned to pile up stuffed animals to get over it. Raiden figured out how to get out of the back door of the house despite the fact the family put a chain up to stop him, thus requiring them to put up a second chain. Whatever the obstacle, Raiden could figure out how to get past it. His family, friends, and even his therapists loved his spirit. Jumping on his trampoline while amongst hundreds of bubbles from a bubble machine would fill him with so much joy that he would be unable to contain himself. This is who Raiden was.
As much joy as that adventurous spirit brought Raiden, it ended up leading to his tragic death. On the last night of a family camping trip, Raiden woke up early before his parents or other family members. Although they had placed the zipper to the door at the top of the tent well out of reach, Raiden found a way to climb up and get out. He wandered to the lake where he drowned.
Almost immediately, Samantha found my podcast and began listening to the stories of other parents. These stories brought her comfort in her immense pain. She wrote to me only about 3 months after Raiden died, asking to share sweet Raiden and his story. While waiting for her interview to arrive, I received an email from Samantha that showed me just how special she is. She listened to an episode when I was 18 months into my grief journey and going through a very rough patch. I shared that I was sad that no one asked me questions about Andy anymore so Samantha did just that.
Samantha, only 4 months into her grief took that time to offer me comfort even though I am six years into my grief journey. That takes a very special person and helps prove something I have come to believe - no matter what our circumstances, grieving parents comfort each other best.
Thank you, Samantha. Know that you and Raiden have touched my heart. Whenever I see a bubble machine, I will think of Raiden gleefully smiling and jumping through the bubbles.
This past year marked an important milestone for today's guest, LeeAnn. Aaron was killed in a car accident 18 years ago when he was 18 years of age. It never hit LeeAnn until last summer when someone asked her two questions: How long ago did Aaron die? How old was Aaron when he died? The answer to both questions was the same - 18 years. It was difficult for LeeAnn to believe.
LeeAnn says that she had two major epiphanies in her life. The first happened two years after Aaron died when she says she was in such deep darkness that she was simply existing. Her two sisters confronted her that day and asked, "Do you want to live? You are slowly killing yourself." LeeAnn had two other sons and family members who loved and needed her. She decided that she did want to live. She began to eat better and function - but she still did not feel joy.
That second epiphany happened several years later. LeeAnn realized she was existing and not truly engaging with life. She was not feeling any true happiness. She made a drastic change then, leaving her marriage and moving out on her own. She learned to find joy again. LeeAnn eventually remarried and had a third major event in her life. LeeAnn and her husband were looking for a therapist to help with a family issue related to one of his children. LeeAnn was suddenly reminded that she had been given the name of a therapist by a bereaved mom over a decade before whom she had never called.
Now, she called the number and made an appointment. The family issue was quickly resolved, but LeeAnn realized she had never properly grieved Aaron. She had made decisions to live and feel joy again, but she had not leaned into her own grief. She had tried to tuck it away, hoping it would resolve, but even after all that time, the grief sat there, waiting for her to pick it up and work through it. The therapist has been amazing for LeeAnn and beginning last year, LeeAnn volunteers to help other grieving parents in their journeys. She certainly hopes for them that it won't take 18 years to get where she is today, but she accepts that she couldn't have done it any other way.
"Medicine has reached the end of what it can do for your daughter. Our suggestion is that you take her home on hospice and enjoy her."
These are the words that were spoken to today's guest, Nikki, on September 30, 2020. Before that day, Nikki and her family had been searching unrelentingly for someone who could diagnose and treat their young daughter, Felicity. Although they took her to various physicians and hospitals, they were never able to get a diagnosis. At the time of her death at 21 months of age, Felicity was a sassy thing who still weighed less than 9 pounds. For the next weeks, they enjoyed Felicity as much as possible. They loved her every single day. Nikki said that on the day Felicity died, Felicity's suffering ended, but her own truly began.
Child loss of any type is devasting, but it is especially complicated when there is no answer as to why the child died. When someone asks what happened to Felicity, Nikki has to answer, "I don't know." For years, Nikki lived with so much guilt, thinking that there must be something she could have done differently. There should have been a way to get more help. Nikki desperately wanted to find out what happened to Felicity. Eventually, though, Nikki realized that she had done the best she could with the information she had at the time. If hundreds of experts could not diagnose Felicity, Nikki could not either.
Although geneticists are still looking for a diagnosis for Felicity, Nikki has turned her immediate focus on her living children. She says that while her grief has felt crushing, watching her children grieve Felicity has been even worse. The family talks about Felicity constantly. They do not hide from their grief. They acknowledge it and have learned from it. When Nikki's oldest son learned that his best friend's baby brother had died (Episode 271: AJ's Mom & Dad), he asked if they could bring him to see his friend, saying, "Mom, DI just needs a hug."
Maybe Nikki and her family will never learn exactly what happened to Felicity, but they have learned one important life lesson. Sometimes, you don't need an answer - you just need a hug.
Congratulations! You did it! You made it through Christmas and New Year's!
I highly doubt any bereaved person has ever had these words said to them, but today, I say them to all of you. It is tough to be a grieving person during the holidays. It is difficult to see smiling, happy faces that seem to surround you everywhere you go. It can be challenging to spend time with whole families when your own feels utterly broken, but you did it.
I really loved this week's podcast with Gwen. When she suggested this topic, I have to admit, I was a little hesitant. I had made it through the holidays. I wasn't sure I really wanted to go back and do a recap, but it turns out, it was very healing to revisit how things went over the past month. I certainly remembered the challenges, but this podcast helped me think about my successes as well.
This was our 6th holiday season without Andy, and each one has been unique. We were home for Christmas for the first time and did far more of our 'normal' Christmas traditions. This year, attending church was far more difficult than other Christmases have been. The present opening part of Christmas, on the other hand, was probably the most fun one yet with far more smiles than tears. Talking with Gwen on the podcast this week helped me realize that I can feel a bit of pride for everything that I was able to do, even if sometimes I still shook with sobs. Tears are not signs of failure; they are a healthy emotional release.
As you listen to the podcast this week, I invite you to look back on your own holiday season. You may have done all of your normal family traditions. You may have done none of your normal family traditions. You may have been at home with a few people. You may have attended big family gatherings. It doesn't really matter how you spent your time - you made it through. You are still breathing. You are still getting out of bed in the morning. Congratulate yourself. Celebrate. Take a deep breath. You deserve it.
I would consider today's guest, Kate, a born caregiver. I could sense her caring spirit immediately. Before losing her 12-year-old son, Ephrem, Kate worked as a birth doula and was in training to be a midwife. She loved supporting new young parents as they welcomed their new babies into the world. After Ephrem died suddenly from complications from an aortic dissection, Kate no longer felt like she could continue working as a birth doula so she became a home health aide. One evening, Kate was assigned to be with an elderly man who was nearing the end of his life. Instead of offering support as a family welcomed new life, she sat with them as they prepared to say goodbye. Kate realized something that night - Ephrem's death had unveiled a new calling for her. She knew that hospice work was now what she was meant to do. Instead of supporting families as life entered the world, Kate would help people and their families at the end of life. But hospice work was not Kate's only new calling. After Ephrem's death, Kate attended Luella's Lodge (a place near and dear to my own heart) for a retreat for bereaved parents. Kate found herself signing up for retreat after retreat. Each one gave her more strength. During one such retreat, Kate sat down with Carrie, co-founder of Luella's Lodge asking what she thought of the idea of Kate starting her own retreat center, fashioning it after Luella's Lodge. Carrie was thrilled. Kate and her husband founded The Beekeeper's Well to offer support to bereaved families. Kate's dream is to eventually have a physical retreat center for bereaved parents in Southeast Michigan, but that will take time. For now, Kate offers weekly Sunday night drop-in Zoom support groups as well as grief coaching. Kate also hosts 'Home Retreats' anywhere in the US or Canada. These retreats are meant for smaller groups. Kate goes to a home (or often a weekend rental) and brings the retreat center experience to the bereaved. Kate finds local experts in yoga, breath work, massage, and other healing modalities and brings the magic of a grief retreat to grieving parents wherever they need it.
When Suzanne's son, Lorenzo, was a little boy, he told his family that when he grew up, he would be a police officer. He even drew a picture of himself as a policeman. After finishing high school, he instead studied computers and looked to follow in his dad's footsteps. Then, one day, when Lorenzo was in his mid-twenties, he surprised his mom with a phone call. 'Mama Bear,' he said, 'I need to talk to you.' Suzanne responded by asking if she should be worried. 'Maybe a little bit, Mama Bear,' he replied, but it's OK.' Lorenzo shared that he couldn't work behind a desk any longer. He needed to help people and become a police officer.
Although Suzanne was a little worried, she was also so proud of her son. She knew that he would be an amazing addition to the police force. He loved helping others. in his soul, Suzanne said that he was born to be a lover of people. She says that no one ever loved her as deeply as Lorenzo did. It was so fun to talk to her about their amazing relationship and about how, above all else, Lorenzo wanted to take care of his 'Mama Bear.' It reminded me a little bit about Andy, his big, loving heart, and the way he always insisted that he 'loved me more' despite my protests.
Shortly after Lorenzo realized his dream of becoming a police officer, however, he suffered a tragic accident when he was cleaning his gun. His gun discharged and he shot an artery in his leg. Although he was able to call for help, it was too late. Amid this tragedy, Suzanne saw that Lorenzo's community loved him just as much as he loved them. Officers stood at attention at every freeway exit in southern California as the car carrying his body drove by. Thousands honored her sweet, loving Lorenzo.
As we talked, I began to wonder if our two 'boys' somehow brought us together. I imagine a proud Andy telling everyone in heaven about his mom and her podcast, and Lorenzo thinking the podcast might be a good idea for his 'Mama Bear' to help her heal. When Suzanne emailed me, she wrote that I was her 'angel' who 'saved' her, but I'm pretty sure the 'angel' was actually Lorenzo setting things in motion.
Christmas Day was always Mary's favorite day of the year and 2020 was no different. She was happy as she watched through the window as her husband made snow angels outside with their grandson. The day seemed perfect despite the fact that her son, Zach had been unable to come home to Indiana from where he was living near his dad in Texas.
When Mary's husband came inside, he commented that he had missed numerous phone calls from Mary's ex-husband. Mary immediately panicked, knowing that something must be wrong with Zach. However, never in a million years would Mary have thought that her ex-husband would tell her the devastating news that Zach was dead. He found Zach in his apartment sitting on his couch with his nebulizer machine running. It is now known that Zach died from asthma complications on the evening of December 23rd.
I feel like all bereaved parents struggle with the holidays. As I sat in church for Christmas Eve worship, tears flowed freely as I remembered Christmases past and longed for the days when Andy was with us. These days of joy and celebration do not feel very joyful when we are grieving, but then I think of Mary and others like her - parents whose children died on or around Christmas. It just adds another complicated layer to the grief.
It would be completely reasonable to think that Mary might want to avoid Christmas entirely. She might want to just hide away during the whole Christmas season, but that is not Mary. Mary's faith has been an inspiration since I met her when she joined one of my support groups through Starlight Ministry in February of this year. Despite Mary's own pain, she has been an amazing listening ear and a source of comfort to all of us who are blessed enough to be in a group with her.
After sharing with the group for the past several months, Mary made the decision to share Zach's story on the podcast. When asked if she might want to share Zach's story on the week of Christmas, Mary knew that was perfect timing. Just as Mary's honest presence helps our support group each week, her story will bless each of you as you listen during this hard Christmas week.
45 minutes.
Forty-five minutes does not seem like very much time, but it was a lifetime for Chris and Julie's first child, Faith, and it forever changed Chris and Julie. When the couple excitedly went to Julie's prenatal ultrasound, they first saw beautiful images of their baby but were then given devastating news. Faith was severely ill and doctors did not expect her to survive much longer. The couple was sent home expecting Julie to miscarry soon.
Chris and Julie went home and began to pray. Certainly, they prayed for healing for their baby girl, but more importantly, they prayed that they might be able to meet Faith. Chris and Julie decided to make the most of this time of pregnancy. They talked to Faith, traveled with Faith, and even had a church dedication for Faith all before she was born. Then, at 37 weeks, Faith was born, and through a little miracle, her heart began to beat and her eyes opened. Chris and Julie got to experience the best 45 minutes of their lives, a time that they will remember forever. Then, just like that, the magic was gone. The hospital allowed the couple to spend the night with little Faith, but then the funeral director carried her away, and Chris and Julie had to continue living without their little girl.
Child loss is something that no parent expects. It is an incredibly isolating experience. As Chris and Julie slowly began to heal, they felt God calling them to help others experiencing this pain. They started an amazing organization, Faith45, which has two focus areas. The first is a mentorship program that helps match newly bereaved parents with a peer to walk beside them during their grief journey. They match the newly bereaved parent with a mentor with a similar story whether it be a miscarriage, stillbirth, or early infant loss. These mentors work to be the hands and feet of God, offering a listening ear and an understanding voice. The second focus of Faith45 is to offer Faith Boxes to purchase on their website. Each box contains 8-10 items to help newly bereaved parents in their grief journey. Through Faith45, Chris and Julie hope to give a message of hope and healing.
Today's guest, Lorraine's young son, AJ, had a smile that would light up a room. Although a heart murmur had been noted at birth, it was thought to have resolved. He was growing and feeding well, and Lorraine had no idea that serious heart abnormality was worsening. The murmur was again noted after a fall at 7 months of age, and AJ was sent to Cardiology where it was determined that AJ suffered from a condition called aortic stenosis. He was scheduled for a cardiac cath to assess the severity of the stenosis.
On the drive to the hospital that morning, Lorraine turned around and AJ gave her one of his famous smiles. That was one of his last smiles because, during the procedure, young AJ's heart stopped. Despite medical interventions, they were unable to save her sweet boy. To say that AJ's parents were horrified would be a vast understatement. The last thing that Lorraine wanted to do was leave her baby boy in a cold hospital morgue.
This is when Martin House Children's Hospice stepped in. When I think of hospice, I think of organizations that help support families whose loved ones are dying. Martin House certainly does this, but it is so much more. The staff from Martin House came to the hospital to take AJ's little body and keep it cool. They allowed his family to stay with him for a full week until they were ready to put him to rest. They offered grief support to Lorraine and her family for a full year. They were everything Lorraine needed when her whole world was falling apart.
In addition to Martin House, Lorraine began listening to the podcast only one month after AJ's death. She says the parents who told their stories on the podcast became her friends and support system. She felt less alone as she listened and she felt herself ever so slowly begin to heal. Now two years after AJ's death, Lorraine works to help other bereaved parents just as she was helped. She is a resource for Martin House helping them learn more about helping parents and now she shares her own story with Always Andy's Mom listeners so they too know that they are not alone.
When today's guest, Izumi, lost her young daughter, Alyce, to cancer, she felt like she had lost her identity as well. Izumi had given up her corporate job during Alyce's cancer treatment thinking that she would be able to go back after Alyce recovered. Unfortunately, that day never came, and Izumi felt like she had become a completely different person. Izumi no longer fit into the role. She struggled to imagine what her future would look like.
A friend approached Izumi, wondering if she might be interested in training to become a life coach. Not having many options at that point, she decided to apply and was even granted a scholarship. The coaching classes changed Izumi's life once again. She started the classes to try a different career path. What she found instead was a truer understanding of herself. She understood her grief and pain more fully. She could identify things that would activate her pain. She felt like, for the first time in her life, she knew her true self.
Around that same time, Izumi started attending virtual support groups for bereaved parents and eventually in different in-person groups. The first groups were specifically for parents whose children died of cancer, but Izumi then attended a general child loss group, where she learned that she could bond with bereaved parents no matter what their child's age or cause of death.
Through Izumi's coaching training and support group participation, Izumi discovered a new purpose in life. The coaching class helped her find her true self, and Izumi knew that she wanted to share that knowledge with others. Additionally, Izumi wrote a book focusing on the child loss portion of her journey. She titles the book, 'Writing to Heal After the Unbearable Loss of a Child.' It is described as 'a book, journal and a conversation. If you're grieving, consider it your steadfast companion through the pain. If you're supporting a grieving friend, let it be your guide when words fail.'
The book is available on Amazon and an initial complementary call for coaching can be scheduled here.
Today's guest, Linda, says that her life shattered the day a distracted driver killed her 26-year-old daughter, Andrea. Andrea had been living her dream life. She was happily married and an amazing mother to her 2-year-old son. Andrea was pregnant with their second child and worked as a social worker at a job she loved. Linda and Andrea were about as close as a mother and daughter could be. They were constantly texting each other, sharing bits of their day.
Then, one afternoon, the texts just stopped. Linda was not concerned until Andrea did not pick up her son after work. Linda knew something was very wrong. From the moment police officers came to her door, Linda's life has not been the same. During those first days, Linda's husband needed to remind her to eat, shower, and brush her teeth each day. Every moment was a struggle, but ever so slowly, life became less difficult. Linda might have a good hour or two, then even half a day. Her healing process was not rapid, but instead a gradual improvement, happening over many years.
Now, Linda is almost thirteen years into her grief journey. Linda is an inspiration to me, but not for reasons that people might expect. She is not an inspiration because she is doing 'really well', but because she acknowledges that there are still really hard days. Linda is honest and open about all of her feelings. She doesn't pretend to 'be over' her daughter's death because others think that she should be, and she openly shares when days are difficult.
Three years ago, Linda decided to write a book documenting her grief journey. The book took her two years to write, and the result is a 'heart-wrenching memoir' that takes us on a journey 'through the full spectrum of grief with complex emotions'. Linda titled her book, 'The Road of Love and Hope' which is described as 'an epitome of how grief can be transformed into a legacy of love teaching the readers valuable guidance and management of emotions.' I am sure that it will help give hope to so many who are early in their own grief journeys. Thank you, Linda, for this gift.
Choose Joy.
This is the motto that today's guests, Jen and David, decided that their family would follow after a prenatal ultrasound showed that their fourth son AJ would be born with not one, but two newborn abnormalities. He had achondroplasia as well as a rare congenital heart defect. They knew that AJ was facing a complex medical future, but they decided that they would face all these struggles with joy-filled hearts.
Throughout AJ's 44 days of life, Jen and David chose joy each day. David described AJ as a 'little man with a big purpose.' His life was a roller-coaster of ups and downs, but ultimately AJ's lungs were unable to heal and he lost his life. After AJ's death, you might think Jen and David would have given up their 'Choose Joy' motto, but this has not been the case. Jen knew that she needed to do something to help her broken family grieve and she needed guidance. Jen immediately signed up for several retreats at Luella's Lodge, some for her, some for her and David, and some for their whole family. The peace and comfort that Luella's Lodge offered was truly indescribable. Jen found herself being drawn back again and again.
This is the point in the story when Jen's path first crossed my own. Carrie, from Luella's Lodge, and I decided to do a special retreat this past fall for Always Andy's Mom podcast listeners. Although Jen had never heard of me or the podcast, she was the host mom for that retreat. Over the past five years of doing the podcast, I have felt God's presence many times, but I never felt it stronger than during that weekend.
God knew I needed a video editing team to help with the podcast's social media presence. God also knew that Jen and David needed to expand their production company by working with organizations they felt passionate about. As our relationship began that weekend, we both felt that by choosing to work with each other, we were choosing joy. Together, we can help make podcast episodes and meaningful videos for grieving families everywhere. I envision AJ and Andy both grinning down at us from heaven, proud to see their parents choose joy.
*If you want to join me next fall at Luella's Lodge, go to luellaslodge.org and sign up for the September 25-28th retreat.
Since this week's livestream fell on Veteran's Day here in the US, it made Gwen and I think about ideas of sacrifice and honor. We set aside this day to honor veterans and the sacrifices that they made while fighting to defend this country. Military awards are often given as an honor for military heroism or outstanding service. Over a military career, a serviceperson might earn many such awards which can be displayed on military uniforms.
Grieving people go through many sacrifices themselves after losing loved ones. We lose not only our child but often our sense of purpose and security. We lose our hopes and dreams for the future. We may feel that life is hardly worth living. We certainly don't feel we deserve to be honored with a medal.
I honestly feel like some days I am just barely hanging on, but I was challenged by two different people this week. The first was my dear, sweet aunt Penny who has been like a mother to me since the death of my mom in college. After listening to last week's podcast with David Kessler, my aunt wrote, 'Marcy, what you have done on your grief journey fills my heart with love. I know you won't like me saying this, but you are my hero.' She was right, I didn't like hearing those words at all. I am not a hero. I can think of dozens of people who are heroes, but that certainly does not describe me.
Then Gwen challenged me again in this episode. She asked grieving parents to submit names for awards they could earn in their own grief journeys. All of the answers were amazing, but some of my personal favorites were the Changed Heart Award, the Best Fake Smile Award, and the Got Out of Bed Award. She then asked me what my award would be. I was quick to think that I really didn't deserve an award, but then I thought of Aunt Penny and being her hero.
If I am her hero, then maybe I do deserve an award. And if I can be a hero, then we can all be heroes. We may not have a special day or be able to wear a uniform covered with medals, but we can honor ourselves and each other because what we are doing is heroic, even if some days, we only earn the Got Out of Bed award.
When David Kessler's publicist asked if he could come on the podcast to promote his newest workbook, Finding Meaning: Grief Workbook: Tools for Releasing Pain and Remembering with Love, I felt honored. David Kessler is one of the world's foremost experts on grief and loss. He has written six best-selling books over the years, including two that he co-authored with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. He founded the website grief.com, which boasts over 5 million yearly visits.
Despite these accolades, I admire David most for his approach to life after becoming a bereaved dad. When David's younger son, David, died suddenly in 2016, he found that he could not prepare for such pain. David says that he wanted to call every grieving parent whom he had counseled to say he hadn't understood the depth of their pain. David told grieving parents to start therapy and go to support groups, but he did not know just how difficult that was for a newly bereaved parent. David says that it took him three times to get the courage to attend his first grief support group. He sat in the group staring at a table with his books on it, no longer the grief expert, but instead a bereaved dad.
After the death of his son, David learned so much that he hadn't truly understood before. He learned that the pain of grief was incredibly deep, but if you took time to excavate through the pain, meanings could be revealed. With the blessing of the Kubler-Ross family in 2019, David wrote a new book, Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief. Since the book was published, he realized that a personal workbook might be an even better way for people to find meaning in their lives. David says the workbook is a way to 'get the pain out of you and into the workbook.' It is a truly healing experience to complete the workbook.
I want to close today with what David said to me at the end of our interview. 'See the meaning you are making in the lives you are touching.' Every time you talk to another person, you are making meaning, whether you go on a podcast to share your story with thousands or sit at a kitchen table and share with one person.
'Is life still worth living?' 'Will I ever be happy again?
These are questions often asked by bereaved parents. They are asked quietly amongst other grieving parents or therapists. They are often left unsaid entirely but still plague us inside. We are afraid to voice them, afraid to think of what others might do or say - afraid that we will offend our living family members if they learn that these questions are in our heads.
Today's guest, Jae Hee, was having these very thoughts in the months after her 5-month-old daughter, Alina, died of a genetic disease, but no one, not even her family, knew. From the outside, Jae Hee looked happy. She was cracking jokes at work. She was laughing and interacting with others, but on the inside, her passion for life was gone. As the weeks passed, Jae Hee wondered if life was always going to feel this way.
About two months after Alina died, Jae Hee started listening to the podcast and learned that she was not alone in her feelings. The podcast recommendation came from a friend of a friend whom Jae Hee later learned was a bereaved sister who started listening to better understand her parents' grief. As Jae Hee thought of her older daughter, she decided to sit down with this woman to talk with her.
This new friend said to Jae Hee the same thing that a nurse told Eric soon after Andy's death. She said that after her sibling died, she never felt like she was enough for her parents. She said they were never truly there for her after the death of her brother. Their happiness was gone. This woman still loves her parents deeply, but she always wished that they could have a love for life again.
This conversation profoundly hit Jae Hee. She didn't want her older daughter to live her life longing to see her parents happy. She wanted to truly be happy again. She thought of Alina and her short life - a life so much shorter than Jae Hee wanted it to be, but every second of it was filled with love. Jae Hee and her remaining family deserve all of that love and joy as well.
Is life still worth living? Yes, it is. Will I ever be happy again? Yes, Jae Hee and I can be, and so can you.
Today's guest, Elizabeth, lived through a nightmare after moving her oldest son, Henry, into college. Elizabeth never imagined that on his first day of class, only days after leaving a smiling Henry in his dorm room, he would be killed in a freak accident on campus. Elizabeth's safe world was completely shattered. She learned that accidents happen on college campuses and that Henry was not the only US college student who would never come home again.
One year later, Elizabeth was understandably worried when Henry's younger brother got ready to move across the country to start college. As much as her rational self knew that it was not likely that they would suffer another tragic death, the fear could not be shaken. Elizabeth and her husband did what other people thought was completely crazy. They moved across the country to Washington DC to be near their younger son as he started college. Elizabeth knew that simply living nearby would not offer more protection against a tragic accident, but it gave her comfort to know that her still grieving son was just a short drive away if he needed anything.
When Andy died, our foster son, Valeriano, had just finished high school. His case worker had been helping him look for apartments to move out. After Andy died, the worker continued to look for housing for Valeriano, but we could tell that Valeriano's heart was no longer in it. He had been forced to leave his biological family in Guatemala and now, his safe, happy family in the US was being torn apart as well.
I remember telling that case worker to stop. Valeriano was a part of our family and needed to stay in our home. I am sure that Elizabeth had people telling her to let her son move alone, but she knew what her grieving family needed. They needed to be close together. Even though her son rarely had to visit his parents, it was comforting to know that he could.
I am so proud that Elizabeth was brave enough to make this decision for herself and her family. She didn't think about what society expected her to do; she did what they needed. What an amazing example for us all.
To learn more, read her Huffington Post article here or follow her blog on her substack, Channeling Grief.
After Chana lost her oldest son Ryan to a drug overdose five years ago, she was understandably devastated. Still, bit by bit over time, she started to feel like her family may be on its way to recovery. Her second oldest son, Chris, had been crushed when he lost his older brother and best friend. He struggled with relationships and work after losing Ryan. Chris even moved back home to get more support from his family. Then, 395 days after losing Ryan and just as things seemed to be improving, Chris suddenly died as well.
As bad as Chana thought life could get, it was now worse. Two of her four children were dead. Chana said, "I didn't think I was ever going to be able to get out of bed and open my eyes without crying." There was a huge hole in her heart and there were times that Chana thought about ending her own life - but she didn't. She kept getting up each morning and functioning despite having tears in her eyes each morning.
Over time, however, the tears weren't on her pillow every day. The grief did not feel quite as heavy. There were times when she began to laugh and smile again. Chana remembers when she first started to laugh again, she used to want to punish herself thinking that she did not deserve to smile, Chana shares that after a long time and a lot of tears, she realized that she does deserve to smile. She deserves to have moments of happiness again.
As you listen today, you will hear me talk about Chana's smile. You will hear me say that every single time Chana brings up Chris's name, her face begins to light up with a smile. That should bring all of us so much hope for the future. Early in my grief, every time I said Andy's name, tears would well up in my eyes and my lips would quiver slightly. ever so slowly, that has changed for me as well. Often when talking about my dear, sweet Andy, a big smile will come across my face. In fact, as I write this, I find myself smiling and thinking of Andy's smile as well. That is my hope for all of you today that smiles may begin to poke through your tears.
In the last minutes of this week's interview, today's guest, Ellie, wanted to share one last thing with listeners as she looked back on her 25-year journey of grief after losing her two young children. She compared grief to the ocean. She said that sometimes, the ocean is clear and calm and beautiful while at other times storms come and it feels tumultuous. I find this an incredibly fitting comparison as I sit here writing this while a catastrophic hurricane, Hurricane Milton, is landing in Florida.
At this time yesterday, the ocean likely looked beautiful and inviting along Florida's beaches while today it is destroying property and lives. That is the same feeling that we get in our grief. Sometimes, life seems relatively calm, but at other times, our grief feels like it has shredded us completely. We think we will never be able to recover. We feel like the devastation is complete and that there is no hope.
Twenty-five years ago, Ellie lost her two young children, Alex and Adri, in an explosion and fire. Ellie says that in some ways, this 25th year has been the worst, not because life is harder for her now than it was all those years ago, but because she had expectations that she would feel 'better' by now. When Ellie and her husband lost their only two children, I imagine that the grief felt like Hurricane Milton. It was huge and overpowering, and it felt like their entire world had been destroyed and no good could ever enter their lives again.
We know, however, that hurricanes don't last forever. In mere days, Hurricane Milton will leave Florida, but as the ocean calms, damage will still be evident. If you look closely, scars will be evident for years, possibly even decades. This, too is the case for Ellie. From the outside, her family looks complete with her husband and four children. Many people do not know that there should be six and that the two oldest are forever missing. Ellie still notices the scars and feels the daily pain of her missing children. Some days, the grief feels like soft lapping waves on the beach, but at other times, she can still feel the hurricane force winds.
After the death of your child, everything becomes more challenging. Previously easy tasks like going to the grocery store suddenly seem almost impossible. Getting out of bed and showering in the morning no longer feels automatic. You may wonder how you will be able to get through the next weeks, months, and years without your child.
In today's podcast, Gwen and I sit down to talk about ways to try to find a little purpose to get out of bed and live each day. Having other family members to love and support can give us motivation to keep living, but sometimes that is not quite enough. Sometimes finding activities that give us a little peace or comfort can help us as well. Other times, it may be an activity that simply occupies our minds for a bit so we can take a little break from the overwhelming weight of grief.
When I think about what has gotten me through these past six years, so many things come to mind. First and foremost are other people who have given me amazing support. Certainly for me, talking to other bereaved parents, whether through the podcast or in support groups has been life-changing. The idea of helping and accepting help from other grieving parents has helped bring a little bit of purpose back to my life and on those tough days, it is these other parents who are best at offering me comfort.
However, there are times when I have to escape from the grief for a few minutes or a few hours. At those times, sitting out on my deck listening to the birds sing or playing a round of golf can help take some of the stress away. Sometimes, things that brought comfort years ago can do so again. I used to love reading fiction books as a kid but found myself too busy to do so as an adult. For the past couple of years, I have found that reading allows me to escape and put myself in a different world where the pain does not feel so sharp.
Overall, everyone has different support systems and actions that bring them peace. I hope that this episode helps motivate all of you to find the people or activities that can help bring you a sense of comfort and put a little purpose back into your lives.
Today's guest, Marj, always wanted her daughter, Chloe, to be a normal kid. When Marj and her husband first adopted Chloe, she already had medical concerns, but at 20 months of age, their lives were turned upside down when Chloe was diagnosed with cancer. Chloe lived the next 14 years of her life with cancer, but Marj continued to try to make her life as normal as possible.
When Chloe's parents sent her to summer camp for kids with cancer (now called Campfire Circle), Marj and Chloe took a flight to where Chloe would be able to get on a bus for camp. As a kid, Marj had loved going to summer camp and she new that Chloe would love the experience as well - if they could get her to go. The night before she was to get on the bus, Chloe called her dad and said, 'I don't think Mommy loves me anymore. I think she is trying to get rid of me. She's sending me to this camp and I don't want to go, Daddy.' She was almost frantic with worry, but somehow, Marj convinced her to get on the bus that morning.
When Marj came to pick her up two weeks later, Chloe's expression was one of pure joy. She shared that camp had 'changed her life.' At camp, she was a regular kid. She didn't have to explain herself to anyone. At camp, being in a wheelchair or needing an oxygen tank didn't make a kid feel like an outsider. These things were completely normal. If Chloe didn't feel like eating, she didn't have to eat. When other kids were swimming and Chloe felt like she wanted to stay in the boat and take pictures, she stayed in the boat and took pictures.
After those first 2 weeks at camp, Chloe went each year until the camp had to be closed for COVID. Marj says that those weeks were magical for Chloe. Since Chloe's death, Marj has struggled to find purpose in her life again. Finding a reason to get out of bed can be a challenge. Marj wondered what it would be like to visit Chloe's magical camp so she went to volunteer. Marj said that she felt Chloe at the camp and could see why she loved it so much. Marj hopes that moving forward, it can be a place for her to go to feel Chloe’s presence and a bit of camp magic each summer as well.
Losing a child affects us in ways that we never possibly could have imagined. We are quite honestly not the same people who we were before experiencing this profound loss. When today's guest, Lisa, lost her 19-year-old amazing, talented daughter, Kate, to a rare, aggressive cancer a few months ago, she truly felt lost. She said that she lost confidence in herself. She felt like she couldn't do anything even to the point that she started feeling like a bad cook and a bad driver.
The guilt and all of the 'what ifs' became consuming for Lisa. She found herself focusing on many past decisions. What if they had taken her daughter's ovary the first time when she had a simple benign cyst? What if they had gone to a different doctor? What if they had done surgeries at different times? Would her daughter still be alive today?
These 'what if' questions haunt so many of us, don't they? They plagued me throughout my grief just as they affect Lisa today. How do we learn to let go of those doubts and questions? There are no easy answers. Others tell us again and again that we did the best we could do and that there is nothing we could have done differently, but learning to accept and believe in ourselves is much more difficult.
I learned from Gwen many years ago that feelings don't have to be rational to be real. And these feelings, as irrational as they may be, are important to acknowledge. Only by experiencing all of our emotions can we truly begin to heal. We need to slowly and gently go through our irrational feelings and challenge them ourselves. Therapists and support groups can help us along our journey as well.
Through hard work and perseverance grieving parents can and do heal. I have seen it in myself and so many others through these past six years. I can tell a funny story about Andy now without overflowing tears. The grief is still there, certainly, but it is no longer all-consuming and I experience more moments of peace. I know, too, that someday when Lisa thinks about Kate, the first thing that will come to her mind will be her amazing smile and personality and not the doubts that flood her mind today.
When Justin Cole started on his peewee football team many years ago, each practice started and ended with a chant. Part of that chant included these words - Never Give Up. As the years went by, the boys eventually stopped playing peewee football, but the friendships continued and the 'never give up' mantra remained important. When Cole suddenly died at 22 years of age in a car accident, many of his former teammates who were planning to be groomsmen at Cole's wedding in 55 days instead became his pallbearers.
In the first days after Cole's death, his mother Wendy wondered how she would even be able to live a week without her beloved Cole. Her world was forever broken, never to be the same again, but somehow, she did live a week, and then a month. Hope seemed impossible and giving up did not seem like an unreasonable option. Time kept going on, however, whether she wanted it to or not. Finding no grief support locally in her area of Fort Worth, Texas, she turned to social media. She and her husband signed up to take a David Kessler course on grief. That course gave her the first glimmers of hope that she had seen in 2 months.
Through social media, Wendy realized that they were not alone. She found other grieving moms on Facebook in many different groups with many different stories. (Four of them actually had sons named Justin Cole!) She arranged in-person meetings between a few who lived locally and then decided to start her own Facebook group to try to help other bereaved parents. Wendy knew that hope was the key to healing after the devastation of child loss. Parents need to find hope, and Wendy wanted her group to offer that hope to parents everywhere. She named her group 'Never Give Up Hope' in honor of that peewee football team. In just a few short months, the group has grown to 56 moms across North America. They host Zoom meetings on Tuesday nights for members as well with education and discussions on grief. Wendy hopes that in her own little way, she can help encourage parents everywhere to never give up hope.
Before our children are even born, we have dreams for them. We think of what they will be like as babies and the personalities they will develop as they grow. These dreams only get more real after they are born. Clara's dad, Joe, says that as he sang to Clara as a baby, he imagined what it would be like to dance with her as a little girl and even watch her get ready for her prom. It is truly one of the joys of parenthood - imagining a blissful, happy future.
When today's guests, Jenna and Joe, went to Jenna's 28-week ultrasound, however, they got their first 'kick in the gut' that the blissful future they were imagining might not be possible. Baby Clara was suffering from SVT (supra ventricular tachycardia), and Jenna needed to be hospitalized immediately. They tried numerous medications, but little Clara entered into the world as a premature infant. Clara had numerous complications in her first 5 1/2 months of life, but eventually, they were able to bring her home, although still with a central line for her IV nutrition.
Despite all of these hurdles, Jenna describes this time at home as 'amazing.' They started to dream again, hoping that Clara would be able to lead a relatively full life. That all changed 5 1/2 months later (10 1/2 weeks before this interview was recorded when after a relatively routine medical procedure, Clara suddenly died on Mother's Day - Jenna's first Mother's Day. Jenna had looked forward to this day for weeks, telling all her friends how happy she was that she wouldn't be in the hospital as had been the case the year before when she was still pregnant with Clara, but the day had turned into a nightmare.
Their vibrant, happy amazing little girl was suddenly gone, and with her, all of the new little family's dreams went with her. Now, Jenna and Joe are slowly trying to put together the pieces of their life once again. They are moving to be closer to family and trying to find grief support in any way they can. Now their biggest dream for their little smiling Clara is to make sure that they are not the only ones who remember her and let others know that Clara is still a part of their lives.
I cannot quite believe I have been doing the Always Andy's Mom podcast for 5 years. As of today, there have been well over 250,000 downloads in 128 countries as we share stories from around the world. This week, we went back to talk to guests who have been with us from the beginning and others who joined us along the way.
Accompanying Gwen and I for this episode are Stephanie (Ep. 3: Keyan's Mom), Chrisy (Ep. 19: Caleb's Mom), Nan (Ep. 23: Connor's Mom), and Demetra (Ep. 92: Eleni's Mom). If you have not heard these moms before or want to remind yourself of their stories, click on the links, but even if you are new to the podcast and have never listened before, you will find so much hope and healing by listening.
Each of these amazing moms talks about how they struggled when they were first recorded. In Chrisy's case, she was only 148 days into her grief journey so it is understandable that she would be in the depths of her pain. On the other hand, Nan lost her Connor 11 years before recording her episode. At the time, I found myself longing to have her strength. Little did I know, however, that inwardly, Nan was struggling and only one month later, found herself hitting rock bottom at the lowest point in her grief.
As I listened to each woman share years after I first met them, I saw so much growth. I found myself smiling as Stephanie found purpose again by dedicating her life to helping bereaved people through Starlight Ministries. As I smiled, however, tears also came as they so often do. Grief is hard. Grief is messy. Growth can come as months and years go by, but it is not a linear path. It is a path filled with many dark valleys and helping each other through the dark times is key.
As I think back over these past 5 years, I feel so incredibly blessed that God has allowed me to meet hundreds of bereaved people from varied backgrounds from all over the world. I have become a part of their grief journey and they have become a part of mine. I cannot wait to see who will enter my life over the next 5 years. Thank you all.
*To sign up for the next Starlight virtual support groups that I lead starting September 10th, email marybr@starlightmin.org. Visit starlightmin.org for more information
If you listened to last week's podcast, you heard a little bit about what goes on behind the scenes. For example, each week, one to two days before release, I listen to that week's full podcast and try to find an overriding theme I want to focus on for the write-up. This week was no different. but as I listened, I found myself hearing different themes.
The first idea was to focus on Remi’s amazing personality and how she impacted those around her - even those who knew her only in the hospital. The second theme revolved around the idea that Remi's mom, Courtney, felt like Remi's death affected her confidence in her ability to parent and her outlook on life in general. As I found myself debating the pros and cons of each of these ideas, it hit me - these ideas come from the same place. They all stem from how different experiences cause us to change and evolve as people.
When the ICU team cared for Remi in the hospital for 37 days after her drowning, they grew to love Remi and were forever changed. They never got to hear her speak or see her run and play, but they were impacted nonetheless, As Courtney held her young daughter as she died, she turned to the doctor who sat rubbing her back and told the doctor that she didn't have to be there with them. The doctor responded, 'I'm exactly where I need to be.'
The experience of losing Remi affected Courtney deeply as well. In many ways, these changes are negative, but there are a few positive ones as well. Before Remi died, Courtney felt confident in her decisions as a parent. She knew that she was a good mom who cared for her children well. Losing Remi changed all of this. Doubts came constantly. Is she a good mom? Can she keep her children safe? Those on the outside still see the great, amazing mom Courtney has always been, but inwardly, she feels that she is lacking. As much as these doubts haunt Courtney, however, she does value life in a way she could not before. Courtney says, ‘We are not promised tomorrow so we should love hard today.'
So to all of you today, the message to you is this - love hard and offer care and support to all who are hurting.
This week is one that I have been dreading for a while now. Every year, as the calendar turns to August, I feel my dread and anxiety go up and with that an increase in headaches and other physical symptoms as August 15th comes closer. Last year was especially bad as it was the 5 year anniversary of Andy's death. I thought this year would be better until I learned that we would have to drop our youngest son Peter off at college on August 13th.
I know that most mothers have feelings of worry and sadness when their youngest child moves out of the house. For me, the feelings of worry exploded to a whole new level. I fear that as I drop him off at college, some tragic accident will occur and I will never see him again. I know that this is irrational and that most college students do not die when they go to college, but over the years, I have met many mothers whose children have died and that makes it more real.
In two weeks, the podcast celebrates its 5th birthday. Five years of telling amazing stories of amazing children, but they are also hard stories. They are emotional stories of tragic accidents and prolonged illnesses. Tears often flow as we relive those final minutes or days of our child's life or the moment we heard that the unimaginable has happened. As hard as these stories are, however, they are also stories of hope and resilience. They are stories of parents who continue to get up every day after horrific tragedy. They are stories that bind us together as a community of grieving parents.
As I look back on these past 5 years, I am proud of the stories we have helped tell and proud of the community we have created. As difficult as this week is for me and as real as my fears are, I know that so many of you are just a text or an email away. Six years ago, I felt very alone in my grief. I had my family and close friends, but when I looked into the world, I saw only happy, whole families. Today, as I wake up on August 15th, I feel quite different. Although I know far more stories of tragedy, I feel the strength and support of broken parents from around the globe. I know that with your help, I will get through.
"I don't know how you do it."
I have heard this phrase on and off in my life, but that was nothing compared to how often I have heard those words since Andy died. I know people mean well when they say, "I don't know how you do it," but I never really know how to respond. I don't feel any stronger or more resilient than anyone else. Quite the opposite is the case actually. I often feel weak and alone.
Today's guest, Jessica, heard "I don't know how you do it" for many years as well. It started shortly after her 5-year-old daughter, Dalia, was diagnosed with MERRF syndrome, a degenerative mitochondrial disease. Over the years as other parents watched their children gain milestones, Jessica and her family watched Dalia lose hers - first, her ability to walk and speak and then the ability to eat on her own. Eventually, Dalia even lost her sweet smile.
At the time of Dalia's death, her bedroom looked more like an ICU room than the bedroom of a teenage girl, but until Dalia died, Jessica didn't notice any of that. She just focused on being a loving mom to her sweet daughter. 'I don't know how you do it?' Really? It was just normal life for her. There was nothing heroic or extraordinary happening. Jessica just did what she had to do, living every day with her family hoping to give them all the best life possible.
Jessica at some point decided to write a book about her experiences raising and losing Dalia while also suffering through the deaths of both of her parents and sisters. The result of this effort was 'Breath Taking: A Memoir of Family, Dreams, and Broken Genes' available here on Amazon. She also began to think about the phrase 'I don't know how you do it' more deeply. How does anyone 'do it' actually? Jessica decided to start her podcast which she aptly named, 'I Don't Know How You Do It' to explore the question more deeply. Each week, she interviews someone whose life seems unimaginable from the outside. Through the podcast, Jessica hopes to show listeners that there isn't a magic answer. We can all do it, no matter what our circumstances. Each day, we all get out of bed and do it and so can you.
Communication is such an important part of the human experience. We all come from different backgrounds and with different experiences, but being able to communicate with each other and share our own perspectives brings us closer together. When Chezik's 3-year-old son, Yori, drowned in a backyard pool, she was unexpectedly thrust into a completely new world and forced to learn a new language. This was the language of grief.
Over the next year, Chezik was drawn to other grieving families, especially those who had lost children to drowning. She felt very strongly that she needed to do something to try to decrease the number of drowning victims which is the #1 cause of death in young children. Since Chezik had a background in film production, she knew that the best way for her to get the message out would be through film.
What resulted is a simply beautiful documentary called 'Drowning in Silence' (available to watch on Amazon Prime or free on Tubi). In the film, Chezik shares Yori's story as well as the stories of other children who were drowning victims. Through these stories of amazing young children, she calls for action for all of us to do our part in decreasing the number of drowning victims. These actions include having an adult as a designated 'water watcher' (much like a designated driver), encouraging all young children to wear life jackets within 100 feet of water, and even working to provide swimming lessons for young children free of charge. In addition to making this powerful film, Chezik also started a nonprofit organization (nomoreunder.org) to help with education and provide free swim lessons to children, especially those of black and brown communities who are at higher risk of drowning.
Chezik's call to action profoundly affected me. Watching her film not only changed the way I think about drowning on a personal level, it changed me as a pediatrician as well. No matter how much information I feel like I need to give parents during a well-child visit, I will never again neglect to remind parents of the risks of drowning and provide information to help protect children as much as possible.
I have thought a lot recently about blame in the context of grief. When a child dies, it is natural for feelings of blame to emerge. Whether we blame ourselves, blame our child, blame another person, or even put the blame on God, there is a lot of it to go around. Additionally, others can be very vocal about where they feel the blame should be placed when our child dies. This is often done through social media when people do not think at all about the feelings of others before throwing out hurtful comments. Initially, after our accident, It felt important to place the blame somewhere. In some ways, the blame was actually useful to me. I could put on boxing gloves and hit a punching bag imagining I was damaging the car that hit us. It was a release for my anger and other scary emotions. In other ways, however, blame was my enemy from the beginning. I blamed myself for all of us being in the car at that moment. I imagined scenario after scenario where I had done one thing differently that would have saved Andy. Eventually, however, I came to realize that no matter whether I blamed another person or myself, blame had become a poison. While drinking that poison every day, I was not able to begin healing. For me, the cure to the poison of blame was forgiveness. Forgiveness allowed true healing to begin and helped me feel more like myself. I was able to let go of the bitterness and anger that accompanied the blame. I have heard from others and remember thinking to myself that if I reached a point of forgiveness, that would mean that I was somehow OK with Andy dying. Let me be perfectly clear. I am NOT OK with Andy's death. I will miss Andy every day for the rest of my life. When I think about his life getting cut short I feel tremendous sadness and even some anger, but I no longer let the need for blame consume my life. That is the difference between who I was five years ago and who I am today. I hope that in their own time and way, every bereaved parent will be able to let go of the poison of blame.
From the first email I received concerning Gwyneth and her son, Laird, I was struck with how important friendship was in Gwyneth's life. You see, Gwyneth was not the one who first wrote to me about her story. It was her dear friend, Caroline. Caroline wrote that Laird had been her son's best friend and that she had promised to do whatever she could to help her in her grief journey and her quest to 'sound the alarms about the fentanyl epidemic.'
From the first moments of my conversation with Gwyneth, the theme of friendship overwhelmed every part of our discussion. As she introduced me to Laird, I was struck by what a good friend he was to all around him. Classmate after classmate approached Gwyneth after Laird's death telling her that he/she was Laird's best friend. She heard multiple stories of Laird sticking up for classmates if others were picking on them. He was truly an amazing young man.
After Laird died from fentanyl poisoning, Gwyneth focused on friendships to help her get through. Friends didn't just ask her if she needed anything, they brought her groceries and made her meals. They stayed at her side through all of the dark times. Shortly after Laird's death, Gwyneth and her family began participating in KinderMourn, an organization based out of Charlotte, North Carolina, offering support groups for bereaved children and their parents. This group has truly been a lifeline for Gwyneth. I could hear her voice sound a little stronger when talking about what she has learned in her support group. The friendship those other bereaved parents give her has been incredibly precious to her. I don't think she knows how she would have made it through the last year without them.
Even after all of this, Gwyneth had one last 'friend' to talk about. This 'friend' is grief itself. We often think that grief is something to fight against, but Gwyneth reminds us that we should really treat grief as a friend. Grief will be a part of life until the day we die. It will be our companion through times of sorrow as well as times of joy. We need to hold it close as we would a dear friend.
From the first email I received concerning Gwyneth and her son, Laird, I was struck with how important friendship was in Gwyneth's life. You see, Gwyneth was not the one who first wrote to me about her story. It was her dear friend, Caroline. Caroline wrote that Laird had been her son's best friend and that she had promised to do whatever she could to help her in her grief journey and her quest to 'sound the alarms about the fentanyl epidemic.'
From the first moments of my conversation with Gwyneth, the theme of friendship overwhelmed every part of our discussion. As she introduced me to Laird, I was struck by what a good friend he was to all around him. Classmate after classmate approached Gwyneth after Laird's death telling her that he/she was Laird's best friend. She heard multiple stories of Laird sticking up for classmates if others were picking on them. He was truly an amazing young man.
After Laird died from fentanyl poisoning, Gwyneth focused on friendships to help her get through. Friends didn't just ask her if she needed anything, they brought her groceries and made her meals. They stayed at her side through all of the dark times. Shortly after Laird's death, Gwyneth and her family began participating in KinderMourn, an organization based out of Charlotte, North Carolina, offering support groups for bereaved children and their parents. This group has truly been a lifeline for Gwyneth. I could hear her voice sound a little stronger when talking about what she has learned in her support group. The friendship those other bereaved parents give her has been incredibly precious to her. I don't think she knows how she would have made it through the last year without them.
Even after all of this, Gwyneth had one last 'friend' to talk about. This 'friend' is grief itself. We often think that grief is something to fight against, but Gwyneth reminds us that we should really treat grief as a friend. Grief will be a part of life until the day we die. It will be our companion through times of sorrow as well as times of joy. We need to hold it close as we would a dear friend.
As Candi sat in the ER after losing her 5-year-old son, Asher, tragically in a farming accident, she wondered how life could go on. The pain was just too great. Candi had seen a therapist for years and knew that her therapist was also a bereaved mom. Candi asked her sister to ask the therapist what she was supposed to do. She answered, "You circle your wagons, and just hang on." Honestly, in the 6 years since losing Andy, this may be the best piece of advice I have ever heard. I love the visual that it brings to mind. For listeners who may not be familiar with the saying, 'circling the wagons' was done as wagon trains headed west. Each night, when the travelers stopped for the night, they formed a large circle made up of their wagons. They would keep the camp and their livestock inside this circle. This way they could keep the most vulnerable inside, protected from bandits, wild animals, and even stormy weather. Candi's family and friends were great at circling the wagons. Candi says she felt like a ghost for the first whole year, but somehow, her family remained fed and her other 5 kids continued to participate in school and activities. The circle cared for her when she could not. Over the past 3 years, Candi's wagon train has changed. As she became involved in my online support group through Starlight Ministries and met other bereaved moms, they joined her wagon train to be her support. Candi says that she was a sponge, reading book after book on child loss. Recently, she started a bereaved moms group in her own rural community in Utah as well. I would say that instead of being the protected one at the center of the circle of wagons, Candi is working to transform herself into a wagon master. Recently, Candi's extended family suffered tragedy again when her sister lost her own daughter in a car accident. Candi felt helpless knowing there was nothing she could say to make her sister feel better, but Candi knew exactly what to do. She instructed that wagon train to circle up again, and she now sits with her sister in the dark, scary place holding her while they both just hang on.
"Thank you, Momma."
These were the last words that Holly's daughter, Brittany, spoke before slipping into unconsciousness and eventually passing away. Holly clings to these words, even now, almost three years after Brittany's death. For 20 years, Holly had been at Brittany's side through her long, complex medical journey, never even spending 24 hours away from her.
However, Holly questioned herself despite her diligence as Brittany's primary caregiver. First, she questioned the decisions that she made when treating Brittany. Did she make her do too much? Could she have eased her pain and suffering? In Brittany's last days, Holly's questions changed. Did she allow Brittany to 'give up' too early? Is there more that she should have done?
Throughout Brittany's life, she faced many battles. First of all, Brittany was a brilliant young woman with autism. Her mind functioned at a level that blew her mother and others away. In addition to her autism, however, Brittany struggled with a yet unnamed disease that battled her organs throughout her life. After a life-saving surgery in her teens, Brittany began to write a book about her journey meant to help other children suffering from life-threatening illnesses.
After completing the book, Holly and Brittany decided to table the book until her 21st birthday. At that time, Brittany planned to write more of her story and complete the book. Unfortunately, it became clear in the end that Brittany would not be able to finish the book. She asked her mother to complete it for her. Holly honored Brittany by finalizing the book she titled, 'Well, Actually .... Thank you, Momma' (available on Amazon or their website, wellactuallythankyoumomma.com).
Despite Holly's doubts, Brittany's own words tell the final story. Holly did everything she could to give Brittany the best life she could. That's what we all hope for, isn't it? We work to do everything that we can for our children. And even though most of our children don't say 'thank you, momma' in their last moments with us, we hope and pray that they are thinking these words as we part.
After Maxine's son, 19-year-old Chandler, died when his truck caught on fire 7 months ago, she knew that there was no way that she could get through even one day without God's help. Maxine says that she 'fell to her knees and thanked God for every second that she got to be Chandler's Mom.' After walking beside her sister after losing her 14-year-old son nine years before, Maxine had an idea of how painful this journey of child loss was going to be. She also knew that after all the prayers for her sister and encouraging her sister's faith, she needed to do the same for herself.
Witnessing her sister's grief certainly helped Maxine gain insight as to what life was going to be like moving forward. In some ways, I'm sure that was scary for Maxine. She remembered witnessing her sister's pain. She knew that now, even 9 years later, her sister remains forever changed. Having that insight, however, was a motivator for Maxine to start working on her grief right away. She prayed for God to show her resources to help. She prayed before finding my podcast. Maxine emailed me soon after starting to listen and recently joined one of my virtual support groups.
Maxine's grief journey is the perfect example of how broken people do the best job of helping other broken people. As much as she loves and appreciates all of her friends and the help that they offer, Maxine says that in addition to her sister's help, her best help comes from listening to stories on the podcast and talking to other bereaved moms in our faith-based support group. Although a few months ago, we were all strangers, Maxine feels like she could not love them any more than if they were friends she had known for years.
Bereaved parents understand each other in ways that others can't and that understanding brings comfort. When Maxine says that although the pain sometimes feels unbearable, being Chandler's mom is worth every tear, every struggle, and all of the pain, we all nod through our tears. We all love our kids so much and would not give up a second of their lives to decrease our pain. Together, we can keep living each day.
Today's guest, Pat, says that when her son Alex (all his friends called him Clarke) was young, her family would have been considered a 'good' family. She and her husband were college professors with great jobs and an amazing son who was both intelligent and athletic. They enjoyed backyard barbecues with friends and neighbors. They had no idea that a major change was just around the corner. After Alex turned 12, he began to suffer from anxiety and a severe eating disorder. His ready smile seemed to disappear and their lives were now instead filled with therapists and doctors, doing both outpatient and inpatient treatments to try to battle his mental illness. After much therapy, it seemed that the eating disorder symptoms were better and that the worst might be behind them. Unfortunately, this was only the beginning for Alex and his family. Alex journaled so many parts of his journey and mental health struggles. Life felt like it was spinning out of control, and initially, he felt better when controlling his eating. As he got older, however, he began to turn first to alcohol and then to drugs to gain a sense of control. Pat says Alex's life 'veered between happiness, anxiety, success, and despair.' Alex entered rehab again and again but ultimately lost his life to a drug overdose. Pat was crushed as all bereaved mothers are and wondered what more they might have done. With her background as a sociology professor, she began to look at Alex's life differently. Pat began to research social and institutional factors that may have contributed to Alex's death. She looked closely at Alex's life by interviewing friends, therapists, police officers, and others who knew Alex. She compiled all this into a book, Surviving Alex: A Mother's Story of Love, Loss, and Addiction. In her book, she 'calls for a community of action that would improve care for substance users and reduce addiction, realigning public health policy to address the overdose crisis.' She hopes that through Alex's story, she can show the world a more compassionate, caring way to help those suffering from mental health and substance use issues.
When listener, Carolyn, sent us a list of topics that she thought would be great for our Livestream chats, several stood out to us as great ideas. The first one we decided to tackle concerned the Work of Grief and even more specifically having an annual grief plan in place. To be honest, the idea of a grief plan both intrigued me and gave me anxiety. I feared that if I found myself unable to follow the plan, I would feel like I had failed and I worried that I would feel worse instead of better.
After Carolyn listened Monday night, she wrote back to me giving me even more to think about. Carolyn wrote, 'My Annual Grief Plan is a dynamic document. I set goals and adjust them along the way. It changes every year. I don't feel like a failure because grief is unpredictable. I helps me to continue to move forward with love for Jimmy.' She went on to write that she had worked on her grief plan recently. Her plan has four categories: Grief, Spiritual, Health and Friends. One of her goals for this year was to start a memorial garden (see picture on website). Other goals included changes in her diet and acknowledging changes in friendships.
Listening to the podcast again and reading that email got me to think about my own grief plans. I wonder if writing them down in this way would help me achieve more in my grief so I am deciding to give it a try.
- Grief - Co-host my first grief retreat. Explore what future retreats might look like. 2. Spiritual - Increase my trust in God by being more intentional with prayer. 3. Health - Improve diet and exercise daily. 4. Friends - Go out socially with friends at least once per month.
Well, there it is for the world to see. My current annual plan. Its not complicated, but hopefully having specific goals will help my focus. A few months from now, I will be able to look back and see where I am, knowing that my plan too, is a dynamic document. As I revisit the plan in 2025, it will almost certainly change, but not because I have failed in some way. It will change because my grief will change and as my grief changes, I will as well. Thank you, Carolyn, for your inspiration.
When grieving mom, Olga, is feeling down and defeated, she will watch a video that her late son, TJ, asked to make while she was working on a project herself. In the video, TJ says, 'We are dedicated and motivated. We do not give up. Even if we are sad, we do not give up. Never.' At the time, TJ was a happy, healthy young 5-year-old boy. He was a joy and a light to all around him. Olga had no idea that he would tragically die just a year later when he drowned at summer camp. As TJ's family mourned TJ, they were struck by the fact that his death was so preventable. TJ's parents did not want another family to suffer this tragedy so they started a foundation just 4 months after TJ's death. TJ's Story has two primary goals. The first goal is to work with legislators in the state of Missouri to enact legislation to improve safety at summer camps. Many camps had policies that recommended a certain number of lifeguards to be present for children to swim. In fact, the camp that TJ attended had such a policy, but when a lifeguard called in sick that day, they went ahead with swimming anyway. TJ's parents hope that if this policy was instead a state law, camps would be more likely to cancel swimming instead of breaking the law. The second goal of TJ's story is to help provide free swim lessons to young children. They currently have an amazing partnership with Goldfish Swim School to help provide lessons. They have amazing fundraisers where they have been able to raise thousands of dollars. Certainly, over these weeks and months following TJ's death, Olga has had periods when she feels like giving up, but TJ's words always come back to her. 'Even if we are sad, we do not give up. Never.' His bright smile and friendly manner will never be forgotten. Olga says that TJ came in like a firecracker and went out like a rainbow, but it seems to me that through TJ's Story, the light of the rainbow is going to keep on shining. Although Olga and her family only had six short years of memories with TJ, their hard work will make it so countless other children will live to be able to create far more memories of their own.
When I am suddenly stuck in traffic on a busy freeway, feelings of panic quickly build inside me. My heart starts beating faster. My hands begin to feel sweaty. It can feel difficult to breathe. As I tightly grip the steering wheel, visions of another car accident come into my mind. I say to myself over and over, 'I can't do this. I can't do this.' Today's guest, Jamie, may have a solution to the struggles I and many other traumatized people have. The beautiful thing is that it is something that you can learn to do to help yourself. Jamie first learned about EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques) tapping when her college-aged son, Ben, was struggling with anxiety and schizophrenia. She was tapping on parts of her body and saying the following phrase - I love and accept myself just as I am. She soon found herself weeping. Jamie realized that as much as she thought it was a good idea to love and accept herself, she did not actually truly feel that way at her core. After Ben died by suicide, Jamie was understandably crushed. She said her mind was filled with 'what if's' and 'I wish I had's.' (What if we had gone to another doctor? I should have done more to help.) Jamie soon realized she needed to let go of those thoughts. The solution came through EFT tapping. As she was tapping, she would say positive statements to herself. I am OK. I love and accept myself just as I am. This time, however, she believed it. She could love and accept herself and let go of the negative thoughts. Instead of having the devastation of Ben's death consume her, Jamie decided that Ben's death would be fuel for her to move forward. Despite Ben's death, she was determined to bring just a little bit of beauty into the world. In her mind, the best way she could do this was to become an EFT tapping practitioner. Through her website, tapforhappiness.com, she helps teach people to use tapping in their own trauma and grief. As for me, I hope that someday soon, when driving in traffic, I will be able to replace my words of 'I can't do this' with 'I am OK.' Hopefully, I will even believe the words when I say them.
Today's guest, Jason, has always felt a bit unique as a dad. Early in their marriage, Jason and his wife decided that when they had children, he would be the stay-at-home parent. I was actually surprised to learn that 1 in 5 stay-at-home parents are now stay-at-home dads. What makes Jason's story more unique, however, is that both of his children had special needs. When someone is the primary caregiver of a special needs child, it often becomes a huge part of their identity so when their child dies, a part of them feels like it dies as well. When Jason's son, Zachary, unexpectedly died of sepsis, Jason suddenly felt alone. Like many of the moms of special needs children whom I have interviewed over the past year, Jason felt very isolated. Jason turned to social media to find others who were suffering the same pain and grief. He longed to find other dads to talk with, but couldn't seem to find any. He became involved in many Facebook groups and found that he would be one of the only men who would regularly contribute. On the advice of a therapist, Jason began to write out his feelings. They were raw and unfiltered letters to his son, Zachery. He imagined that someday he would simply throw them out, but instead decided to ask to post them on a bereaved parent's Facebook page. The feedback he received was so overwhelming that he eventually decided to make his own social media accounts. He entitled his Facebook page 'Letters to Zachary.' Jason's 'Letters to Zachary' Facebook page now has almost 1000 followers. He says that his purpose is two-fold. First, he wants to show other bereaved dads that it is not only ok but good to open up and share the feelings that they have related to grief and loss. The second purpose is to give women some insight into the mind of a bereaved dad. He hopes that his sharing may help women understand the grieving men in their lives just a little bit better. Hopefully, the discussions that Jason starts can help couples better understand each other as they grieve together.
When today's guest, Heather, lost her precious 4-year-old son, Jake, 13 years ago, her life was turned upside-down. Jake (or Jakey as he was often called) was medically fragile and suffered from chronic seizures, as well as additional medical complications, but Heather never allowed herself to think that he would die. Heather left her job as a special ed teacher and dedicated her life to making Jake's life the best it could be. Shortly after Jake died, Heather and her family realized that not everyone had the resources and skills to help their own medically complex kids. They started a non-profit organization called Jake's Help from Heaven. The nonprofit works with families to provide items not covered by insurance that will give them opportunities to thrive. Some items are big and life-changing and others are quite small, but their goal is to come from a 'place of yes' to help every family possible. As rewarding as the organization has been, Heather found that much of her time had to be dedicated to planning fundraising events instead of spending time with the families. This made Heather begin to think about trying to do things differently. What if instead of sponsoring numerous events throughout the year, they simply asked their donors for money and used their time and energy to tell stories instead? These stories have become 'The Place of Yes' podcast. Some of these stories are about Jake and their family and others are about the families Jake's Help from Heaven had assisted. Still others are about people living in grief each day. All of these stories, however, are about people using their grief for good. When Heather thought about having to move forward after the devastating loss of Jake, she discovered this about herself. She says on her podcast, "All I can say is, you can dig deep, figure out where you are, and figure out where you want to be, and for me, I found the answer was in a place of yes." She longs to make the world a better place for chronically ill children and now for grieving families as well. Through the nonprofit, and now the podcast, I know that she will do just that.
"What now?" This is the question that today's guest Bridget asked herself after she and her family made the difficult decision to remove her 28-year-old son, Preston, from life support following his car accident while on a trip to Florida. Bridget had watched her own mother live through the nightmare of child loss when Bridget's 13-year-old brother died. She had lived in a broken family and had felt a bit like a forgotten mourner. She was determined to be there for her boys in their grief in a way that her mother had been unable to do. A few months before Preston died, Bridget's dad passed away. Bridget's mom had planned for the family to take a trip into the mountains of northern Arizona to honor his life. After they lost Preston, the plan changed so that they would honor both. Before the trip could happen, however, tragedy struck again and Bridget's mother died. Bridget and her mom had gathered items to make charms for other family members who would be running in a race initially to honor their father/grandfather, but now were honoring all three. Bridget went on to make 10 of these charms that the family brought to northern Arizona. Bridget never planned to make more than these ten charms, but fate had other plans. Years after making those first charms, Bridget found herself in a deep hole. She was drinking heavily and doing everything that she vowed that she would not do after losing Preston. She made a decision to change her life and quit drinking. She thought about those 10 charms and about how therapeutic it was for her to make them. She decided to start making more, leaving them in places where others could find them and learn a little about Preston. She hoped that they could bring a little peace to others who were hurting. Now, Preston's Charms have traveled the world. She says that she has now made over 1000 charms and has been told many stories about how a charm was found by just the right person at the right time. She has even written a book about Preston's life including stories of others who have been comforted by the charms. To learn more or to order your own, visit prestonscharm.com.
When a listener suggested that we talk about grandparents and grief, I thought that it would be a good topic for one of my Livestream episodes with Gwen, but I never realized how much I would learn myself. As you all know, Andy's 20th birthday was last week so I did not prep as much as I normally do for Livestream episodes. I did not have days of questions being posted for listeners in the week ahead of the broadcast. I posted all of the questions once on Facebook and Instagram and no comments were left at all. I had one beautiful email response to the questions that I shared on social media, but besides that, I had nothing prepared. I knew that Gwen would have a lot to contribute as she always does, but I was a little worried about my lack of preparation. When sharing my struggles with my dear friend, Dana, Brogan's Mom, she said that she would see if her parents would be willing to be guests on the Livestream. They graciously accepted our invitation. I think it was meant to be that I didn't have a lot prepared because listening to Grandma Shirley and Papa Mike was just what I needed to do. Hearing them talk about their struggles as grandparents taught me so much and made me think about my own family as well. I know that Dana learned things about her parents' grief that she never knew before as well, and it helped spark further conversation long after the Livestream ended. If you normally listen to the podcast by yourself, this might be one episode that you'll want to listen to with your family. I hope that listening to Dana's family be vulnerable and open may help other families do the same. As loving families, it is natural that we want to protect each other, but sometimes that protection creates walls around us and instead of grieving together, we all grieve alone instead. I pray that this episode will help families knock down some of those walls. We are also honoring Peter and Taylor (from Episode 215: TT's Mom). Andrea honored me with the gift of memorial donations after the recent death of Peter, her amazing husband - enough for 9 months of podcast production. I am truly humbled.
Tara's teen daughter, Taylor was the kind of friend who made others feel like they were the most special person in the room. When Taylor tragically died in 2010 in a skiing accident, Tara says that the easiest decision that the family had to make was when they were asked, 'Your daughter is a beautiful candidate for organ donation; would you consider it?'
They knew their loving, caring daughter would never hesitate to help others so they did not hesitate either. Tara wanted her daughter to be a gift to others. The family knew that by making this decision, they would be able to give total strangers the gift of time, the gift of memories, and the gift of experiences. That decision blessed five people in the coming days, and Taylor's family has had the privilege to meet 4 of the 5 recipients.
Tara and her husband quickly started Taylor's Gift, a foundation in their home state of Texas, that focused on helping increase numbers of people volunteering to be organ donors. They asked the question, 'How do you want to outlive yourself?' People often do not want to talk to their loved ones about organ donation. They feel it is taboo to talk about death and organ donation, They do not realize that organ donation isn't about death. It is about blessing others with the gift of life.
A second goal of the foundation is surrounding grief support. Donor families are in a very unique position. They most often lose their family member suddenly and are in extreme pain. At the same time, the families have a sense of gratefulness that they were able to help save the lives of others. These mixed emotions can be difficult to understand. Taylor's Gift offers certified one-on-one peer professional support as well as support groups with caring guides who have all suffered similar losses.
Over the last 14 years, Taylor has not only helped the lives of those original five recipients. Taylor's Gift has blessed hundreds upon hundreds by either starting the conversation of organ donation between family members or walking beside families after they have given the gift of donation. I know these blessings will continue to build.
I have a confession to make. This is a hard week for me. In three days, we will have to 'celebrate' Andy's 20th birthday. I have been thinking all week about what a 20-year-old Andy would be like. Would he have decided on a career path? Would he be dating a special girl? Would he still show some of his inner silliness? I'm sure that instead of me kissing the top of his head, he would be tall enough to kiss the top of mine. I'd like to think we would be headed out to visit him at college this weekend to make his birthday special.
Of course, I will never know the answers to any of these questions, and I feel that deep, excruciating pain once again. I walked upstairs tonight and tried to imagine for a second that I could go back in time and live my old life with my complete family for just one night. I have cried multiple times every day this week. Very few people at work or in my social circle have any idea that I am struggling. As I facilitated my support groups this week, there were moments when I could not even speak. I had trouble driving in traffic yesterday fearing another accident. All in all, I would describe myself as being a 'hot mess'.
This is why this week's guest, Ann, is like a breath of fresh air for me. Each week, before I release a new podcast, I listen to the episode from beginning to end. Ann was the perfect person to listen to this week. She has a caring spirit that flows out of her. She is open to talking about her struggles after losing her amazing son, Josh, but even in her struggles, she is an encouragement to me. After losing Josh, Ann turned to writing to help her in her grief. Her initial posts were written just for her, but more recently, Ann has posted her writings on her blog, annyarrowblog.wordpress.com. The more she writes, the more others reach out to tell her how much she is helping them in their grief.
By listening to Ann tonight, she reminds me that I am loved by God and many others around me. She shows me I do not have to hide or be ashamed of my feelings. I may still be a 'hot mess', but that is OK. Even when broken, we can all offer love and support to each other.
What is a miracle? Many people have told today's guest, Freddie, that his son, Randy, was a living miracle. Few would have argued that point. Randy was diagnosed with cancer at 4 1/2 years of age. After conventional chemotherapy and radiation failed to treat his tumor, the family was told that Randy had 6 months to live. They turned to NIH studies, but none of those treatments ever made it out of the stage of clinical trials. His grandfather prayed over him and even instructed Freddie to rub a Bible up and down his spine. Randy was cured by these faith healings again and again. The boy who was never expected to see his 5th birthday saw his 15th and even his 25th birthday. Randy was, without a doubt, a living miracle, until one night, he wasn't.
Randy suffered a seizure and his heart stopped. He died that night and his parents were faced with the harsh reality that Randy was no longer their living miracle. Freddie says that their faith was rocked to its core. They trusted that God would continue protecting Randy, but He didn't. It made no sense and left Freddie with a sense of anger. In fact, Freddie is the first to admit that he continues to struggle with anger at times.
Randy's death, however, does not change the fact that Randy is still a miracle. In fact, after my conversation with Freddie today, my very definition of a miracle has changed. After our recording stopped, Freddie challenged me to think of Andy's life as a miracle as well. I had never thought of Andy as being a miracle. I had always focused on the fact that a miracle didn't happen that night when Andy died. If there had been a miracle, Andy would be alive. Freddie showed me that through this podcast, however, Andy has become just as much of a miracle as Randy is. By listening to Andy's story, people get to know him and feel hope and healing as they suffer their greatest tragedy. In some ways, there can be no bigger miracle than that. Thank you, Freddie, for showing me that even in death, our sons are still miracles, and that in sharing their stories, others can get to know our miracle sons just a little bit.
When Sandy first contacted me after her son, Blake's death, I never imagined that less than 2 years later she would be sharing his story on the podcast. When Sandy wrote to me, it was only 6 weeks since Blake had died. The pain was palpable throughout her email. Her very last sentence to me read, 'This is the MOST excruciating pain ever!!'
She was filled with anger toward the doctors who failed to diagnose Blake quickly enough and see just how sick he was. Sandy says that she was in a very dark place for over a year. She posted on social media about Blake, finding others to share her pain. She would spend time with Blake's friends on his birthday and other special days, but Sandy stayed in darkness focusing on Blake's death and all that had been lost. In a way, Sandy felt comfortable in the grief. She felt that if she didn't continue to tightly hang on to the grief, she might start to forget Blake. It felt like the best way to honor Blake was to remain in her dark grief.
Amazingly, it was a near-death experience that showed her a new way. Sandy had a long history of diabetes, but after Blake died, she neglected routine doctor's visits and her diabetes went out of control. She was found by a friend unconscious in her home in a coma. She had to be intubated and placed in the ICU with failing organs. Her family was told that Sandy would not survive. Somehow, however, Sandy did survive. Doctors and nurses in the hospital all came to see the 'miracle patient' who should have never lived.
Suddenly, everything changed for Sandy. She realized that for some reason, her life was spared. It was not her time to die. She decided to rededicate her life entirely. Instead of focusing on Blake's death, Sandy worked to focus on his life. She tells his story to anyone who will listen. She talks about his amazing heart and giving nature. She educates others on tissue and organ donation. Sandy decided that for the remainder of her days, she would focus on living in the light and not the darkness. It is not grief that holds her close to Blake. It is her unchanging, amazing love for Blake that continues to keep him close.
Last July 4th weekend, I had the honor of going to a very sacred space with two bereaved moms, Dixie, and today's guest and dear friend, Michelle. We retraced the steps that Michele and her family took on that fateful day on July 4th, 2020 when Michelle lost her amazing 19-year-old son, Corban, who drowned in Lake Michigan. From the first steps walking along that trail, I knew that we were doing something very special. I could feel Corban, Parker, and Andy. I could feel God walking along beside us.
In the first years after Andy died, whenever we dove past the accident site where Andy died, I would feel sick to my stomach. That has never been a struggle for Michelle, however. Perhaps it is due to the beauty of the sand dunes or perhaps the sparkle of Lake Michigan in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore area. Whatever the reason may be, this spot has been dubbed by Michelle as 'Corban's Spot' for she feels his presence close whenever she is there. For me, Corban's Spot feels holier than any cathedral.
Three years ago this week, God gave Michelle another gift at Corban's Spot. She went up to be with Corban for her birthday weekend. While there, she noticed a new large piece of driftwood had washed ashore. Michelle had always looked for hearts in nature to help remind her of Corban, but on this day, God gave Michelle a piece of driftwood that looked to have a cutout heart in the center. Over the last three years, the appearance of the driftwood has changed, but it has remained as an ever-present reminder of her love for Corban. It even inspired Michelle to write a poem.
~Driftwood Heart~ A grieving mother’s heart, A piece of driftwood on the beach. Pieces missing, not complete; Changed but the same. Rough edges, smoothed by the elements. Ever changing, never what was. Created by God, changed by the world. Searching for a new purpose. How to fit into this place? A changed heart, a different world. A piece of driftwood, looking for its place. A piece of driftwood, tragically beautiful.
Thank you, Michelle, for helping us see the beauty in tragedy. Thank you for being an inspiration to me and all around you.
Recently, Gwen and I have been starting to struggle to find new topics to discuss on our Livestream episodes. Eric suggested doing an episode about how bereaved people can feel like life is out of control, especially early in grief. After Andy died, I felt like our whole world was spinning out of control. Life was suddenly going really fast and I just wanted things to slow down. The world was no longer a safe place for my family, and everything suddenly felt so scary.
As the podcast episode started this week, however, I asked Eric why he picked this topic. His answer completely surprised me. Eric recently listened to a podcast that had nothing to do with grief. In fact, this is a podcast that normally discusses economics. During the episode, the podcaster made a statement that struck Eric. He said, "You can control absolutely nothing, but you influence everything."
What a statement. That truly changes everything when you think about it. I thought that I had control of my life and my family before the accident, and lost it, but when I think about it, I never really had control in the first place. In some ways, that statement is really scary. We like to think we are in control. We like to think if we prepare enough, nothing bad will happen, but we all know that isn't true. Ultimately, we do not have control, but instead of being a scary thought, it can be freeing instead.
The key is the end of the sentence - we influence everything. Everything that we do in life, every decision that we make, influences what comes afterward. I have often told parents on the podcast who are feeling guilt related to their child's death that they did everything that they could with the information that they had at the time. They worked to influence their child's life positively, but ultimately, they did not have full control. The same can be said for decisions we make now in our grief. Don't work to gain control back because we can't get it anyway. We instead need to work to positively influence others in life, small step by small step, each and every day. This may help make tomorrow a little better than today.
We as grieving people often feel as if we are being judged by others. If I laugh or smile, will people think I am 'over' Andy's death? Will they think I don't care or think about him anymore? If people see me sad and crying, will they think that I should be doing better? Will they judge me and think that I should be able to keep my emotions in check?
However, as much as we fear judgment from other people often we are the ones who are our biggest critics. We feel guilty if we laugh and smile. We feel shame when the tears come and emotions get out of control. When today's guest, Aleasha, talks about her early grief journey after losing her son, Jake, to a rare neurodegenerative disease called Sialic Acid Storage Disease. She says that she assumed that others were judging her in her grief. She felt that they were uncomfortable around her so she shut down and pulled away.
Aleasha shared with her therapist that she was disappointed that more people were not 'there for her' in her grief. Recently, Aleasha had the realization that others did try to walk alongside her, but she pushed them away. She felt like they weren't saying the right thing or doing the right thing, but it didn't matter what her friends said or did because it was never going to be enough. Aleasha wanted to have Jake back and obviously, no one could give her that.
This epiphany has changed Aleasha's outlook completely. It gives us an amazing lesson as well. We need to give grace and not judge ourselves when emotions come. We can feel joy, sorrow, anger, guilt, relief, and a thousand other emotions at the same time. Feeling these emotions is a part of the grief journey and they do not indicate where we are on that journey. We also learn not to project our feelings of judgment onto others. We should not presume to know what others are thinking. Our family and friends love us and want to be there for us. Their first instinct is not to judge. We need to let them show their love and see our true emotions and not be scared of what others might think.
When Susan's 19-year-old son, Chad, died in September 2020 during the pandemic, it was an extremely isolating time, but she and her family were also completely exposed. Chad was a healthy, young athlete who died from an extremely rare neurological disease called Weston-Hurst syndrome. This horrific disease is rapidly progressive and most often fatal as it attacks the central nervous system. Its specific cause remains unknown, but it is triggered by a viral infection. In this case, Chad contracted COVID while at college. Now, this family was not only mourning the death of their beloved son, but they also had to deal with the fact that their son's death was a news story. If you Google Chad's full name, you will find multiple national news articles. In Time magazine, Chad became the face of North Carolina when they had an article about 'The Fifty Faces of COVID' which highlighted a person from each state who had died of COVID or its complications. You might think that this publicity would have brought Susan love and support from others, but that was far from the case. As Susan mourned her son, others would talk to her about mask mandates. How would anyone find this comforting? Susan found herself turning inward to her family and isolating herself even more. Fortunately, the tremendous love between Susan and her husband has helped them work through the pain, but it is heartbreaking that others have not been there for them. When Susan wrote to me about sharing Chad's story, she said she wanted me to think about if I really wanted to have her on because Chad had COVID. Susan wrote, 'If it is too much of a hot topic, I understand.' I assured her that her son's death was not something to be avoided. There are not some stories that are ok to tell and others that are not. These are the stories of our precious children and the manners of their deaths do not change anything. Chad was a smart, amazing kid who always had a basketball in his hand. He was the best friend to many young people and every member of his immediate family. That is the story of Chad that everyone should know and one we are honored to tell.
From the first minutes of listening to this week's podcast, you will feel an overwhelming sense of caring and compassion. While in middle school, Marisol's son, Daniel, went on a church trip to Niagra Falls and fell in love. Now, you might think that he fell in love with the beautiful waterfall, but it was the people who impacted Daniel. He saw that beyond tourism, there were people who were truly in need. Daniel felt a strong desire to help.
While in high school, Daniel knew he wanted to leave his home state of Maryland and move to western New York to become a doctor. He found a program at Canisius College that offered a program for college and early acceptance to medical school. He was thriving in school until tragedy hit. Daniel was found to have a large cancerous mass in his chest. As soon as Marisol and her husband got off the plane and arrived at that hospital in Buffalo, they were welcomed. They were offered food as well as places to stay. They even had someone offer his apartment for a shower. The caring people of Buffalo simply blew them away.
After his diagnosis, Daniel decided to stay and undergo treatment in his new western New York community. He told his family that he wanted to stay there because someday these same doctors would be his teachers in medical school. The care from these people was unlike anything Marisol ever experienced. They never left their side. After Daniel died, Canisius College planned a mass for Daniel. Marisol was asked by the priest, "How many people do you think will come?" Marisol quickly answered, "No more than twenty." Marisol again underestimated this loving community. The church was packed with hundreds of people.
I was so struck by the tremendous love and compassion in Marisol's voice as I spoke with her. She said that she wanted to do this episode to honor not only Daniel, but also the people of Canisius College, Roswell Cancer Center, and all of the people of Buffalo, New York. I am sure that if you asked each one of those people about what they did, however, they would be quick to point back to the amazing loving spirit of young Daniel himself.
Today's guest, Carrie, and her husband Ben attended their first retreat for bereaved parents only two months after their toddler, Luella, died from bacterial pneumonia. They drove 10 hours from their home in central Illinois to Faith's Lodge in northern Wisconsin. Carrie said that it was the first time they had felt seen and held since Luella had died. The support they received was amazing and on that 10-hour drive home, Carrie and Ben decided they wanted to make their own retreats locally for people in their community. Their home was a large, beautiful cabin on 10 acres surrounded by trails and nature. Carrie said that she was immediately ready to give up this space as their family home and instead create a haven for bereaved parents. That was in November of 2018. They were ready to start hosting retreats in 2020, but the pandemic forced them to do their first groups virtually. By 2022, however, their dream had become a reality and they began hosting retreats at Luella's Lodge. As I talked with Carrie, I was struck by the significance of all of this happening in their family home. When they originally moved in, Ben and Carrie planned for this to be their forever home. It would be filled with children and laughter. They have happy memories of walking along trails with young Luella, watching her wave to neighboring cows. After Luella died, however, that same home would feel big and empty. Memories of Luella were everywhere, but sorrow, not joy, would be the overwhelming emotion. The birth of Luella's Lodge, however, changed everything. Certainly, there are still tears in this building, but they are tears of both sorrow and healing. Laughter has returned to this space, and people feel free to be their authentic selves while they are here. Bereaved parents find support here. They find hope and healing. They meet others here who will become their lifelong friends. That's why I am so excited to partner with Carrie to co-host an upcoming retreat sometime in the fall of this year. I cannot wait to experience the sacred space of Luella's Lodge myself and hope many will join me.
Rituals. Different cultures have rituals for various life events. There are beautiful, lavish rituals associated with marriage and births. In Latin American culture, a girl's 15th birthday, her quinceañera, is celebrated as her social debut as a young woman. Rituals abound in many aspects of life, but some of the most powerful rituals are those surrounding death.
I have heard many stories of funerals and celebrations of life after the deaths of children all over the world. Some are small and private and others are big and public. We do what feels right to us in the moment following our culture. For our family, we had a funeral only 5 days after Andy's death. I wanted a funeral service that honored Andy, one that showed what an amazing kid he was. I wanted it to be full of music which was such a huge part of Andy's life, and (in a request only Andy would understand) if there was going to be cake, it needed to be lemon.
Today's guest, Geeti, has experienced some amazing rituals after her son's death. Geeti's son, Ruben, was truly a global citizen, identifying with many cultures in his 21 years. He was born to a Swedish mother and lived his first 8 years in New Zealand before the family moved to Australia. After he was killed just over two years ago in a motorbike accident, Ruben's friends all came and surrounded the family with rituals.
He had friends of the New Zealand native Māori culture who showed their cultural norms. The family took Ruben's body home, danced in the rain, tore their clothes, and cried out in lament. They covered a cardboard coffin in artwork, placed his body there, and took him to the beach before he went to the crematorium. A few months later, to honor Ruben's 22nd birthday, Ruben's family and friends went out to the Australian bush and performed amazing rituals in Ruben's memory according to the native Australian culture. (You will find the story of the white feather especially powerful.) Even more recently, the family went back to Geeti's native Sweden and had a gathering to honor Ruben there as well. Each one of these ceremonies has brought Geeti just a little bit of peace and shows us just how healing rituals can be.
As the new year began, I was asked a question. 'What is your goal for the podcast this year?' I thought for a minute and then answered, 'I want to help create more of a community of grievers.' I know that many people tune in to listen to me each week, but I want more than that. I want people to feel that they are an essential part of the Always Andy's Mom community. I want people to feel less alone in their grief. On this week's Livestream podcast, Gwen and I discuss the blessings of finding a community of grievers to support you during grief.
We posed questions to listeners to think about before tuning in this week. How did you find your community? How does your community of grievers help you? What do you look for in a grieving community? I love the responses that listeners gave. Some people turned to family. Others found other grieving parents in their local communities. It actually surprised me just how many people listed that this podcast helped them feel a sense of community. (It gave me a little encouragement that perhaps I am already doing a little better in this area than I previously thought.) There was some sadness in the responses as well. Some felt as if they were not part of a grieving community at all.
Grieving the loss of your child, no matter what the age or circumstances, is an extremely isolating and horrible experience. I have learned over these last 5 years, however, that when I surround myself with a loving community of other grieving parents, I feel less isolated and that makes the journey a little less horrible as well. My hope for this podcast episode is that you can feel encouraged that there is a community out there for you. You may not have found it yet, but it is there. There are loving people whose calling is to support the bereaved. If you can't find anything in your local community, know that you can start right here with me on the Always Andy's Mom podcast (andysmom.com) or with Gwen (grief-guide.com). Let us give you the love and support you need and deserve.
Grief first entered Danielle's life when her dad was killed in a car accident when she was home from college for Easter. She had never experienced grief and said she felt paralyzed. Danielle went on and met and married her husband. When they decided to start a family, grief entered Danielle's life again when she suffered numerous miscarriages. She said it was a horrible and tumultuous time, but then Danielle and her husband had their daughter, Emily, followed 15 months later by their son, Blake.
Grief seemed to have retreated for Danielle until Blake was 17 months old. Danielle remembers holding Blake as she was about to lay him down for his nap. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought, 'I am the luckiest mom in the world.' She laid Blake down for his nap and he never woke up. His heart simply stopped beating. His cause of death was listed as Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood. This time, the grief did not just feel paralyzing. It felt like the grief broke her completely, but Danielle did what she had always done and kept going. She was pregnant with her third child by then and even went on to have a fourth.
Then, four years after Blake's death, something happened. Danielle realized that even though all of her adult life had been spent in grief, she did not really know how to grieve. She had never mourned her dad, her lost babies, or even Blake. She had tried to tuck the grief away and live with the pain in isolation, but she then realized that she had to actively experience the grief. She had to learn to love herself again.
It was then that Danielle started journaling. Although difficult at first, Danielle began using journal prompts and eventually grew comfortable pouring her feelings out on paper. She sought out others on social media who had lost children so they could help support each other. She learned how precious it is to grieve with others in community. Now, eight years after Blake's death, Danielle has written her own grief journal, entitled, 'Gratitude Through Grief' (available on Amazon), and works to bring grieving parents together through her Instagram account @danielleduffeyy.
*Be sure to tune into this week's upcoming Livestream on Facebook and Instagram as Gwen and I discuss the importance of community in grief. Write to me about how you found your community of grievers and how they have helped you along your grief journey at marcy@andysmom.com or on social media.
As you know, I primarily speak with bereaved parents on this podcast, but occasionally, a story touches me and I feel nudged to share it with you. This is most certainly the case with today's guest, Regina. My regular listeners will also notice that this week's podcast is titled differently than others. We do not list by name the sibling that Regina lost because Regina actually lost FOUR siblings at four different times, two as infants and two as young adults. She lived the grief and watched her parents grieve four different times.
Regina had been listening to the podcast for quite some time before deciding to write. She ultimately decided to share her family's story on the podcast to honor her sweet parents as well as her sister and three brothers. Their family's grief journey started just before Regina's 6th birthday and has continued for almost 50 years. She says that the grief has shaped her family. As horrific as the grief has been, Regina also knows that they have a deeper love for each other after having lived through this pain together.
You might guess that this is a podcast episode that is filled with sadness, but that would not be the case. This is an episode filled with hope and love. It is a story of a family who faced obstacle after obstacle and kept showing resilience even as more and more spaces filled in the family cemetery plot. As Regina's mom was in the final days of her life at the age of 81 this past year, she kept folding and refolding a towel, holding it close to her face. She murmured something that Regina could not hear until she drew close. Her mom was saying, "Mommy's here" over and over again. Regina knew that in her last days, her bereaved mama was again holding her lost children. Now, she is buried with her husband and four of her twelve beloved children, and Regina is comforted with the knowledge that although her parents no longer live with her here on this earth, they are with her four siblings for eternity.
***Also, listen for the most amazing moment in the history of this podcast near the end! I promise it will bring happy tears to your eyes.
When Melissa's youngest daughter, Chelsea, died of an accidental prescription drug overdose, Melissa was devastated. In an instant, her baby was gone and she did not know what to do with her life. She had never faced anything like this and felt overwhelmed. Then, only a week after Chelsea died, Melissa became the full-time caretaker of her younger brother in the end stages of liver failure.
I wondered what was going through her family's mind when Melissa took her brother in. What came to my mind was the phrase, 'time heals all wounds.' I think that Melissa and her family thought that it would be likely good for her to keep busy. Caring for her brother full-time would do just that. By keeping busy, time would go by, and Melissa would miss Chelsea less and less. Given enough time, Melissa would simply heal.
Unfortunately, that was completely wrong. Time did not heal Melissa at all. In fact, 3 1/2 years after Chelsea's death, Melissa found herself in her doctor's office explaining that she thought she was worse in her grief now than she had ever been in the early days. She ignored her grief and stuffed it in a box, and instead of shrinking in size, it had grown.
The phrase, 'time heals all wounds' is one that has irritated me over these last 5 years so I decided to look up the origin of this much-hated phrase. It turns out, however, that I (and most other people) have been misinterpreting it completely. I thought that the saying meant that "only time is needed to heal wounds" which is, of course, completely untrue. Melissa experienced this first-hand. What is meant by 'time heals all wounds' is that 'it takes time for all wounds, mental or physical, to heal and it is important to remember that recovery is a process.'
I have spent years complaining about the use of this phrase, when, in fact, I just had the wrong definition. Time is not the only thing needed to heal wounds. Hard work brings healing. A supportive community brings healing. Therapy and spirituality bring healing. There is no quick fix to grief. It is a long, painful journey. Many things are required to heal, but time is one thing that is a necessity.
As parents, it is natural to want to know what our kids are experiencing. That is probably why at the beginning of every new school year, schools will have an open house where the parents can go to their child's classrooms, meet the teachers, and see where their child will be spending each day. I know the open house is an event that I look forward to each year and have never missed.
That is one of the many horrible things about Andy dying. I no longer 'know' where Andy is. In my heart, I know he is in heaven, but what is heaven really like? Can he see us? Does he want to see us? Is time the same or different? I have to admit that I truly do not know. I was not given a chance to visit like I could visit his school classroom in years past or even like I could visit my daughter's college dorm. Sometimes, though, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like, and in today's interview with Tootie, we imagined together just what our boys might be doing.
To take a step back, Tootie's son, Kole, was an amazing kid growing up, never really giving her any trouble. As an only child of divorced parents, he adjusted well and truly lived life to the fullest each day. Tootie says that Kole never met a stranger and was always ready for the next event or celebration. Everyone just loved Kole and gravitated to his positive outlook on life. It was crushing to Tootie and so many others, when 21-year-old Kole was suddenly killed in a car accident.
As we talked, I told Tootie, that I could imagine Andy running through heaven shouting, 'Kole, Kole, Kole, Kole! Come quick! I'm so excited! My mom is going to talk to your mama! It's going to be great! Come, let's listen together!' Tootie said, that in typical Kole fashion, he would be eager to come along with this younger teen and not miss out on the excitement. We could both imagine their big grins smiling down as they watched us share.
Admittedly, I really don't know if heaven is like that or not, but it sure is amazing to imagine that it might be. Even more, it warms my grieving heart to think of Andy running through heaven each week, excitedly bringing others like Kole to listen.
When you go to Karla's website, karlahelbert.com, you will see these words - 'We all need a little help sometimes. You are not alone.' You might look and think, "Karla, I need more than a little help. My child died. I am a mess." However, Karla understands. Karla knows the mess because she lives the mess. Karla has lived with grief every day for almost 18 years when her son, Theo, died at 9 months from a brain tumor.
You may notice this interview is longer than most. I honestly think I could have talked to Karla for 3 hours and not even batted an eye. Her outlook is refreshingly honest, and talking to her just made me feel better about my grief and life. When talking to Karla about her journey, she openly says that for the first three years, she would find herself on the floor crying every single day. She said that she would think, "How is this not killing me?" And then, after no more tears would come, she would get up. "It's amazing," Karla says, "that somehow we do not die from the grief."
I have to say I've never really thought of grief like that, but Karla is right. It is 'amazing' that it does not kill us. In those first days, months, and even years of grief, I often felt like the pain was too much to bear. I couldn't even begin to count the number of times I thought to myself, 'I can't do this anymore.' Then, somehow, I would get through another day, then another month, and eventually, another year. It is amazing.
If you keep yourself open, even more amazing things can happen as well. After Theo died, Karla never would have guessed what she would become. Karla went back to her job counseling kids with autism at school, but small opportunities kept coming and ever so slowly her life changed to what it is today. Now, Karla is a therapist working almost exclusively with people who have experienced traumatic grief, has published multiple books, and even has a new virtual workshop for bereaved parents starting next week. Amazing.
Thank you, Karla, for all you do and for reminding me that a little help can make us feel less alone on this excruciating, messy, but nonetheless amazing, grief journey.
When I saw that December 28th was a podcast release day, I immediately thought of my mom and of the 'Be Still' tattoo that I got last year in honor of Andy on the anniversary of my mom's death. I knew that I wanted to do a Livestream the week between Christmas and New Year's as I usually do, but I worried about the logistics as we were going to be traveling and would be in Florida at the condo of my in-laws.
This combination of circumstances got me thinking. What about doing an episode honoring my tattoo and our trip to Florida? Over the past 5 years, I have seen so many beautiful, meaningful tattoos on parents. What if I allowed listeners to tell the stories behind their tattoos and send in pictures? What about letting them talk about trips they have taken in memory of their children? What about adding a third 'T' to the podcast and bringing in 'toys' or items that we have to honor our children as well? For me, my 'Be Still' bracelets have become an important part of my grief journey by helping me spread hope and healing to others. What 'toys' have brought healing to others?
So that is exactly what we did in our Tattoos, Trips, and Toys Livestream. If you normally just listen to the podcast, you may want to change things up a bit and watch the video on the Always Andy's Mom pages on Facebook, Instagram, or YouTube so you can see the pictures of tattoos. You can also look at recent posts on social media to see some amazing pictures and stories from listeners.
The true takeaway from this episode, however, is not just about cool pictures. It is about the importance of taking care of yourself. It is hard to focus on self-care during grief, but it is key to healing. That does not mean that everyone needs to run out and get a tattoo, take a long trip, or buy a new truck, but if getting a tattoo brings you a bit of comfort in your grief, do it. If a walk along the beach gives you a moment of peace, take that walk. And if handing out bracelets makes me think of Andy and helps remind someone else to 'Be Still,' I will continue to do it as well.
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For those unfamiliar with the popular Christian poem, 'Footprints,' it relates the story of a person who is at the end of life. They are looking back through their entire life's journey as a walk along a beach. Most of the time, there are two sets of footprints in the sand. The first are their footprints and the second represents the footprints of God. This person notices that when they are going through their deepest struggles there is only one set of footprints. The person questions God, 'Why when I needed you most, would you leave me?' God then answers, 'My precious, precious child. I love you and would never leave you. During those times of trial and suffering, it was then that I carried you.'
Today's guest, Lavinia, started dating Manny's dad when she was 17 and he was 20. The first gift that he gave her was a plaque of the 'Footprints' poem. At the time, it may have seemed like an odd gift, but honestly, it was perfect. In their marriage, they had many times when there was only 'one set of footprints' and God carried them. At the age of 3, young Manny was diagnosed with leukemia. His treatment was filled with complication after complication. Even after he was cancer-free, Manny suffered cognitive struggles from the treatments. Right around the time of his 15th birthday, the family was dealt another blow when Manny was diagnosed with a brain tumor.
Lavinia learned then that Manny, too, had a relationship with God that allowed him to be carried through his struggles. In October 2020, Manny said in a very matter-of-fact manner, "Mom, I asked God for more time." What strikes me here is that Manny did not beg God to cure him. He did not bargain with God to make some deal. It is almost like as Manny was being carried by God, he leaned in and whispered, 'Hey, can I have a little more time?' Manny almost seemed a bit excited when he shared that with his mom because he already knew God's answer. God gave him 4 more months, enough for one last Christmas with his family - just a little more time. Even now, as Lavinia lives in her pain after Manny's death, it comforts her to know that Manny had that kind of relationship with God and that she too, can be carried by the same arms that carried Manny.
Legacy is defined as the long-lasting impact of particular events or actions taking place in the past or in a person’s life. I have been thinking a lot about that word recently. On December 5th, we had the first Andy Larson Memorial Concert. Our featured artist, Will Liverman, along with his accompanist, Jonathan King, gave us an amazing night that will never be forgotten. A tradition has been started that will honor not only Andy's legacy but that of so many children whose lives were cut short.
Today's guest, Jackie, thinks a lot about her family's legacy as well. Before she was born, her family suffered from epilepsy. Although many members of Jackie's family had seizures, no one had ever died from them and I doubt Jackie even thought that was possible until the day she lost her oldest son, Jimmy. She worried then, that the doctors were missing something and that Chrissy might die as well. 3 years later, Chrissy did die, only 8 months after giving birth to her second daughter.
In a sad twist of fate, 10 months after Chrissy died, Jackie's 75-year-old mother was rushed into the ICU with a heart condition. Doctors explained to Jackie and her family that her mother had long QT syndrome, an electrical abnormality in the heart that can result in fainting, drowning, seizures, or sudden death. A light bulb went off in Jackie's head. Jimmy and Chrissy died from long QT syndrome, not epilepsy. Every member of Jackie's family who had seizures had long QT syndrome as their cause. The discovery was too late for Jimmy and Chrissy, but it has saved so many others in the family.
After losing both of her children, Jackie knew that she was now living her life for all three of them. She needed to help create their legacy. Over the past 20 years, Jackie has done just that. She works on the podcasts 'Bereaved, but Still Me' and 'Heart to Heart with Anna' and hopes to start her own podcast about long QT syndrome over the next few months spreading education and awareness of this treatable condition. Jackie wants her family's legacy to help prevent others from experiencing her grief and pain.
When David's son, Nick, was 7 years old, he was having struggles in school causing him to have self-doubt. One night, Nick asked, "Dad, Is there something wrong with me?" Before David laid him down to sleep, David told him, "You're the best 7-year-old boy in the whole wide world, and your daddy loves you." The next morning and every morning afterward before he went to work, David would go into Nick's room and repeat this phrase. Each year the number would go up by one, but the every morning tradition did not change.
That is, that number did not change until January 2011 because that is when 13-year-old Nick died in an accident at home. Since 2011, the phrase has been the same - 'Nick, you are the best 13-year-old boy in the whole world, and your daddy loves you. Now, however, David does not go into David's room in the morning and kiss the top of his head as he says these familiar words. Instead, this is how he ends every post on his Facebook blog where David has documented his grief journey. It is also repeated throughout the book he wrote about Nick which is entitled, 'Forever 13' available here on Amazon.
My favorite image from David's book is not that little phrase, however. It is the image of a 'bean counter' in heaven. The bean counter is there putting a bean in a jar each day that our child is in heaven. Initially, that image bothered me. I kept thinking of Andy's jar filling up after days, months, and years, but then David says that this same bean counter has another jar with our names on it. In this jar, a bean is removed each day. Each bean represents the number of days until we will join our children in heaven and each day, our jar has one fewer bean.
I love the idea that as Andy's jar fills, mine is being emptied. The number of days between Andy's death and mine has been known by God since long before Andy died. That number has never and will never change. The only thing that changes is which jar the beans are in. One day, when my jar is empty, I will see Andy again and be able to say to him, "Andy, you are the best 14-year-old boy in the whole world, and your mommy loves you."
After Daphne's 5-year-old daughter, Lydia, was killed in a car accident 15 years ago, Daphne struggled to find any hope. She dreaded looking at her daughter's closed bedroom door. Her therapist gave her a bit of advice that she still lives out all these years later. Daphne's therapist told her to 'sprinkle a little bit of Lydia' throughout the house so Daphne did. She put Lydia's favorite nail polish on the counter and hung Lydia's feather boa on her curtains. She worked to leave little bits of her precious daughter everywhere. Now after 15 years and a move to a new house, there are not quite as many of Lydia's possessions around the house, but the spirit still applies. Daphne has written a book about her grief journey, co-authored another book, and been a contributor for a dozen others. She has a blog called 'The Sweeter Side' on her website, grievinggumdrops.com. Through her writing, Daphne sprinkles a little bit of Lydia in order to bring hope and healing to grieving parents everywhere. Now, Daphne has a new dream. Over the years, Daphne has met many grieving moms, especially through Compassionate Friends and Ellie's Way. She has followed many bereaved moms (including me) on social media and noted how many of us are working to bring little bits of hope to grieving families. This gave Daphne an idea. What if she asked these moms to submit their own little stories to make a collection? This collection would tell the stories of their late children as well as give little messages of hope - little stories that could help to inspire other moms on their own grief journey. So that is exactly what Daphne is doing. She is collecting 52 stories from 52 different moms to make a book that a grieving mom would read over a full year. Daphne still laments the fact that it took her so long to find any hope in her grief. She wants to provide a bit of hope each week to moms who are feeling hopeless. It is a gift to them as well as a gift to all of us who are contributing, because now we, too, can sprinkle a little bit of our own children out to others in the world. To contribute, email DaphneBGreer@gmail.com
‘What are you doing for Thanksgiving this year?’ This is a question that I have been asked dozens, if not a couple hundred times over the past month. They want to know if we are traveling. They want to know if we are hosting for Thanksgiving. They want to tell me their Thanksgiving plans. It is simply polite conversation during the month of November. What’s interesting for me is that no one in my life has thought to ask me, “How are you doing this Thanksgiving?” No one has asked how we might be honoring Andy. No one seems to have thought at all about the empty seat at our table and the fact that Thanksgiving might, in fact, still be a hard day for us, even five years after Andy’s death. Certainly, no one is trying to be insensitive at all. I just don’t think it dawns on them, but, the fact is, Thanksgiving is still hard when you are in the midst of grief. Looking at that empty chair today will bring moments of sadness. This week’s podcast is a discussion of what it feels like to gather and give thanks during grief. We asked for insights from listeners and we got them! We got true honest answers about feeling thankful and NOT feeling thankful. We got answers about what we might be dreading as well as who we are turning to in order to help us get through this day and others like it. So what is the answer to that unasked question? ‘How am I this Thanksgiving?’ The answer - I don’t know yet. Will I be 99% grateful and happy today or will I be 99% miserable? Probably the answer will lie somewhere in the middle. Honestly, the less the miserable aspect is acknowledged, the more miserable I am likely to be. So where does this leave us as we go through this Thanksgiving Day and the next month of the Christmas season? These are answers I know. 1. Acknowledge that it can be hard, but enjoy the moments that bring joy whether 1% or 99%. 2. Acknowledge the empty seat at the table while trying to appreciate the chairs that are full. 3.Allow yourself to feel the whole spectrum of emotions, because only then can healing begin.
'What if?'
This question haunts many bereaved parents long after their child dies. My 'what if' questions tend to be: What if I hadn't let him change before we left for the game? What if I had picked up the ticket so we didn't need or stop at the office? Or even what if we picked him up from soccer practice instead of carpooling home? For others, the 'what if' questions might be: What if I had taken him to the doctor sooner? What if I had listened more? Or what if I had done this one thing differently? All of these questions and more linger on.
For today's guest, Donna, and her husband, Kent, the 'what if' questions continue as well. In fact, Donna shares 4 very specific 'what if' questions that she relives when thinking about her son, Devin's final bout with ITP. As parents, we do anything and everything possible to protect our children. Knowing what Donna knows now, she would have acted differently that day, but with the information they had at the time, each decision seemed to be the right one.
The problem, of course, is that there is absolutely no way to predict what will happen in the future. There was no way that I could have known that leaving a few minutes earlier or later might mean that we wouldn't be the car that was hit that night. We traveled that patch of highway hundreds of times and had taken the kids to many baseball games. How could I have known that on this trip Andy would be killed? Given Devin's ALPS diagnosis, he had been through several bouts of ITP. Each episode had been treated with the same protocol resulting in recovery each time. How could Donna, Kent or any member of Kent's medical team have known that this time, instead of recovering, Devin would have a devastating brain bleed?
The reason that we focus on these 'what if' questions is because we desperately want there to be a different outcome. We replay things in our minds wondering if our child might still be here if we had made even one slight change. Unfortunately, that is impossible. We don't have the ability to turn back time. The challenge is to attempt to let go of the guilt and to let 'what if' questions begin to fade away.
Some of my favorite interviews are ones where the child whose story we tell reminds me of my Andy. I tend to get a little more emotional during those interviews because I am reminded of stories in my own past. I feel a special connection to these mothers as I see a little of myself in them. This is one of those special interviews, and Jackie is one of those moms who I feel like I already have a deep connection with despite having only an hour long Zoom conversation.
Dane, like Andy, was a kid who felt big emotions. He could get anxious easily, but would get excited over seemingly little events in life. He was a great friend to other kids and loved spending time with his family, especially Jackie, who he often called 'the best mom ever' (although I did tell her that Andy and Dane would likely argue about who had the best mom). Jackie told stories of how the two of them would go to a Red Box machine and leave a bag of microwave popcorn and money for a movie. Dane would beg his mom to wait in the parking lot to see if if the next customer 'got excited' when finding their surprise.
After Dane was suddenly killed at the age of 11 while on a snowmobiling trip with his Dad, many people remembered Dane's sweet loving spirit. More than one person said that everyone should learn to 'live like Dane.' The phrase struck a cord with Dane's family and they started a 'Live like Dane' Facebook group. The family even made little cards with Dane's picture and a QR code linking to the Facebook page. The card reads, 'This random act of kindness was done in honor of Dane McCoy. No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. Please help continue his legacy by paying it forward.' People are then encouraged to share their random acts of kindness stories on Facebook.
I love this idea. I love that Dane can be remembered in this way by people he never even met. Today, I urge all of us to 'Live like Dane' by surprising a friend, or even a stranger, with a random act of kindness. I can picture Andy and Dane together looking down from heaven, getting 'so excited' as someone discovers their unexpected gift.
Vickielly's son, Artin, lived for only 20 hours when he was born last year, but those 20 hours changed her forever. The compassion that she developed for others who are suffering reached new levels. From Vickielly's 20 week ultrasound, she and her husband knew that Artin would not be a 'normal' baby. With hypoplastic left heart syndrome, they expected a long NICU stay and multiple surgeries. Unfortunately, complications developed during birth and Artin suffered severe brain damage. Their long NICU stay suddenly became very, very short.
As a trained nurse, Vickielly had been ready to take a break working as a charge nurse at a surgery center and spend the next years of her life caring for her own son. After his death, everything changed and nothing changed all at the same time. Even though Artin did not survive, Vickielly still wanted to live for Artin. She wanted him to have a legacy. Immediately after getting home from the hospital, she began pumping breastmilk. This would not be breastmilk for her own infant, but it would be donated as a gift from Vickielly and Artin to other babies in the NICU.
Once she returned back to work in the operating room, Vickielly found that it was just too difficult. She had flashbacks of the nightmare of her own C-section. Eventually, Vickielly knew that she needed to find a new path, but she still wanted to care for people who were suffering. Vickielly wanted the comfort of being home instead of in a medical setting, and she could do this while being a triage nurse on the phone. Now, Vickielly spends her days offering comfort and assistance to patients with medical concerns. She helps them find the right medical care whether it be home care, a doctor's visit or even calling 911 for them. VIckielly's compassion fueled by her love for Artin, is helping her to be a tremendous blessing to others every single day.
If you watch the video of this week's podcast on YouTube or watch clips on the AlwaysAndysMom Instagram account this week, you will see a beautiful picture of Andrea's daughter, Taylor (also known as TT) sitting right behind her. On the picture, are these amazing words, 'You will never be forgotten. I promise.' That is our goal as bereaved parents, isn't it? We want to make sure that however short or long our child's time was on this earth, we want it to have mattered. We want them remembered.
Andrea and her husband were high school sweethearts. After marrying, the two envisioned having a big family, but that was not in the cards. Early in this week's podcast, Andrea shares that there may have never been a baby born who was more wanted than Taylor. Andrea recounts the long years of infertility that the couple endured. By the time Taylor was born, Andrea had gone through IVF treatments nine times. That 9th time was the charm, and Andrea and her husband were blessed with an amazing baby girl. After Taylor was born, the couple tried IVF three more times before stopping after Andrea had a cancer diagnosis and underwent treatment. Their family of three was small, but it was complete.
I have spoken with many mothers over the past 4 years who have had close relationships with their daughters, but likely none have been closer than Andrea and Taylor. Life was not always easy for the family, but they made it through the tough times together. They spoke on the phone multiple times every day. Andrea suspects that the two texted as much as 50 times per day. One of the last texts that Andrea sent to Taylor was a picture with the following words - I hope you know that I've had the time of my life raising you.
Now after losing TT suddenly at the age of 30, Andrea and her husband are living their days as a couple once again. Their only child is gone, and it is difficult to want to look into the future. There will be no grandchildren. They feel as if their legacy died with Taylor, but they cling to the words on that picture, 'You will never be forgotten. I promise.'
They remember their TT and we remember ours. We promise.
Timing. It is said that timing is everything. Although timing may not be everything, it does make a great impact on so much in life The other day, I lost a precious earring that my husband had given to me as a gift. We looked and looked for the earring thinking it was gone forever, but timing (with perhaps a little help from heaven) saved my earring. At the moment that it fell out of my ear, I had a grocery bag over my right shoulder even though I normally carry bags on my left. That earring fell at the perfect moment in time to land right in that grocery bag.
Throughout my talk with today's guest, Rebecca, I thought about timing. From the time of her routine prenatal ultrasound with her son, Ethan, Rebecca and her husband knew that Ethan was not going to be a healthy baby. The option of terminating the pregnancy was offered to the family. They declined. Doctors suggested that they simply let Ethan die when he was born, but again, they declined. Rebecca and all her family and friends prayed for a miracle. They knew that little Ethan could be healed and they needed to do everything medically possible for Ethan to give him a chance to have a life here on earth.
Ethan was born and Rebecca lived with him in the NICU. She continued her earnest prayers to God, and then, after 6 weeks, Rebecca and her husband knew that it was time. It was time to let Ethan go. Ethan was ready and they were ready. Ethan died in a beautiful hospice unit free of tubes and lines on his own timing. Rebecca would not have changed one single thing.
Over the next weeks, Rebecca started listening to this podcast to help in her healing. Almost 10 months ago, Rebecca wrote to me to tell me about Ethan and that she wanted to share their story, but again, this is where timing comes back in. She was early in pregnancy with another baby, and her anxiety was very high that things would go wrong. She felt that she had to safely deliver this baby before talking to me about Ethan. So that leads us to today and the sharing of Ethan's story. The timing was not right for Rebecca last December, but now, after baby Miles' birth, the timing is just perfect.
When faced with a storm, cows and buffaloes react in quite different ways. As the storm approaches, cows gather and attempt to run away from the storm. By doing this, the cow actually ends up running with the storm, thus spending more time and misery in the storm itself. A buffalo, on the other hand, waits for the crest of the storm to arrive and then runs straight into it. Although the buffalo may actually feel the intensity of the storm more acutely, it will actually spend less time in the storm itself and be the other side far more quickly than the cow.
After Dolores' 24-year-old son, Eric, died in a car accident, she was determined to face the pain head on. As easy as it might have been to try to hide from the pain, she did not. She allowed herself to truly feel it. She read every book on grief and near-death experiences she could find. By doing so, Dolores said that she learned so much about pain and faith. She realized that before Eric's death, she had tried to put God in a tiny little box. She kept a prayer list beside her bed to pray for each night. Her faith was clean and tidy.
After Eric died, however, she says that her little 'God-box' blew up. That is not to say that she lost her faith. It actually became bigger. Dolores realized that saying prayers each night does not assure us that we will not suffer pain. We WILL suffer pain. What God can do for us is to help sustain us through that pain and suffering. God can help us be the buffalo and face the intensity of the storm of grief head on.
I'm sure that today, six years after Eric died, Dolores would not say that she is completely through the storm of grief, but she would agree that the intensity of the storm has lessened. By allowing herself to face her raw emotions head-on, they are not as sharp and stabbing now. She has her own website and has even written two books about her grief, both available on Amazon. The first, entitled Look Around: A Mother's Journey from Grief and Despair to Hope and Healing, chronicles her grief story, while the second is a book of poetry, A Bird Called Wisdom. Her hope is that others will be brave enough to run into the storm as well.
Vulnerability is defined by dictionary.com as 'willingness to show emotion or to allow one’s weaknesses to be seen or known; willingness to risk being emotionally hurt'. It is a wonder that anyone would ever allow themselves to be vulnerable. If you are a grieving person who is already in seemingly unbearable pain, why would you ever even want to put yourself in a position where you put yourself at risk for being emotionally hurt? If we believe that definition, we would likely all build a big wall of protection around ourselves trying to hide weakness and prevent further pain.
Oprah Winfrey defines vulnerability in the following way. 'Vulnerability is being willing to express the truth no matter what, the truth of who you are, the essence at your core of what you're feeling at any given moment. It's being able to open up your soul so that others can see their soul in yours'. Wow. That is a definition of vulnerability that is far more appealing.
Being vulnerable is certainly scary, but the blessings can far outweigh the negatives. Opening ourselves up to each other and sharing our weaknesses and pain can actually bring us closer together. A group of a dozen weak grieving parents have far more strength than one strong bereaved parent living in isolation. I think this is why I never sugarcoat grief. I don't tell everyone that everything is fine and that life will be OK if we just trust there is a grand plan in place. Pretending that living this life of grief is fine just makes us feel isolated. When we admit that we are vulnerable and show our weakness, we allow ourselves to live in community and give each other strength.
On this week's podcast, Gwen and I share some of our favorite stories about being vulnerable in our grief and the blessings that have come from expressing truth no matter what. Some of the most cherished moments in my life since Andy died have come when I have allowed those around me to see my weakness. I don't want to be strong. Being strong means that I don't need other people. I want to be vulnerable. I want to allow others to see their own soul in mine as we walk this journey together.
No one wants to be a drug addict. No one would choose that for themselves. It is a really hard life. Each day is spent worrying about how you can get more drugs or get the money to get more drugs. After the addiction takes hold, it no longer feels like a choice to take the drug. It is a need. The most tragic piece is that as the addiction takes hold, the risk of death by overdose increases as well.
Today's guest, Christine, has a tragic story of two sons, Kurt and Austin. Kurt began using marijuana as a teen as a way to feel normal. Kurt told his mom that for the first time in his life by using marijuana, he felt comfortable in his own skin. Austin followed in big brother's footsteps and began using marijuana. While playing video games with a friend at the age of 17, Austin was offered a pill to crush and inhale. He did so, but was then 'forced' to do a second pill by the drug dealer who lived in the apartment. When Austin began showing signs of an overdose, the dealer threatened to kill anyone who dialed 911. By the next morning, it was too late.
This started a quest for Christine, a quest to prevent death by drug overdose. She has spent the last ten years working to decrease overdose deaths. She has been an advocate for overdose awareness and harm reduction for teens. Christine was also involved in getting the Good Samaritan Act revised in Canada to provide immunity to those who call 911 in an overdose situation. Since Austin's death, Kurt's battle with addiction became more and more severe. He never got over his little brother's death and continued to blame himself. Kurt was a troubled soul who eventually died of an overdose himself last year.
Now, Christine says she is just tired. She is tired of the fighting the battle against drug overdose. Both of her boys are now gone, and she is working to find a new purpose for her life. Maybe she will continue working to fight against substance abuse or maybe her life will go in a new direction, but whatever she chooses, I know that her ability to keep helping others will be an inspiration to me and so many others.
For the first three months after Angela lost her daughter, Alonna, Angela said that she was in a fog and did not move. Alonna was shot and killed just as she was being dropped off to attend a bonfire at a friend's house. Unbeknownst to her, Alonna was arriving just as an altercation was beginning in the front yard. Angela's amazing, talented, and beloved daughter was gone, and Angela didn't know how to continue living herself. Months passed without Angela even being able to stay in her own home. Even getting up to shower was difficult. At some point, however, Angela had a realization. She thought, 'I need somebody and somebody needs me.' Angela needed help that only another bereaved mom could give her and knew that she could give other grieving moms help as well. After being unable to find a group for grieving moms, Angela started a monthly support group where grieving moms could gather and offer love and affirmation to each other. She named the organization 'Alonna's Song' in memory of her wonderful daughter. More recently, Angela realized that she could do more than help bereaved moms locally in her state of Indiana. She could be a link to connect grieving moms across the country and even around the globe. Angela says, "Maybe I don't have the exact right words that will give comfort to a mom in California, but perhaps a mom in Alabama does." I want to be the link that will bring those two women together. Through her podcast, Angel Moms... "Hopes of Heaven", Angela does just that. She shares stories of angel moms everywhere so we can support each other by hearing other stories of loss and hope. (This week, Angela interviews me.) Angela ends every episode of her podcast with a final question, 'Momma, what are your hopes for heaven?' Angela's personal answer is this. "It is my hope that heaven is having heaven be everything that I have ever read about heaven and more! My hope is to be totally blown away. My hope it that Alonna will be there waiting and that it will feel like no time has passed at all." Thank you, Angela. Those hopes are all of our hopes as well.
Silence is deafening. Freedom is imprisonment. These are the first words that today's guest, Suma, wrote in her journal after her 18-year-old daughter, Shrinidhi died. Although Shrinidhi was never able to walk, talk or even use her hands, the family's home was always bustling with noise and happiness. After Shrinidhi unexpectedly died in her sleep, the silence was indeed, deafening.
Since Shrinidhi's diagnosis of Rett syndrome at the age of 2, Suma's life revolved around helping her daughter live her best life. Suma was quite literally her daughter's hands, feet, and voice. When Shrinidhi decided that she wanted to become a published author, it was Suma who sat at her side as her daughter used her eyes on her communication device to write each exact word that she wanted. It might take hours for her to write a single sentence, but the two of them would sit together until it was perfect. Shrinidhi was even able to complete and actually publish her book as well as complete her high school diploma. Her accomplishments became an inspiration for girls with Rett Syndrome around the world. (To buy Shrinidhi's book, Extraordinary Wild Adventures on Amazon, click on link.
Since Shrinidhi died several months ago, Suma has struggled to find purpose. There are not more stories to help write, no homework to make sure she completes, no therapies and no doctor's appointments. In a way, Suma, is more 'free' than she has been for 18 years, but as Suma says, that freedom feels like 'imprisonment'. Suma feels lost. Her world was already isolated before her daughter's death, with her address book primarily consisting of doctors, nurses and therapists, but now, without Shrinidhi to care for, they are simply gone. The once small life now feels microscopic. That is her current struggle, to find purpose for her life after losing Shrinidhi. Right now, part of that purpose feels like reaching out to other moms whose medically fragile children have died so that perhaps they can find a bit of purpose together.
When I see a cardinal flying around me, I believe it is a little 'sign' of Andy. I have many stories of cardinals, including two recent ones that came just when I needed them. Friends of mine who are bereaved parents have similar stories of things that remind them of their children. Seeing hearts in nature, rainbows, and the colors orange and purple are just a few of them. Now I have another thing to add to the list - pacifiers. Yes, pacifiers.
I have spoken to a lot of dads over the past four years, but Vincent's Dad may be the proudest dad I have ever met. As a 33-year-old first time dad, Trent was ready to be a father. From the first moments of pregnancy, Vincent was treasured. Trent took hundreds of pictures of Vincent over his four months of life. Shortly before Vincent died of SIDS, Trent and Vincent played a little game together. Trent would put his pacifier in Vincent's mouth and then Vincent would quickly try to spit it out. Trent would push it back in and Vincent would start to spit it out again. On and on this little game continued much to the delight of both father and son.
The day that Vincent died was devastating for this new young family. There would be no new pictures and no more fun father-son games. Just as suddenly as the joy of fatherhood entered his life on the day Vincent was born, all of this joy was suddenly snatched away. Trent was in shock as he drove into the empty parking lot of the funeral home that would help the family care for Vincent's body. As he pulled into a spot, he spotted something in the middle of the parking space. He quickly stopped and jumped out of the truck. One word that came out of his mouth - Vincent. He bent down and picked up a pacifier. This was not just any pacifier, mind you. It was the exact type, color and size of Vincent's pacifier.
Now several months later, Trent still keeps that pacifier close by. It is a reminder of Vincent and the joy of fatherhood. It is a reminder of every precious day that Trent had with his son. Now, every time I see a pacifier, I too, will think of baby Vincent and his amazing dad.
*For more great stories and pictures, follow @grupata on Instgram
Ally's life changed in the blink of an eye just 6 months ago when her 20-year-old daughter and best friend, Cadence, was killed in a tragic car accident. Talking with Ally last month brought me back to those early days, weeks and months after losing Andy.
Outsiders may have a hard time understanding this, but after losing your child, you feel like you are living your whole life in a fog. Nothing about life makes sense anymore. Things, places and activities that brought you comfort and joy in the past suddenly don't anymore. You may even find yourself drawn to places that you used to avoid before the loss.
That's what really hit me when I was talking to Ally. She is trying to make sense of this new confusing world. She says that she initially thought after Cadence died, that she would never want to leave her hometown again. Cadence loved that small town in Colorado, and Ally thought she would want to spend every moment there. It turns out, however, that is not what Ally needs right now. In the 5 months between Cadence's death and our talk, Cadence has stayed in her own bed 10 nights. She has traveled all over, staying with friends and family, trying to figure out how to keep living. The place that she thought would give her peace, for now, just gives painful memories.
The key words in that last sentence are 'for now' because when you are grieving, things change so much. At first after Andy died, I did not want to go to our cottage up north. It was his favorite place in the world. Being there without him felt wrong and incredibly painful. Five years later, however, it is my favorite place to be. It brings me peace, and I feel him there with us as we go up as a family. Along the same note, when I think about visiting the cemetery, there have been times where it has brought comfort and I have gone several times in a week and other times, when it increased the pain and I avoided going for weeks at a time.
That is why being patient with ourselves is so important as we grieve. We don't know how to keep living, but we do, one day and one moment at a time.
Today's guest, Aga, compares her life of grief to living in a deep, dark forest. She says that she longs to see light. Occasionally, bits of light do find their way down through all of the darkness, but then, in an instant, the light disappears, and she is left in the darkness again. I love this analogy so much because it emphasizes the unpredictability of having those moments of light and how brief and fleeting they can often be. Aga will be the first to say that she had a stressful life when her son, Maks was alive. He was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome, and her life really revolved around getting him all of the care that he needed. There was constant anxiety. She wondered each day if she would get a call from school to come pick up Max if he was ill. Every holiday had back-up plans in case Max was sick or something else happened. Today, almost a year and a half after Maks' death at the age of 12, Aga has none of that stress and anxiety, and she hates it. She hates that she could now go to a movie after work or travel out of town with almost no notice. Friends from the outside likely think that the 'silver lining' of her son's sudden death is that she has gained freedom in her life. For Aga though, that freedom is suffocating, and she hates it. She longs for the anxiety of her former life when she was constantly worried about Maks. She feels lost without it. That brings me back to her amazing forest example because not only is Aga in the dark forest of grief, she is lost in the dark forest of grief. She no longer knows her purpose, has no idea where she is going, or even who she is anymore. This is why we need people to walk with us in the forest of grief. We need people who have navigated the forest for a while who will hold our hand when things get especially dark. These people will not have the answers to all of our questions, but they will stand beside us as we begin to figure out the answers for ourselves.
Five years later. There aren't words to describe the heaviness of this day. I got an email from my father-in-law saying that he felt like their lives ended when they received the phone call that night. I couldn't agree more. The family we are now is not the one we were 5 years ago. From the outside, we may look the same. We still go up north to the cottage, go tubing in the boat, and eat Grandpa's famous ribs, but we aren't the same. There is a hole there that people don't want to acknowledge. I often fear that Eric and I are the only ones who miss Andy, and then I get an email like that.
As I was 'preparing' for this horrible anniversary day last week, I told my therapist I was scared to invite other people to an event because I was afraid that no one would come. That very night, however, I was texted a picture proving that people outside our family miss Andy, too. The family of Andy's best friend, Joni, was at a Chelsea soccer game in Chicago, and Joni and his family were holding a huge sign which read, 'Rooting for our team, Andy.' They remembered and made a point to take Andy with them on a trip to see that team that Joni and Andy loved to cheer on together. Joni told me that they felt him there with them all night.
Ultimately, what I decided to do to honor Andy Tuesday was to have a Livestream with Eric and Gwen to talk about the day and share stories about Andy. I asked others to come on and watch and share a memory, but knew that if no one came, it would not really hurt as much as having an event with no one there. After the Livestream, I announced that we would go to the cemetery, but I had low expectations that anyone would come. I felt like I just needed to end my days there with Andy, getting a few hugs from people who loved him.
I was actually shocked, but more than 25 people came to give us hugs. I likely got more than 50 hugs and my heart felt just a little less heavy. These days are incredibly hard, but surrounding yourselves with people who love you can make it just a little easier. I'm just glad that I was brave enough to ask.
Every week before I release a new podcast episode, I listen to the full episode one last time in order to get one or two take-home points that I can write about to accompany the podcast release. I know that some people will never listen to the episode and only read these paragraphs either through Facebook, Instagram, or my email list. I have been told that sometimes listening is just too painful and reading the little introduction is all that people can handle.
Today, I have a problem. I would need 30 or 40 paragraphs in order to cover the key points of this episode. Karen's insights, although she is so early in her grief after losing her daughter, Ashley to lymphoma, are simply amazing. As I listened, I kept changing my mind about what the write-up should include. Karen just kept sharing nugget after nugget of priceless wisdom.
We talked about the fact that the body is amazing at what it can endure until it suddenly can't anymore. She shared the wisdom of her rabbi who said that she could not believe in a God who would cause Ashley's death to happen, but does believe in a God who is crying with us and surrounding us with the love that we need to get through the pain of her loss. We discuss the power of words and the difference between trauma and TRAUMA. The talk about how bittersweet is a term that does not do justice to either end of the emotional spectrum. The pain of your child being missing is excruciating, not just bitter, while the event we are celebrating can be amazing and not just sweet. We discuss the fact that we will never get to the other side of the tunnel of grief while we still live. We can definitely see beauty and even some light in the tunnel, but we will never see the light at the end of the tunnel.
By now, I think you see my dilemma. There is just too much to share in a concise way. There is only one answer. This is a podcast episode that you simply must listen to from beginning to end. It actually may even be a good idea to take out a pad of paper to jot down some notes. I know you won't regret it.
"I'm gonna leave." This is such an innocent phrase. It is something that Chester's son, Corban, likely said to his parents hundreds of times over his 21 years of life. It meant that he was going somewhere - to school, to the movies, maybe just out with friends. He was going somewhere specific.
That is why it was so healing for Chester when he learned that these were the last words that Corban said to the first responders seconds before he died. Corban had been in a car accident and had been speaking with the ambulance team as they were waiting for help to get him out of the car. He calmly said, "I'm gonna leave," and then he quietly took his last breath and died. Although the ambulance workers tried to save him and get him back, he was already gone.
That phrase is what gave Chester and his wife a little bit of peace in the most horrible time of their lives. If Corban said he was 'gonna leave,' it meant that he was going somewhere. His life wasn't just over; it was just continuing somewhere else. He wasn't on earth anymore, but he seemed to know at that moment that he was going on to heaven.
Only three weeks later, Chester started scribbling words down on a napkin based on these final words. These words became lyrics and a tune started forming in Chester's head. The first lines of the chorus are as follows:
If you say you're gonna leave, you're goin' somewhere
But the place we wanna be is where you are
After help from musicians and eventually a producer in Nashville, the final, beautiful song was completed - a song celebrating Corban's life and remembering that someday we will all be reunited 'somewhere' together. It was released as 'Gonna Leave' by CorbansDad just in time for Father's Day this year. What a wonderful tribute from a father to his amazing son. I guarantee listening will touch your heart. To learn more, visit www.corbansdad.com. To watch the YouTube video and hear 'Gonna Leave', click here.
When someone asked Elizabeth what her grief felt like in the months after her 9-week-old baby, Delia Grace died, she described it as if her body was on fire, but that the fire was invisible to others. She says that she tried to continue functioning, but that it was impossible to do the 'normal things of life' when you felt like you were on fire. You can't think. You can't focus. You can't understand what others are saying to you. It's just too painful to function.
Since Delia Grace died 7 years ago, Elizabeth and her family started an organization to help other bereaved families grieving the loss of a child called Forever Our Angel (foreverourangel.com). They send books free of charge to grieving families. They also sell a children's book (with or without stuffed book buddies) written by Elizabeth to help grieving children. There are resources all over the website introducing grieving families to retreats and other resources nationwide.
We as grieving parents have experienced tremendous suffering. As awful as that suffering is, however, we can and do learn from our suffering. As difficult as it is to admit, we can grow in our suffering. Suffering changes us. Not all of those changes have to be bad ones, however. Some of those changes can be good. They can make us better people.
One of my favorite lines from this week's podcast was when Elizabeth said, "We have a wealth of knowledge that but for our experience, we would not have been able to attain." Through her foundation and speaking to others, Elizabeth is doing a tremendous job teaching others to have compassion for those who grieve and suffer. Whenever Elizabeth is introduced to a newly bereaved parent, she says that her heart breaks a little inside. She doesn't want them to be here and experience this pain, but since they are, she wants them to know that she is there for them. Elizabeth says, "If you are here, you have me. You don't have to do this alone." That's what we all need, isn't it? A place to feel a little less alone in our suffering.
I first met today's guest, Destia, when I was a guest speaker for Lisa Boehm's Hope and Healing Together Community last year. I learned that Destia's son had died of Moyamoya disease, and that, in her grief, Destia was trying to educate the medical community about Moyamoya in order to help save lives. Destia decided to come on the podcast to continue this process of educating people about this rare genetic disorder as well as get to talk about her amazing son.
After recording, I often hear back from guests and continue emailing them. In fact, some of my closest friendships today started as those email exchanges. I was a little surprised to hear from Destia, however, as she told me that she was concerned that she didn't show enough emotion during the interview. She wrote, "I am really broken over my son's death two+ years ago, but I might have only shown my gratefulness that we had him as long as we did. In other words, I did not show my deep grief."
I quickly reassured her that I thought it was lovely and that Aaron would be so proud of her, but her words did make me a little sad. They didn't make me sad because I thought the interview was anything but great. It made me sad because all of us as bereaved parents feel so much pressure to show just the right amount of sadness to the world. Over the last 4 years, I know I have occasionally had comments from listeners that they stopped listening for a while because I was not sad enough. I have had other times when I have felt like I have been too emotional during a specific episode.
I am actually quite thankful that Destia wrote that to me because it reminds me that all of us show our emotions differently on any given day. I am in a group text of bereaved moms and one of them asked today if there were certain days where we just felt like we were on the verge of tears all day. Many of us quickly responded yes to that question. There are other days, however, when we do feel a bit more 'together'. On those days, we may seem more thankful than sad. Today, I am reminded that both are perfectly fine and completely normal.
When starting this podcast almost 4 years ago now, I had a goal. I wanted to create a resource for bereaved parents, a platform for parents to tell stories of their children and their personal grief journeys. I wanted it to feel safe and encouraging, offering a little bit of hope as they traversed through the dark, lonely road of grief.
I realized while recording this special 200th episode that we have together created so much more than a resource. We have created a community. As Gwen read each child's name out loud this week, images flew through my mind - a picture of a child or family, a favorite color, a sport or sports team. Some of these images brought tears to my eyes while others a bit of a smile, but they all brought a sense of community.
During recording, I talk quite a long time about how I think of Caleb and Chrisy (Ep. 19: Caleb's Mom) whenever I see the color orange. As I sat down that afternoon to edit the episode outside on my deck, an unusual bright orange butterfly landed beside me and sat for a bit. It was gone before I had time to snap a picture, but I thought about Caleb immediately. Later, I went to therapy, and as I was leaving looked up at the calendar that hung by the exit - another orange butterfly - Caleb again.
That evening, I went to golf league and my partner was using bright orange golf balls. (Oh my word! Caleb again!) I reached into my bag and picked out 2 bright yellow Callaway Supersoft balls (my favorite brand) that Eric had recently found for me. I immediately thought of my friend Laura and her Luke (Ep. 102: Luke's Mom). If Caleb was to be represented on the golf course, then Luke was going to be as well. Luke loved yellow just as much as Caleb loved orange.
Then, things got even crazier. I am not a good golfer. The idea of me getting par is unusual, and a birdie is almost unthinkable, but on the night before Andy died, I did just that. I got a birdie in Ladies League. It had not happened since and I sort of thought it was a gift from God that would never happen again. On the third hole of the night, however, I hit a great tee shot. My second shot was even better - 140 yards right on the green rolling closer and closer to the hole until stopping a mere 15 inches from the hole. Could it be? Could I really hit another birdie on the day I recorded episode 200? As I tapped in the birdie putt with my yellow 'Luke' ball, I almost started to cry.
I shared with the women that I was golfing with the story of my last birdie and the fact that I had just recorded episode 200. We all teared up, feeling like it was a little gift from God and Andy. I then decided to share my orange stories from the day with the ladies. One of the women then said that she also loves the color orange. She had an orange wedding, showed me her orange phone and even just bought a cottage on Orange Ave. As we finished the round, she noticed an orange golf ball sitting near the cart path. She immediately picked it up to hand it to me. Before even looking, I knew it would be an orange Callaway Supersoft. It had to be - a gift to me from Caleb on my special day. As we sat down to dinner outside, our cloth napkins and centerpieces were - you guessed it - orange.
We ate dinner and then went to try some dessert. Apparently, there were amazing cupcakes that evening. Looking at the cupcake types, I thought I would cry again. Sitting on the table were three lemon cupcakes. It seems that Caleb finally gave Andy a 'turn' to give me a gift. You see, Andy's favorite type of cake is lemon. We always had lemon cake for his birthday. The last time we ate lemon cake together was that night almost 5 years ago when I had my birdie. We celebrated Valeriano's birthday with a lemon bundt cake that Andy helped me buy. Less than a week later, we would serve lemon cake at his funeral. And now, on the day I recorded episode 200, I got to eat the best lemon cupcake I have ever tasted.
There are some days when I wonder if I should keep doing the podcast or if I should give it up. Listener numbers that had been steadily increasing had become a bit more flat recently. Were people still interested or had the podcast run its course? Then I have days like this when I have my answer. It does not matter if I have thousands or dozens of downloads in a given week. The people who listen are meant to be there. They are meant to be a part of my community. These children impact my life and the lives of all who listen. Today, I got special little gifts from Caleb, Luke, and Andy. I like to think maybe they were all planning it together in heaven.
Andy's Mom. These are such sweet words for me to hear. When today's guest, Mary, wrote me a few weeks ago, and she introduced herself as Andy's Mom, we had an instant connection. She was not Andrew's Mom or Drew's Mom; she was Andy's Mom, and I immediately had tears in my eyes just reading the words. I recently had a Caleb's Mom write to me to tell me how listening to another Caleb's Mom on the podcast affected her. I have had other moms say similar things. I had experienced something close to this when I spoke with Andrew's Mom a few weeks ago, but this was even more precious. This was Andy's Mom.
I was not surprised that this story touched me uniquely. As Mary talked about 'her' Andy, I found myself thinking about 'my' Andy. I compared them. How were they alike? How were they different? As 'her' Andy died when he was 35 years old and starting his career as a dentist, I thought more specifically about what 'my' Andy may have been like had he reached his adult years. What would he have chosen for a career? Where would he have lived? Would he have found someone to share his life with? Would he be like Mary's Andy and just be started to find his stride and peak in life?
As I approach episode 200 next week, I am even more struck by the idea that stories touch us in very special ways. Sharing our stories with each other helps our children live on in the hearts and minds of others. As I write these words, tears are streaming down my face. Hearing other stories, as tragic as they are, binds us together. Now, I have the story of another Andy in my heart, this one an Andy who dies tragically a bit older and in the prime of his life. It doesn't even stop there, however. I have the stories of Caleb, Garret, Eleni, Luke, and Parker in my heart. I have the stories of Brogan, Taylor, Angelo, Dakota, and Alex. I have all these stories and dozens upon dozens more, those whose stories are on the podcast and those shared with me through email or the support group. Thank you to all of those who are willing to share to help others feel not quite so alone in their grief.
I love how timing so often works out perfectly. Tracy should have been on the podcast months ago, but due to computer issues, this episode comes out one week after our coping strategies one. Tracy's daughter, Katie, was a girl with a smile that would light up a room. She was an inspiration to many as an amazing friend, mother, and police officer. In fact, Tracy said that Katie was so kind that when she would make an arrest, by the time they got to the police station, the arrested person would be apologizing to Katie for not being nicer to her.
After Katie was killed in the line of duty, Tracy felt incredibly alone. Tracy shared that her feelings of grief and loneliness led her to turn to alcohol to numb the pain. Using a combination of alcohol and prescription anti-anxiety medication, Tracy tried to push away all of the feelings thinking that this strategy would help her grief. Over time, however, Tracy realized how wrong she was.
What really struck me is the way that Tracy got out of this self-destructive cycle. It is like she took Jami's three keys from last week on how to cope when grieving and put them into action. This is, of course, not the case. Tracy turned her journey around many months ago now and I actually had that conversation with Jami several weeks after this interview. When listening to Tracy again though, I see just how true Jami's words were.
Tracy showed all three points perfectly. First, Tracy was gentle with herself. She didn't stop drinking all at once. She slowly started drinking less and replaced the drinking with positive coping strategies. Second - Tracy found a community to support her. She joined an AA group of grievers and became especially close with other grieving moms. Third - She started moving her body. Tracy had a good friend and a fellow grieving mom invite her to start walking, and they began to faithfully walk each day. It was only after this that the alcohol and drug use was able to totally go away.
I know that Katie is smiling down from heaven, proud that her mom is now an inspiration to others as well.
After the death of a child, grieving parents continue to function. We get up out of bed (most days). We usually shower. We eat at least something. Some of us even try to work. How do we do it? We cope and each person has different coping strategies that we rely on to use during these dark times. I remember so many people saying to me after Andy died, "You are so strong. I would never be able to do what you are doing." Honestly, those comments really just made me mad. I didn't know how to 'do' anything. There isn't a choice. If those people were in my shoes, they would be functioning as well. They may do better and they may do worse, but they would function in some way because there is no other option. Having said that, there are good ways to healthy ways to cope and maladaptive ways to cope after the loss of a child, and that's what we dove into this week. Special guest Jami opens up to us about the unhealthy way that she relied on alcohol during the first year after losing her son, Judson, and how over this past year, she has learned to make healthier decisions for herself in her grief. My absolute favorite part of today's podcast is when Jami went over her three keys for early grievers. They are listed below: 1.) Grace - Be gentle with yourself. Know that tomorrow is a new day. Don't beat yourself up about making a poor decision today. You are doing the best that you can! 2.) Community - Find a group of people who will support you unconditionally. Oftentimes, this is a community of other grievers and not your family or current friends. 3.) Movement - This does not mean that you need to run for miles or do an hour of yoga. Even two minutes of deep breathing and stretching can get your body moving and help with your grief. These keys can help soften the edges and make this grief journey just a tiny bit easier.
This week's episode was an emotional one for me as will be quite obvious to anyone listening. As I was listening one last time before releasing it, I think I realized why this week's guest impacted me so intensely. I felt like I was talking to myself 20 years from now. There were so many similarities between our boys and our lives, but Linda is almost 26 years into her grief journey while I am just about to hit the 5-year mark.
The first similarity that I noticed was that Linda's son, Adam, was a pilot and my Andy dreamed of becoming one. Both of our sons were killed in tragic accidents in the month of August, Adam in a plane crash and Andy in a car accident, Even the town where Adam crashed his plane was significant. Adam's plane went down on a street in New Richmond, Wisconsin, the town where I lived and went to school from 2nd to 6th grade. We even both set up scholarships in our boys' names after their deaths. Every part of Linda's story seemed to speak to me directly.
What seemed to hit me more than anything though was when Linda talked about living 26 years without Adam. She said that at the time of Adam's death, she couldn't imagine living 26 years without Adam. Honestly, I have a hard time believing I have almost gone 5 years now. I still can't wrap my head around 26 years. How will I be then? What will I be doing? How will the grief feel then? Will it be less intense? Is it OK if it is less intense? Will I feel more joy than I do now? Is it OK to feel more joy?
As all of these questions ran through my head, it seems that Linda had many of the answers. Some time back, her husband sent Linda's journal to a professional writer along with some of his own writings to get some advice. Her journal was almost added as an afterthought, but as soon as she read it, this author knew that Linda had a story that needed to be told. She had so much to share with grieving parents, so many answers to questions. Now, Linda's amazing book, Healing Reflections for a Grieving Mom's Heart, is available on Amazon. This book will help so many grieving hearts - mine included.
Each week, I usually find one main takeaway point from the podcast episode. After talking with Chris though, I learned two key things. As much as I tried to get it down to one point, I couldn't leave one out. They were both equally important.
The first lesson Chris learned many years before she even had Becca, she was in the Pediatric ICU with one of the cardiac children that her family fostered from Korea. While there, Chris witnessed a family with a perfectly healthy child who went in for what was supposed to be a very simple medical procedure that resulted in many complications eventually leading to severe, irreversible brain damage. As Chris sat witnessing this horror, she found herself asking the question, 'Why?" As she pondered, Chris realized that she would never be able to answer that question and that it was not worth her time to even ask it. This was tremendously helpful to Chris later in life when raising many children with congenital heart disease, and even more so, after she lost her sweet daughter, Becca.
The second lesson that Chris learned was much further into her grief journey. Chris found that in these last few years without Becca, she was becoming tired of her grief, and maybe even a little angry with grief. She felt like grief was her enemy, affecting her life negatively. She then had a profound thought. She had heard many people say over the years that grief is love. This definitely felt like a true statement. Certainly, the reason that she grieved her daughter so much was because of her overwhelming love for Becca. Chris thought, 'If grief is a manifestation of this love, then maybe grief misses Becca, too. Maybe grief shouldn't be my enemy. Maybe grief can be my friend.'
What a life-changing realization. Now, the challenges that I am giving to myself are to:
1.) Stop asking 'why' all of this has happened to Andy and my family, and
2.) Think of my grief as a 'friend' to keep beside me, not an enemy to hold at bay.
After Greg and Cathy's adult son died unexpectedly by suicide, every part of their lives was impacted by the grief. Day-to-day tasks seemed almost impossible. They were now looking at the world through the lens of grief. Cathy says that some days she would drive to the grocery store only to sit in the parking lot for a few minutes, realize that it would just be too hard, and then drive back home again. Now, many people said to Cathy during these first weeks and months, "Call me if you need anything." The logical thing for Cathy to do while she was sitting in that parking lot would have been to call one of those friends and ask if they could meet her at the store or even go to the store for her, but in that moment, it was impossible for Cathy to use the lens of logic. Her emotions were out of control focusing on everything that she could not do at that moment. Thinking of a 'logical' solution was impossible so she just drove back home knowing that she would have to do without the groceries. This is just one of the many reasons that Greg and Kathy felt called to start a ministry of their own in order to educate the public about child loss to help them understand a little bit about what grieving parents go through each and every day. They started an organization called The Empty Chair Endeavor and recently launched a podcast entitled 'Hope After Child Loss' in order to give parents a platform to tell their personal stories of faith and grief. We may not be able to put down our own grief lens to look through the logic lens as the world around us does, but Greg and Cathy hope that their ministry will give listeners a little glimpse of what it feels like to look at life through the lens of grief.
One of the most commonly asked questions that I get from listeners is, 'How do I help my surviving children in their grief?' and even more specifically, 'How do I help my grieving teen?' When I was contacted by Olivia's dad a few weeks ago, I initially wondered if her story was one that would resonate with my listeners. As I continued reading, however, I realized how much Olivia had to offer. She is a grieving teen. She did not lose a sibling, but she lost her mom and best friend and knows grief in a way that few teens do. I knew that we had to talk more.
Early in Olivia's grief journey, she says that she felt like everything in her life was out of control. All she wanted was to get a little bit of that control back. She did this in very unique ways. First of all, she blasted karaoke songs in her room singing at the top of her lungs. Secondly, she started dying her hair all sorts of colors. Now from the outside, Olivia admits that others probably thought that she was acting crazy and not at all dealing with her grief, but that was exactly how Olivia needed to grieve. Singing at the top of her lungs released emotion and dying her hair made her feel in control of something when her world seemed to be spinning.
The third thing that helped Olivia in her grief was writing poetry. She says that shortly after her mom died, she began suffering from horrible abdominal pain. After ruling out medical causes for her pain, Olivia was the one to realize that grief was the cause. She started noticing that as she wrote more and more, her belly pain subsided. It was then that Olivia really started thinking about how her experience might help other teens. She turned her poetry into a book that she self-published through Amazon which she titled, 'Healing Our Wounded Hearts: A real-life story about loss in the voice of a teenager.' She hopes that her words can help other teens know that they are not alone as they grieve. Olivia's honesty is so amazing and inspiring. Thank you, Olivia, for your loving heart.
Resilience is a word that we don't often think about before encountering tragedy. When we see people face difficult trials and then go on to triumph, people call them resilient, but what is resilience? How would we define resilience? As I was preparing for this podcast, I thought that I should probably look up a true definition so I did just that. Merriam-Webster discusses the word resilience in this way: 'In physics, resilience is the ability of an elastic material to absorb energy (such as from a blow) and release that energy as it springs back to its original shape. The recovery that occurs in this phenomenon can be viewed as analogous to a person's ability to bounce back after a jarring setback. Wow! That definition really blew me away. I love the visual of absorbing energy as if from a blow because that is exactly what it feels like when our child dies. It is a tremendous blow that knocks us off our feet. We fear that we will never be able to get up again. We might not be able to go on living. When we go through child loss, it feels like we receive blow after blow, again and again. That is where our resilience comes in. Even though we don't think we will be able to go on, somehow, we do. Somehow, we get out of bed. Somehow, life continues. We are not the same by any means, but we survive as we attempt to go back to something close to our original shape. Today, Gwen and I discuss five key areas that impact our resilience and ability to continue living after tragedy. Thinking about these different points can help as we attempt to move forward through the pain of child loss. Our resilience can assist us so that we to not simply crumple up into a ball and whither away as a result of this great blow, but that we instead retain some of our shape and release positive energy back to those around us.
Since starting the podcast, I have often discussed how the mind and body are closely intertwined and how during our grief, one affects the other. Grief doesn't just make us sad. It impacts every aspect of our lives including our bodies. Just a few weeks ago, Gwen and I did an entire episode focusing on how our bodies are affected by grief. As we were preparing for that episode, Gwen suggested talking with today's guest, Cindi, due to her expertise in the area. Unfortunately, numerous scheduling difficulties made that impossible, but after talking with Cindi, I now understand why Gwen felt so strongly about having Cindi on the podcast. Cindi is a nurse by training so knew a lot about the functioning of the body. She was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis as a teen so knew the medical system long before her nursing training even started. I think all of us instinctively know that there is a body-mind connection, but it is not something that is really taught in Western medicine. We learn a disease model and are taught which medications or procedures to use in order to cure the disease state. When Cindi's newborn daughter, Jessica, died during childbirth, Cindi really began to see just how much grief and stress impacted her physical health. She was living in chronic stress and although the body is amazingly resilient in many ways, it can only adapt and compensate so much. For Cindi, the chronic stress eventually led to liver failure which forced her to stop taking her arthritis meds. No arthritis medication meant that even getting out of bed was almost impossible. On the advice of a trainer, Cindi turned to functional medicine for answers and it completely changed her life. Now, Cindi's body and mind are both healthy, and she truly feels like she has an understanding of how grief and other life stresses affect the body. She works with individuals and their doctors to help them find a way to help their bodies find a state of wellness. To learn more, join Cindi's Wellness Warriors Facebook group or email her at cindiraymond@onpurposeLLC.org.
When listening to today's episode, you will likely not believe the number of times the word 'hope' is spoken. From the very first day that Jimmy's 22-year-old son, Lee, was killed in a car accident 16 years ago, Jimmy has clung to hope. Initially, that hope was given to him by another bereaved father who stayed with him in his home after Lee died. He said that although Jimmy could not feel it at that moment, the pain would not always be so intense and that his family would experience joy again. This was Jimmy's first glimpse of hope. In the coming months and years, Jimmy's grief was intense. There were days when he did not think he could survive the pain, but that little glimmer of hope remained. His faith never abandoned him, and he would constantly remind himself of Psalm 118:24 - This is the day that the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. Each day, he would make the decision to choose joy. This did not mean that he did not grieve deeply. Jimmy cried daily and would allow the waves of grief to come. After those periods of deep mourning, however, he would feel just a bit better. Over time, that hope grew stronger and the joyful moments became more frequent. Jimmy relates that years after Lee's death, their first grandchild was born. He remembers looking into his wife's eyes that day and seeing pure joy resonating there for the first time since the accident. It had taken years, but it was there. That does not mean that Jimmy has left his grief behind. It is always right there with him. He even apologized before we started recording, telling me that he would not be able to tell Lee's story without tears. That's what makes Jimmy's words so precious to me. If Jimmy were to tell me just to feel joy and forget about the pain, I would have cast him aside. If he had told me to cling to my grief and never feel joy again, I would not be able to feel any hope for the future. Jimmy, however, allows us to experience both. His parting words to me today were, 'There is hope for joy in your life again. Hold on to hope. Don't give up.'
When listening to the story of Donna's son, Andrew, I was immediately struck with how his life was touched by God. That is not to say Andrew didn't encounter difficulties. In fact, quite the opposite is true. God seemed to shut door after door in his face, but would at the exact right moment, open a window for life to take a new path. Andrew obediently crawled through each window. From a young age, Andrew dreamed of being an Air Force pilot. As he grew taller, he was eventually told that he would be too tall to be a fighter pilot. He was crushed, but soon afterward, God opened that window. He started going on church mission trips and met a missionary pilot. He found his answer - he could combine his love for flying with doing work in the mission field. After high school, he packed up and moved from Colorado to Spokane, Washington, to train to be a missionary pilot. Then, another door closed. His log book that he had to keep meticulous records in to become a pilot was stolen not once, but twice. In the meantime, he had started volunteering at Peak 7 Adventures, and God opened a window. Peak 7 is a faith-based non-profit providing outdoor adventures to under-resourced young people. He found a new purpose in life. He taught climbing and was a guide for white water rafting. Over 4 years, he spent more than 4500 hours teaching, loving, and encouraging young people. Even as he thought about returning home to Colorado, God intervened, and Andrew met and eventually married his soul mate, Emily. Stories like these are weaved throughout today's episode, but it certainly seemed like Andrew's final door was closed when he died suddenly from a fall just as he was getting ready to work on repairs in a local climbing area. As much as it felt like the end, however, Donna can now see that even in Andrew's death, a few smaller windows opened for others to crawl through. Peak 7 started a new program, naming it after Andrew. Fellow climbers continued the work Andrew started by replacing old, rusty pins in the climbing areas around Spokane. Donna started going through windows as well. Initially, she went to a local GriefShare, then to a bereaved moms group 30 miles away. Next, Donna went through training to become a small group facilitator. Now, she hosts bereaved moms in her own home several times a year, giving them love and support as they suffer the worst pain a mother could know. Thank you, God, for both doors and windows.
Today's episode is the long-awaited Ask Me Anything episode. Virtually all of the submitted questions were for my husband. Perhaps this should not be surprising. I am pretty much an open book on the podcast and am very open with my emotions. Dads can very much be a mystery when it comes to grief. They tend to hold their thoughts and feelings much closer to the chest than moms do. This point was on full display throughout the episode.
Tomorrow is Andy's 19th birthday. It should be the first birthday being away from home. He should be starting to stress out a little about his upcoming college finals. I should be telling him to let the family drive out to pick him up from his dorm for a couple of hours to take him to a birthday dinner. I should be bringing Lemon Bundt Cake for him to eat with all of his friends.
Instead, this is the 5th birthday that we have had to celebrate without him and it is not getting easier. In fact, I would argue that this is the hardest one yet. Five years. Five years is a milestone. If you work at a job, we often celebrate after every five years. Wedding anniversaries. Class reunions. They are all celebrated in 5-year increments. This isn't something I want to celebrate. Over the next few months, we will hit the fifth Mother's Day, the fifth Father's Day, the fifth 4th of July, and finally, on August 15th, the 5-year anniversary of his death.
I have been overwhelmed with emotions all week. Yesterday, I even had to take 45 minutes from work and leave. This brings us back to the differences between us as Eric answered questions that listeners posed. I talked about my emotionality this week and Eric admitted that he really isn't feeling that bothered by the upcoming birthday. Now, he may have trouble on Friday, but he doesn't feel anything close to what I have been experiencing. While I am a blubbering mess, he seems totally normal.
The craziest part is that when he admitted that he wasn't upset and showed no emotion while we were recording, I actually found myself getting a little mad. I just wanted someone to experience this pain with me, and it seemed like it should be Eric. Yesterday, when I was falling apart and had to leave work, he is not one that I texted to give me support. I texted other bereaved moms and called a friend, but I did not reach out to Eric.
A few hours later, I got a text from Eric out of the blue that said, 'Virtual hug.' I assumed that one of my friends that sent him a message that I was having a hard day and had called, but it turns out no one had. I told him about my horrible morning and asked how he knew that I needed that 'hug' if nobody had told him. He answered, "I do listen, you know."
I guess that's the lesson that I needed to learn. Dads may not feel the pain in the same way that Moms do, but it does not mean that they don't care or that they aren't listening. Eric heard my pain and even though he didn't show it on the outside, he cared about how I was feeling. I need to remember that we don't need to feel things in the same way. In fact, our grief journeys can't be the same. We just still need to quietly support each other, even if it is with a simple virtual hug.
When 13-month-old, Elizabeth was diagnosed with cancer, her parents immediately turned to traditional medicine as most parents do. She had a very aggressive, rare brain tumor that required risky surgery. After the surgery, Elizabeth started chemotherapy. After a brief remission, the tumor returned, and they tried more chemotherapy. After Elizabeth's second relapse, she was 3 years old, therefore qualifying for radiation which gave Elizabeth her longest remission yet - more than two years, but again the tumor returned.
During this time, traditional medicine began to run out of options and Katie began to wonder, 'Is there something else out that that I can offer my child?' She talked to another parent in a similar circumstance who told her about the practice of Seimei. Katie was told about an open session nearby that was occurring that very night. This is how Katie and Elizabeth began their Seimei journey. Seimei can be defined as 'a Japanese way of healing through awakened energy.'
After that first session, Elizabeth began to move and run better than she ever had. Katie knew that she had to learn more for Elizabeth to start the treatments at home as well. Katie did just that, learning more about Seimei to give her daughter a bit of relief. When all traditional medicine methods had been exhausted and doctors gave Elizabeth only 2 weeks to live, Katie had to rely on Seimei completely. This healing practice gave Katie and Elizabeth nine more incredible months together before Elizabeth died.
Now Katie would be the first to tell you not to abandon traditional medicine, but she would say, and I would agree with her, that there is much about the mind and the soul that we do not understand. There is a power there that is often ignored. This power impacted Katie so much that she did not give up Seimei the day that Elizabeth took her final breath. She now spreads this knowledge and method of healing to others through her own business. You can find Katie at seimeihealing.com and even look for her book in the coming month.
Today’s guest, Elizabeth, has learned much in the years since her 8-year-old daughter, Erin, was killed while on a hike in the mountains near Vancouver. It was three days before Christmas, and suddenly, life was destroyed. Her perfect little family of four was gone. She was left with her husband and 10-year-old son, trying to decide if Santa should still bring presents for a dead child. After Erin’s death, Elizabeth says that she felt like she was living in a paradox between holding on and letting go. She felt the overwhelming need to hold on to all of the memories of Erin and not allow herself to forget even little things about her. On the other hand, however, she felt that it was important to let go and not focus too much on the past so that she could live and feel joy in the present. Over the years, Elizabeth has met many bereaved parents and learned that no one grieves in exactly the same way. We each need to understand ourselves and make decisions that are best for us personally. Some parents may want to surround themselves with their children’s pictures or belongings to help them feel close, while for others, doing so might bring more pain. Each person’s journey is their own - there is no wrong choice. There is one thing, however, that Elizabeth has learned with certainty. ‘Loss is a part of life,’ Elizabeth says. When going through life, it is impossible to avoid suffering. How do we handle the suffering and go on living after the unthinkable has happened? That is the question that each individual has to answer for themselves.
After talking with hundreds of bereaved parents over the past four years, we all seem to hold one fear in common. We are all scared, no matter how young or old our child was when they died, that over time, they will be forgotten. We are afraid that we are the only people who will remember our children. Many parents, myself included, set up foundations in our child's name to help them be remembered hoping that through the organization, they can live on. When someone goes out of their way to honor one of our children without our prompting, it is truly a gift. We know that our children were valued by others when they take the time to do something truly memorable in honor of them. That is a gift that today's guest Allison was given after her son, Noah, died suddenly from meningococcal meningitis. After Noah died, Allison gave the helmet that he wore as a plumber's apprentice back to the shop where he worked. Noah had worked for a large company, Dean-Lane Contractors, and was the youngest apprentice ever hired there. At 21 years of age, he had already been with the company for three years and was loved by all. After Noah's death, the company quietly took care of many of the family's expenses, but the most precious thing that they did came as a total shock to Allison. As she walked through the front door of the shop one day, just inside the entrance was a massive picture of Noah sitting with his helmet and vest as well. Allison was in complete shock. She said to the boss as he came to greet her, " I can't believe that you just put that front and center in your massive company." He responded, "Well, where else would we put him? He belongs here." Just hearing her tell this story brought me to tears, This is what we want. We want our children to be honored and remembered. We want their lives to have mattered. We want others to smile just a little when they think of how they lived. Now, Allison knows that the employees and visitors to Dean-Lane Contractors have an opportunity to think of Noah each and every day as they walk through the front door.
Thinking back to the first hour after Andy died, I remember being in the emergency room and having such tremendous chest pain that I thought I must be having a heart attack. The ER staff actually put me through the CT scanner and obtained an EKG, but there was nothing physically wrong. Emotionally, however, everything was wrong. Andy was dead, and my whole world felt like it had been destroyed. All the turmoil in my mind manifested itself into physical pain.
What might seem crazy to some people is in the days and weeks following Andy’s death, I almost wanted to feel physical pain. For most of my life, I have suffered with having migraine headaches. I have tried many treatments over the years to help prevent them. After Andy died, however, I actually wanted to have a migraine. I wanted my physical pain to match my emotional pain.
In today’s episode with Gwen, we discuss how interconnected the body and mind can be. It is easy to fall into the trap that I was in and not want to take care of our physical bodies, but when we work on helping our physical bodies, our mental health often improves as well. I know that recently I have faced emotional struggles and going on a walk helps a lot more than curling up in bed.
Erin (from Episode 134: Dakota’s Mom) comes on today to talk about yoga and its impact on her healing. From Erin’s website, yogawitherinb.com: ‘Yoga came into my life when I was so stressed out and carrying an injury and has aided in the transformation to the person I am now happy to be. I no longer just live in a black-and-white world. Colour has returned and I am able to live, love and celebrate.’
I have personally done several yoga sessions with Erin and always find them healing. Now, Erin is putting together an amazing retreat that will take place in Mexico at the end of October. In the retreat, bereaved moms will be able to be together and work on things like yoga, breath work, and healthy eating as well as have time to connect and even have some fun. I’m sure it will be life-changing for all.
A Thousand Pounds. That's what today's guest, Bri, decided to name the book that she wrote 14 years after suddenly losing her 10 1/2-month-old son, Lach (available here). When Bri was thinking about what the pain of child loss felt like, she describes it as if you were suddenly asked to carry a thousand pounds with you everywhere you went. Even now, she does not think that the thousand pounds are gone or even that the load is lighter. It’s just that over time you get a lot better at carrying it. The moment that Bri lost Lach, her life changed forever. As much as she didn’t want to be one, she was a bereaved mom and would be for the rest of her life. Shortly after Lach’s death, Bri was introduced to a mom who lost three of her eight children when they were hit by a car. She shared her story with Bri, and sat and listened as Bri told hers. She was struck by the honesty of this older, experienced bereaved mom. She did not sugar-coat anything and admitted to Bri that she would feel the pain of losing Lach forever. However, she was not a sad, broken woman. She radiated compassion and love. Bri thought, ‘If I have to be a bereaved mom, I want to be a bereaved mom like that.' She didn’t have the choice of whether she was a bereaved mom. That had already been decided, but now Bri did get to decide what to do with that grief moving forward. She decided that out of her ashes, God could help her create something beautiful. Over the last 14 years, Bri has done just that. In addition to her book, Bri and her family created Lach’s Legacy, an organization that works to bring ‘connection, comfort and hope to families after the unexpected loss of an infant’ for families in South Dakota. In addition, the organization raises money used for research in SIDS research. Through her own pain, Bri is helping to create a little bit of hope for those in the depths of despair.
Today's guests Myron and Jenny would probably say that they had a pretty blessed life before August 2015. They had both grown up in the church. They had two amazing sons, Caleb and Jacob, who they brought up in the faith as well. In fact, on the night their boys got in their car accident, the whole family had volunteered at a church event. Caleb and Jacob had driven separately and stayed a bit longer for some last-minute cleanup, but the parents expected the boys to arrive home shortly after they did. Unfortunately, their truck was struck by a drunk driver. Jacob was instantly killed while Caleb suffered life-threatening injuries.
Their lives were turned completely upside down. They tried to balance mourning Jacob's death with being present for Caleb as he recovered in the hospital from a traumatic brain injury. Although during the first weeks and months, they often felt like they were in a fog, they had an amazing church family to support them. They clung to their faith and slowly began to find some new purpose in their lives. Myron began speaking before young people on the dangers of drunk driving while Jenny turned inward and began to write. During the pandemic when the whole world seemed to shut down and isolate, Jenny started a blog and even published her book, 'God Prints: Finding Evidence of God in the Shattered Pieces of Life.' (Learn more about Jenny, her journey, and her plans for the future on her website, jennyleavitt.com.)
When I asked today's guests, Myron and Jenny, to give some closing words for today's episode, Myron said that he just wanted people to know that there is always hope. Even when life seems so dark and you might feel like giving up, don't do it. Myron and Jenny are constantly sharing their story with others in order to help show others that they are not alone and that hope can defeat the darkness. Myron says he wants people to look at their lives and say, "If Myron and Jenny can get through this, so can I."
Today’s guest, Krysten’s oldest son, Ty, loved being in nature. Having recently graduated from high school in California, he had planned to go out to Colorado to enjoy the mountains and hike before enlisting in the Navy. Then the unthinkable happened. On September 2, 2019, Ty went on one of his frequent hiking trips with friends and died when he fell in a freak accident. Krysten and her family were shocked and devastated. Throughout the episode today, Krysten relates how now, 3 1/2 years later, she is struggling to find her purpose. Should she work to make trails safer? Should she train to become a grief counselor? Should she find some other grand purpose for her life moving forward? She reminds me so much of the moms I have talked to over the years. She places this pressure on herself to do more. As I continued listening to Krysten, I began to see how little credit she is giving herself. She shared that on her birthday, she joined Facebook and on her very first post, decided to raise money for the search and rescue team that found Ty. Over 2 weeks, she raised $2500. Every year on the anniversary of Ty's death, she has ’TyFest’ where Ty’s friends gather to play soccer and reminisce about Ty. Every year it looks a little different, but she continues to honor and remember him. In addition, Krysten enjoys nature more herself and will go on hikes to places Ty would have enjoyed. On each special trip, Krysten sprinkles just a few of Ty’s ashes along the way. To Krysten, all of these things might seem small and insignificant, but together they are already giving her purpose. They are all honoring her amazing son, Ty. Even sharing his life with others on the podcast helps to give her a little purpose as well. I hope that Krysten can help to show all of us that finding purpose doesn’t have to be big. It can be quiet, soft, and beautiful.
When Elizabeth found out she was pregnant with twins, she was overjoyed. Then Elizabeth and her husband learned one of their babies had significant birth defects. They had a life-changing decision to make. They could carry one healthy baby and sacrifice the second or try to carry both babies risking the health of both. In an instant, they decided Elizabeth would carry both twins and trust God to care for them. Elizabeth knew that baby Joseph may not be healed, but he was. He had numerous surgeries, but miraculously, was home from the hospital in less than 8 weeks. Both boys grew up to be happy and healthy. They shared a room together, sat next to each other at school, and played numerous sports together. Elizabeth thought that she knew her life’s testimony. Joseph was a living miracle. They trusted in God and were blessed. Joseph would proudly show off his surgical scars, knowing that his life was a miracle. Almost 3 years ago, however, everything changed. Joseph was killed in an ATV accident on the farm with his brother at his side. Elizabeth was devastated. She fell into deep depression. Elizabeth had her faith tested in those days, weeks, and months after losing Joseph, but God did not abandon her. She clung to the fact that Jesus wept, and she allowed herself to weep as well. If you ask Elizabeth today how to get through the first weeks and months after child loss, she will tell you to read your Bible and get a good psychologist. Surround yourself with people who support you and will offer love and encouragement. Every day, Elizabeth reminds herself of this truth - God will have good come from this. Since the accident, Elizabeth and her family have seen good happen after Joseph's tragic death. They started the Joseph Warlick Memorial Foundation (@allinforever11 on Facebook/Instagram) to keep Joseph's sweet spirit and love for soccer alive. They partnered with TOPSoccer to start a local soccer team for children with special needs. For Elizabeth, game nights are her favorite of the week, and she knows that seeing kids having fun playing soccer would make Joseph smile.
If Brooke was asked to describe her daughter, Libby, in one word, she selected ‘Joy’. Even as a baby, she was always happy. Her favorite phrase was, ‘This is the best day ever!’ The most amazing thing about Libby, however, was that she truly wanted everyone around her to have ‘the best day ever as well’ and she spent her time making sure that it was the best that she could make it. When 10-year-old Libby died suddenly in a car accident last year, Brooke was devastated. Brooke thought that she had known grief. In fact, after losing both her sister and sister-in-law suddenly several years before, she lost her dad and step-mom within days of each other just months before Libby’s accident. This grief, however, was different. Libby was Brooke’s mini-me, her little shadow. Brooke felt like she didn’t even know who she was without Libby. After Libby died, Brooke was constantly being asked how she was doing by well-meaning people. It was honestly overwhelming to try to answer them so Brooke did the thing that felt natural to her - Brooke wrote. Initially, it just seemed to be a good way to let people know how she was doing, but soon it became more than that. Soon, strangers began to read what she wrote on her grievingmommy.com blog as well as her @grievingmommy social media accounts on Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube. Brooke began making videos and even started an online virtual support group. She is currently even writing a book which will be titled, ‘Grief Sucks, but Your Life Doesn’t Have To.’ In the depths of her own grief, Brooke is working to make the lives of other people just a little bit better. Brooke knows that she might not be able to make others have ‘the best day ever,’ but we both know that Libby would be proud of her mom as she tries.
When I first heard from a listener about today’s guest, Patti, the email included an attachment which was a copy of the obituary that Patti wrote for her late son, Nick after he took his life almost three years ago. To say that it was powerful would be a vast understatement. It was beyond powerful. In fact, I feel like it is something that each and every parent should read. Her words about Nick’s battle with addiction can help everyone understand that no family is immune to this disease. Patty writes: 'Nick was robbed of his future by the disease of addiction. No one plans to be an addict. It is a disease, not a choice, and it has reached epidemic proportions. Nick started using drugs to make himself feel normal, to feel accepted, to feel worthy, because this is what the drug told him at first. What it didn’t tell him is how it would devastate his family, take his education, take his jobs, take his future, take and take until it took his life. Addiction will take hold and destroy anyone in its path including families and loved ones of those afflicted. We all know someone who is affected by this epidemic. It isn’t a character flaw, IT’S A DISEASE.' Patty’s deep love for her son shines through in her words. She reads the entire obituary in the episode, and it is truly a love story for her son. Since Nick’s death, Patti has worked to end the stigma of addiction. As Nick went through his 13-year battle with addiction, he felt shame. He didn’t want people to know. That’s not what Patti saw in Nick - Patti saw a brave young man fighting for his life every single day because that’s exactly who Nick was, a brave fighter. Patty ends Nick’s obituary in this way: 'In memory of our beautiful son, please help those that do not understand, come to the realization that addiction is a disease and NOT a choice. I believe more people will reach out for help early on rather than trying to hide their disease from family and friends. Please help End the Stigma.'
When I noticed that a podcast release day fell on Groundhog Day and it would be on a day when I would be recording with Gwen, I knew what the topic had to be. To me, grief feels a lot like the movie, Groundhog Day which was released 30 years ago. In the movie, Bill Murray gets trapped in a time loop where he needs to relive Groundhog Day each day with the same events happening over and over. Grief often feels that way. We feel like each day is exactly the same. Other people move on, but we are stuck in a continuous time loop. In the early parts of the movie, the main character, Phil, gets more and more frustrated with his day repeating again and again. He becomes first confused, then angry, and at times, even despondent. That feels so much like grief. We cycle through all of these emotions but keep having to live the same nightmare day after day. By the end of the movie Groundhog Day, Phil eventually learns to make each day a little bit better than the last one. His heart ever so slowly begins to change and heal. This is what we can hope for in our own grief journeys. Although each day feels the same, ever so slowly, we can and do change. Through lots of hard work, we very can begin to see positive changes return to our lives and those around us.
Shortly after Michelle and I finished recording today’s interview, Michelle wrote back to me saying that she didn’t feel like she shared much hope. She had wanted to be inspirational to other bereaved parents when sharing her grief journey after losing her two sons Xavier and Aidan in a tragic car accident but thought that she had been anything but inspiring. In my opinion, Michelle couldn’t be more wrong. Her life is the absolute definition of hope. What is hope? Hope is getting up out of bed every morning after you have lost both of your children, and you just want to hide away from the world. Hope is continuing to work with children as a school nurse after your own children are gone. Hope is clinging to your Christian faith while you are in the depths of despair. Hope is opening your heart to have another child, even as you fear losing him as well. Michelle, your very life is hope and an example to all of us as to how to live. Thank you for truly showing us what hope looks like in the darkness of grief. Thank you for being so open and honest with us in sharing your emotions. You are an inspiration.
Imagine for just a second back to being a 14-year-old. You are likely transitioning to high school, worrying about puberty, and probably a little self-absorbed. Imagine now that you have been in cancer treatment for almost four years and that you just found out that there was nothing more that the doctors could really do. You would continue treatments, but a full cure likely wasn’t possible anymore. I imagine that young teen would be devastated, and feel justified in having a little self-pity. This is what 14-year-old Abbie experienced, but she had the exact opposite emotional reaction to what I wrote above. That day when Abbie’s mum, Tammy, had that difficult conversation with her, Abbie did not go off to hide in her room and cry. She instead asked to go see her best friend, Emma. What she did then was simply amazing. She and Emma spent the next several hours in Emma’s room writing. Tammy did not know what they had written until months later, the day after Abbie died. On four bits of paper, Abbie and Emma wrote several things including everything she wanted to be included in her celebration of life. More importantly, she wrote that she wanted her parents to start a foundation to help kids with cancer. She even named the foundation - Abbie’s Sparkle Foundation. (Abbiessparkefoundation.org) During this personally difficult time in her life, all Abbie could think about was the way that she could use her struggles to help other kids. She wanted to help make their lives a little easier, even as her own life was ending. Tammy and the rest of the family have used Abbie’s inspirational words as a guide. Their original first-year goal was to raise £10,000 - they raised £100,000. Over their five-year history, they have raised £500,000 and have been able to help over 1200 children. Tammy knows that helping all of these kids is exactly what Abbie would have dreamed.
Siblings share a special bond. Oftentimes older siblings can’t remember a time without their younger brother or sister, and younger siblings have certainly never known life without the older ones in it. They may fight or have habits that annoy each other, but deep down, most love each other. And, if you are really lucky, your brother or sister may even end up being your very best friend. That was the case for Norie and her sister Rachel. Their relationship was special. On the surface, their personalities could not be more different. Rachel was an extrovert with a smile on her face and the ability to be a friend to everyone. Norie, on the other hand, was an introvert, keeping her emotions inside. They shared a love for the game of softball. Both were pitchers - Rachel displaying emotion, and Norie, calm and collected on the mound. It was their dream to coach college softball together. Both had been assistant coaches, but their hope was that one of them would get a head coaching position and the other would be hired as the assistant. When Rachel unexpectedly died in her sleep, not only did Norie lose her sister, she lost her best friend and the dream of their future. Almost immediately after Rachel died, Norie asked her husband, “Is it OK if I am sad for the rest of my life?” His answer immediately gave her a sense of relief, “Of course, it is.” Norie will miss Rachel for the rest of her life, and that causes Norie great sorrow. What Norie has learned over the past 4 years, however, is that she will not just feel the sadness. She still feels great joy as well. Her own four children bring unmeasurable joy, but it is always tinged with the sadness that Rachel is not here to share in it. Many people don’t understand her grief and get uncomfortable hearing her talk about Rachel and her tears, but that is why Norie is working to spread the word about grief, specifically sibling grief. The bonds of siblings do not disappear with death and they can continue to be honored, even after one is gone.
When I think of retirement, I often think of people moving to Florida or perhaps helping out by spending extra time caring for grandchildren. However, that is not how today’s guest, Jim, spends his retirement. When Jim retired, he started working part-time at a local funeral home helping newly bereaved parents navigate through the worst time of their lives. When Jim’s 16-year-old daughter. Kaitlyn, died suddenly while at tennis practice, he felt completely lost. He and his wife went to the hospital and were told by the staff to take as much time as they needed with their daughter. They were offered a lock of her hair to take home with them as a keepsake. They were then left alone with no idea what to do. They spent some time with Kaitlyn and then went home. The next day, Jim’s wife made the painful call to school that Kaitlyn would not be going to school that day or ever again, for that matter. Jim had to call a funeral home to arrange for someone to take her daughter’s body after the autopsy. Jim initially fell into a deep depression. He actually became suicidal, but eventually found his way back to living. He found a great counselor and then a great support group for parents whose children had died through a local hospice. He turned his life around and found purpose again. He started attending the support group faithfully and then helped lead it, but he often thought back to those first hours and days when he and his wife had no one to help guide them. This is what drew him to his position at the funeral home. He is now the guide that he needed six years ago. He is the person helping families make those early decisions and helps answer the question, “What do we do now?” He quickly leads grieving parents to the support group that took him much longer to find. Jim gives these parents so much, but it helps him as well. Every time Jim helps a family in this way, he feels Kaitlyn close by. He feels her presence and that gives him hope and healing as well.
It has been less than 5 months since Brittany’s sweet 12-year-old daughter, Madyson, died unexpectedly from myocarditis, but Brittany has already become an inspiration to other bereaved moms. In the days and weeks after Madyson’s death, Brittany felt devastated and alone. She stayed in bed all day. She struggled to even be able to eat. She asked God why He hadn’t taken her with her daughter. Brittany said that her faith wavered. One day, in the midst of her despair, she asked God to give her a sign.
Brittany walked into her daughter’s room and pulled out Madyson’s notebook. Brittany thought she had read everything in that notebook just days before, but as she leafed through the notebook, she turned to a paper that Madyson had written 9 months before that looked unfamiliar. The writing is as follows:
’Why to Love Yourself’
The reason you should love yourself is because God didn’t put you on this earth without a purpose and to find that purpose, you gotta get up. You gotta get out the house and on your feet. God didn’t bless you to stay in bed and worry about your fears. So get up! Get up! Treat yourself. Go out. Be free because I promise you, today may be your weakness, but tomorrow going to be your power.
Reading those words from Madyson changed something for Brittany. Yes, she still struggles in her deep grief, but reading her daughter’s words to ‘Get Up!’ challenged Brittany to do just that. Now some days, getting up out of the bed may be all that she can do, but even that is enough to celebrate. On other days, Brittany will write a post on social media that inspires someone else to get up out of bed as well. That is an amazing win.
Even as we struggle and feel completely broken, we can still in our own little way help one another. Those words from Madyson can help us all in our grief. We do have a purpose. Even in our grief, we have a purpose, but in order to find that purpose, we need to get up. Brittany keeps Madyson’s words in a frame so she can read them every day. Perhaps, we all should do that as well.
When Gwen and I were deciding what to name this week’s episode, Gwen’s title was ’Taking a Pause Before the Claus comes to Town: Last minute tips to survive the holiday.’ I chuckled at the title’s length and changed it to ’Last Minute Christmas Tips.’ It turned out, however, Gwen was right, maybe not about the length of the title, but about needing to put the word ‘pause’ into the title. This turns out to be key for more than one reason. First of all, we do need to pause before heading out to family gatherings this holiday season. We talk and plan and figure out what we can and can’t do. We make backup plans and even escape plans to implement if things get too overwhelming, but an equally important piece that can be easy to overlook is to take a minute to pause. Before rushing out of the house, take some time for yourself. Take some deep breaths. Just be present in the moment. Take a break from the busyness. Pause. That brings me to the second reason that putting the word ‘pause’ in the title this week is perfect. When I hear Gwen talk about taking a minute to pause, the words that jump into my mind are ‘be still.’ Whenever Andy was feeling anxious about anything in life big or small, I would remind him to breathe and ‘be still.’ His Bible verse that he truly clung to was Psalm 46:10 - Be still and know that I am God. Reciting those words during anxious moments would put his mind in a better place. This week at the Grand Rapids Choir of Men and Boys annual Lessons and Carols concert, a song written by guest conductor, Richard Webster, in memory of Andy, debuted. The title was ‘Be Still and Know that I am God.’ It was the most painful and beautiful and meaningful song I have ever heard in my life. A gorgeous piece of music was written to honor my boy that reminds choirs all over the world to take a minute to pause and to be still. So today, in the midst of the holiday bustle, I say to all of you the words that I said to Andy so many times, “Be Still.” *Listen to the end to hear the song. Go to andysmom.com/171 to see a video of the song. Go to the Grand Rapids Choir of Men and Boys Webpage to hear the full concert (grcmb.org)
Today’s guest, Arava, reminded me of something that I think all of us know instinctually. Each person’s life is really made up of a collection of stories. When we think about any person whom we know and love and want to describe that person to someone else, we start telling stories about them. We don’t just say, ‘my son was kind or my son was funny.’ We tell a story that shows their caring nature or demonstrates their humor. When Arava’s 29-year-old son, Garett, suddenly died of an aneurysm, she turned to stories right away in her healing. Her sister, who is a rabbi, officiated at Garett’s memorial service and asked all those in attendance to share stories with the family. We cannot truly make new memories after our child dies, but if others tell us new stories, we can almost get a new memory. Stories started coming to Arava as the family sat shiva in the first days after Garett’s death. Now, one and a half years later, the stories come less often, but they still come. As each one comes, Arava takes time to write it down and is now compiling a book of stories to be shared with family and friends. The family also started a foundation in Garett's memory to keep his story alive (ghfg.org). Arava really made me think about the power of storytelling. I guess that is truly why I do the podcast each week. I want to give parents a chance to tell stories. I want everyone to get to know that parent’s child a little bit. I want them to be appreciated and even a little loved by someone who might live on the other side of the world. These stories that we share with each other bring us closer together and even closer to our children. As Arava says this week, “Stories bring me such comfort. I feel like I have him back for a minute.” I want us all to feel like we have them back, even if it’s just for a minute.
Faith and grief are often hard for many people to feel at the same time, especially when people are from a Christian background. Christians grow up learning that God has a plan for the world and that God’s Plan is inherently good. We are taught that challenges are placed into our lives in order to help our faith and build us into better people. After the death of a child, those statements that we all accepted are a bit harder to take. I'm not saying that they are not still true, but they are more difficult to accept. We struggle when we don’t like God’s Plan. We feel guilt that perhaps we aren’t good Christians if we are feeling our grief deeply and showing our emotions to the world. Even worse, family and friends often put pressure on us. They encourage us to trust God’s Plan. They are uncomfortable seeing us actively grieve. They get worried that our faith is somehow not strong enough if we show too much emotion. This is why I absolutely love today’s guest, Derek. I can honestly say that I have never spoken to anyone who can cling to God and truly feel the depth of their own personal grief at the exact same moment, as well as Derek. Speaking with him brought me to tears more than once and inspired me in my own faith. He reminds me that God is OK with me feeling my grief. He is patient and does not demand that we push aside our grief in order to show we have faith. We can, and should, hold grief and faith together. Derek is an amazing example of how this can be done well. I hope and pray that I can become a little more like Derek each day.
Meeting today’s guest, Lisa, for the first time on Zoom felt like meeting an old friend. When I was thinking about what to write for this episode, the word that first came into my mind was ‘community.’ That’s what Lisa creates - she creates connections between people and a sense of community. Now, that certainly isn’t what Lisa thought would happen when her daughter, Katie was killed in a car accident 7 years ago, but that is exactly what she has done.
Within two weeks of Katie’s tragic death, Lisa went to her first support group for bereaved moms. She made a decision that night. She looked at several of the women in the group - two, in particular, grabbed her attention. These two women were grieving and talked about their late daughters, but they also laughed and talked about the future. She decided that she would continue living her life with her now smaller family of three. Grief would always be a part of her life, but she did not want it to be her whole life.
Lisa first decided to write a book, Journey to Healing: A Mother’s Guide to Navigating Child Loss. She then realized that moms needed more than a book so she wrote a curriculum to help grieving moms after they read the book. Even that, however, did not seem like enough, so Lisa started something more - a community for grieving mothers. She called her online community, the Angel Mom VIP Community. (find it at griefsupportformoms.com)
This community is truly amazing. The moms meet virtually to support each other weekly. Lisa has resources available to watch online, videos on different topics, and even guest speakers. I love what she has written on her webpage:
What if there was a way…
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to live with grief and the heaviness of child loss?
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to move beyond the pain, beyond the fear, and beyond the anger and guilt?
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to heal in a way that allows you to remain connected to your child?
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to cope in a way that helps you balance grief with peace and maybe even joy?
Join me as we explore child loss grief support in traditional and alternative ways to find peace after child loss.
Thank you, Lisa, for providing grieving moms with a place to find support and encouragement, a community where we can feel connected.
I have often heard people being encouraged to be ‘thankful givers.’ It is supposed to inspire us to either give with a thankful heart or be thankful for a giving heart or something along those lines. When we are grieving, however, there is a new almost unimaginable challenge. Now, we are asked to be thankful with a grieving heart or grieve with a thankful heart. How is that even possible?
On this week’s podcast released on Thanksgiving Day in the US, Gwen and I really look at what it is like to be thankful during grief. From the outside, it may seem impossible, but it is not. It just can look very different than it used to look. At first, we may only be thankful for a few small things - a ray of sunshine, a hot bath, or an encouraging word from a friend. If that is all that your grieving heart can be thankful for, that can be enough.
I loved recording this Livestream episode because so many listeners commented and wrote in ahead of time. What really struck me was what really seemed to rise to the top of the thankfulness list is that we are thankful for each other. When I pour myself into you, you, in turn, pour yourself right back into me, and we both feel a little bit better.
This brings me back to that original phrase of being a ‘thankful giver.’ I think we are all at our best when we work together as thankful, giving grievers or grieving, thankful givers or even giving, thankful grievers. It doesn’t really matter what order the words are in. What matters is that they are all there. We grieve better in community, and I know that this year, I am so incredibly thankful for my not-so-little community of grievers.
Thank you.
Our kids should be here. It is simply wrong that they are gone before us. It just is. Nothing that we do or say can make sense of the senseless tragedy of the deaths of our children.
When Stef’s 16-year-old son, Alex, died suddenly by suicide, her world was shattered. Their community was in shock. They were ‘The Kummer Family’ - the family who had everything together. They were a family that inspired jealousy in others. Alex was a brilliant, straight-A student who made everyone around him feel special and valued. The Kummers went to church each Sunday and did family outings together. Certainly, suicide couldn’t enter this family - other families, sure, but not this family.
But just over a year ago now, the unthinkable did happen. Suicide did enter the Kummer Family and stole away Stef’s son, Alex. He got in trouble for something that, although relatively minor, became big in his mind. At that moment, his adolescent brain decided that his family would be better off without him. Alex, the kid who never hurt anyone and was the best friend of everyone, took his own life, devastating all who care for him.
Now Stef’s mission in life is to spread the word that no family is immune to suicide. She talks at churches and to other groups sharing Alex’s story. She ends each email that she writes with the phrase, ‘the world is better with you in it.’ Stef wants all parents to openly talk with their children about what to do when suicidal thoughts come, encouraging improved communication among families. Hopefully, by starting these conversations at home, fewer families will have to suffer through the tragedy of losing a child.
Today’s guest, Melo, knows that her life changed in a moment 11 years ago when her infant daughter, Chloe, died. With that death, her life was split in two - the time before Chloe and her new life ‘After Chloe’. After Chloe died, Melo really threw herself into being her mother’s full-time caregiver, but after she died as well, she found herself in the depths of grief.
Melo was in a deep, dark pit that seemed to have no way out. She struggled to even get out of bed each day. She gained 80 pounds. She even separated from her husband. People likely judged her from the outside, thinking she wasn’t trying to help herself heal, but that is far from the truth. Melo sought the help of 14 different therapists for her grief starting shortly after losing Chloe. With a background in psychology herself, she quickly learned that many therapists simply do not know how to help people grieve.
As Melo ever so slowly began to heal, she found herself drawn to help others in their grief. Eleven years ago, there were few resources for grief. Melo wanted to make sure that other bereaved people, especially bereaved parents, did not feel as alone as she had felt. Four years after Chloe died, a friend challenged her, saying, “what do you want to do with all that you know now?” She did not know the answer to the question immediately and told her friend just that. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, “all I know is that it will be called After Chloe because that is what my life is right now - After Chloe.”
Now, seven years later, After Chloe (afterchloe.com) has become something so much bigger than Chloe and Melo themselves. After Chloe has become a community of grievers supporting each other. Melo shares her personal story with her over 16,000 Instagram followers helping them feel less alone. She sponsors a summit in December focusing on grieving during the holidays. Melo works to spread the message that everyone grieves in their own way, and not only is that OK, but it is actually good.
Today’s guest, Melo, knows that her life changed in a moment 11 years ago when her infant daughter, Chloe, died. With that death, her life was split in two - the time before Chloe and her new life ‘After Chloe’. After Chloe died, Melo really threw herself into being her mother’s full-time caregiver, but after she died as well, she found herself in the depths of grief.
Melo was in a deep, dark pit that seemed to have no way out. She struggled to even get out of bed each day. She gained 80 pounds. She even separated from her husband. People likely judged her from the outside, thinking she wasn’t trying to help herself heal, but that is far from the truth. Melo sought the help of 14 different therapists for her grief starting shortly after losing Chloe. With a background in psychology herself, she quickly learned that many therapists simply do not know how to help people grieve.
As Melo ever so slowly began to heal, she found herself drawn to help others in their grief. Eleven years ago, there were few resources for grief. Melo wanted to make sure that other bereaved people, especially bereaved parents, did not feel as alone as she had felt. Four years after Chloe died, a friend challenged her, saying, “what do you want to do with all that you know now?” She did not know the answer to the question immediately and told her friend just that. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, “all I know is that it will be called After Chloe because that is what my life is right now - After Chloe.”
Now, seven years later, After Chloe (afterchloe.com) has become something so much bigger than Chloe and Melo themselves. After Chloe has become a community of grievers supporting each other. Melo shares her personal story with her over 16,000 Instagram followers helping them feel less alone. She sponsors a summit in December focusing on grieving during the holidays. Melo works to spread the message that everyone grieves in their own way, and not only is that OK, but it is actually good.
Those of you who follow me on Instagram and Facebook know that I have been posting video clips of my interviews over the past several months. I usually pick out three or four short highlights that I think others might appreciate. This week was so difficult for me because I kept finding clip after clip that I wanted to share. On my initial listen, I come up with no fewer than seven clips that I somehow had to pare down to four. This should give all of you a little glimpse as to how much wisdom today’s guest, Tiersa, has to offer.
Tiersa lost her daughter, Savannah almost 5 years ago now under somewhat mysterious, some might even say suspicious, circumstances. Tragically, she will never really know how Savannah died as the investigation did not lead to concrete answers. You might think that this would have led Tiersa to be bitter, but nothing could be further from the truth. The compassion that she shows to others, despite her own pain, is truly inspiring to me.
Tiersa talks about wanting to live her life in a loving way toward everyone around her. She has done training for preschool teachers for many years and remembers discussing the term ‘first responders’ with them. She would remind the teachers that these medical professionals are first responders and not first reactors. She would urge them to remember to respond to young children and not just react.
This is the approach that Tiersa is trying to take both in her own grief and in helping her children grieve the death of their precious sister. When doing something so difficult like grieving as a family, It is easy to react instantly with your emotions. It is better, however, if you can take a minute to gather yourself, truly listen to those around you and respond in a loving way instead.
Those of you who follow me on Instagram and Facebook know that I have been posting video clips of my interviews over the past several months. I usually pick out three or four short highlights that I think others might appreciate. This week was so difficult for me because I kept finding clip after clip that I wanted to share. On my initial listen, I come up with no fewer than seven clips that I somehow had to pare down to four. This should give all of you a little glimpse as to how much wisdom today’s guest, Tiersa, has to offer.
Tiersa lost her daughter, Savannah almost 5 years ago now under somewhat mysterious, some might even say suspicious, circumstances. Tragically, she will never really know how Savannah died as the investigation did not lead to concrete answers. You might think that this would have led Tiersa to be bitter, but nothing could be further from the truth. The compassion that she shows to others, despite her own pain, is truly inspiring to me.
Tiersa talks about wanting to live her life in a loving way toward everyone around her. She has done training for preschool teachers for many years and remembers discussing the term ‘first responders’ with them. She would remind the teachers that these medical professionals are first responders and not first reactors. She would urge them to remember to respond to young children and not just react.
This is the approach that Tiersa is trying to take both in her own grief and in helping her children grieve the death of their precious sister. When doing something so difficult like grieving as a family, It is easy to react instantly with your emotions. It is better, however, if you can take a minute to gather yourself, truly listen to those around you and respond in a loving way instead.
When I was in the deepest, darkest pit of grief, it was almost impossible for me to think about taking care of myself physically. If you are struggling in this area, today’s guest is perfect for you to hear. She is focused on performing self-care every single day. She says that she cannot even imagine going a day without doing some sort of physical activity to help both her mind and body.
Lynda’s focus on self-care started in a very unusual way. Her daughter, Paige, was sick with mono and within a week became very ill with a disease called HLH (hemophagocytic lymphohistiocytosis), which required hospitalization. Since her daughter was an adult hospitalized during COVID, Lynda could not stay with her constantly. The hospital staff encouraged her to go home each night to care for herself. Lynda said that she would wake up early each morning to call the night nurse to check on Paige. She would then go on a 30-minute walk or run to decompress before going into the hospital for the day to be with Paige.
After 55 days, Lynda’s beloved daughter, Paige, died from HLH, but Lynda did not turn away from her self-care. Instead, she poured more of herself into it. She added yoga to her daily routines. Her 30-minute runs turned into 5K runs. She says that she uses this time to process her grief. She said that this daily activity brings her a sense of calm in her day. She finds herself better able to work and care for her family as well. It is truly inspiring.
In addition to her personal self-care, Lynda is very focused on raising awareness for HLH both in the medical community and the general population. She and her family have raised money for the Liam’s Lighthouse Foundation (https://www.liamslighthousefoundation.org) to help with funding research for this disease. Her hope and prayer is that treatments may improve so that other families do not have to experience this pain.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, we all heard it said that everyone was grieving something. Millions of people worldwide lost loved ones to disease certainly, but many talked about grieving the loss of jobs, vacations, time with friends, graduations, and even things like the prom. They were all placed in this big bucket of ‘things we lost’ during the pandemic and reasons that we were all grieving in our own way.
Although to a certain extent, this is true, it is far too simple to just throw every loss into one bucket and treat all of these losses the same. Today’s guest, Dixie reminds us that when we label these losses as ‘grief,’ we really water down the definition. Having to quarantine from friends and family is certainly sad, but it should not be considered equivalent to suffering through the death of a loved one. When we do that, we diminish just how devastating it is to grieve a death loss, especially an out-of-order death loss such as the death of a child.
Dixie’s son, Parker, was in perfect health in the spring of 2019. He had transferred to a new college to further his baseball career. He was the starting shortstop on his new team and was proud to introduce his parents to his teammates between a pair of games the weekend before he passed away. On the day he died, Parker cleaned his room, laid out clean clothes for the afternoon, and even crossed off the day on the calendar. During practice, he was running sprints with the team. Suddenly, Parker collapsed on the ground. This fit, athletic kid, died from a sudden cardiac arrest. No reason has ever been found.
Dixie has been grieving the loss of her sweet son ever since that tragic day. Every day is a challenge. The grief is so incredibly deep that she is changed to her very core. This is true for all grieving parents. We will never be the same people who we were before our children died. Other types of loss simply can’t compare and it is important not to let ourselves fall into society’s trap of thinking that every loss is the same. When we do so, we will cause grieving people to isolate themselves even more, and that does not help anyone.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, we all heard it said that everyone was grieving something. Millions of people worldwide lost loved ones to disease certainly, but many talked about grieving the loss of jobs, vacations, time with friends, graduations, and even things like the prom. They were all placed in this big bucket of ‘things we lost’ during the pandemic and reasons that we were all grieving in our own way.
Although to a certain extent, this is true, it is far too simple to just throw every loss into one bucket and treat all of these losses the same. Today’s guest, Dixie reminds us that when we label these losses as ‘grief,’ we really water down the definition. Having to quarantine from friends and family is certainly sad, but it should not be considered equivalent to suffering through the death of a loved one. When we do that, we diminish just how devastating it is to grieve a death loss, especially an out-of-order death loss such as the death of a child.
Dixie’s son, Parker, was in perfect health in the spring of 2019. He had transferred to a new college to further his baseball career. He was the starting shortstop on his new team and was proud to introduce his parents to his teammates between a pair of games the weekend before he passed away. On the day he died, Parker cleaned his room, laid out clean clothes for the afternoon, and even crossed off the day on the calendar. During practice, he was running sprints with the team. Suddenly, Parker collapsed on the ground. This fit, athletic kid, died from a sudden cardiac arrest. No reason has ever been found.
Dixie has been grieving the loss of her sweet son ever since that tragic day. Every day is a challenge. The grief is so incredibly deep that she is changed to her very core. This is true for all grieving parents. We will never be the same people who we were before our children died. Other types of loss simply can’t compare and it is important not to let ourselves fall into society’s trap of thinking that every loss is the same. When we do so, we will cause grieving people to isolate themselves even more, and that does not help anyone.
For a minute, I want you to picture that we are traveling along our grief journey on a large tricycle with three equal-sized wheels. These three wheels represent our emotional self, our physical self, and our spiritual self. During grief, some people make the mistake of focusing on only one of the wheels when all are equally important.
Non-grieving Christians often put pressure on the grieving person to put all of their air in the spiritual wheel. They encourage us to pray more. They remind us that everything is part of God’s plan and that God is in control of everything. They tell us that they are praying for us constantly. We, as grievers, may feel guilty if these phrases don’t give us peace. We may start to feel like we are grieving in the wrong way. We feel that we’d better keep putting more and more air into that spiritual tire. We may even think that if we get enough air in that one, we won’t even need the other tires at all.
Unfortunately, most of us can’t ride a unicycle. You may find that rare person who seems to only need one wheel and will be able to ride around on that spiritual unicycle with ease, but most of us need the whole tricycle with all three wheels equally filled. Today’s episode is a reminder that although faith and spirituality are key parts of our healing process, they are not everything, and it is not helpful when we pressure ourselves to think that they are.
In addition to that, my faith journey does not need to be smooth and steady. Oftentimes, it is really quite messy. When I envision God holding my hand as I am grieving, I usually think of myself as a weak and sad young child, looking up to my loving Parent to give me strength and support. Sometimes, though, I am not so easily led down the road. Sometimes, I am a screaming, whining toddler, and although I may be angry and pulling away, God, like any good parent, still doesn’t let go of my hand.
For a minute, I want you to picture that we are traveling along our grief journey on a large tricycle with three equal-sized wheels. These three wheels represent our emotional self, our physical self, and our spiritual self. During grief, some people make the mistake of focusing on only one of the wheels when all are equally important.
Non-grieving Christians often put pressure on the grieving person to put all of their air in the spiritual wheel. They encourage us to pray more. They remind us that everything is part of God’s plan and that God is in control of everything. They tell us that they are praying for us constantly. We, as grievers, may feel guilty if these phrases don’t give us peace. We may start to feel like we are grieving in the wrong way. We feel that we’d better keep putting more and more air into that spiritual tire. We may even think that if we get enough air in that one, we won’t even need the other tires at all.
Unfortunately, most of us can’t ride a unicycle. You may find that rare person who seems to only need one wheel and will be able to ride around on that spiritual unicycle with ease, but most of us need the whole tricycle with all three wheels equally filled. Today’s episode is a reminder that although faith and spirituality are key parts of our healing process, they are not everything, and it is not helpful when we pressure ourselves to think that they are.
In addition to that, my faith journey does not need to be smooth and steady. Oftentimes, it is really quite messy. When I envision God holding my hand as I am grieving, I usually think of myself as a weak and sad young child, looking up to my loving Parent to give me strength and support. Sometimes, though, I am not so easily led down the road. Sometimes, I am a screaming, whining toddler, and although I may be angry and pulling away, God, like any good parent, still doesn’t let go of my hand.
When today’s guest, Jane, reminded me of the great children’s story, ‘We’re Going on a Bear Hunt’ by Michael Rosen, it made me smile. It is a wonderful book that has been made into a nursery rhyme that I loved to do with my kids. If you remember the rhyme, it starts with clapping and giving a call and response, ‘We’re going on a bear hunt. Going to catch a big one. I’m not scared.’ Then as the story progresses, we come across different obstacles on our bear hunt. With each obstacle, we talk about trying to go around it or over it, but ultimately, we always have to go through it. Grief is exactly like that. Even though I would love to be able to go around it or over it, we must go through it.
When Jane and her husband, Jimmy, met in film school, they never would have imagined what films they would be making years later. In fact, Jane likely did not think that she would be making films at all as she went on to become a therapist. But then the unimaginable happened when their son Josh was killed in an accident while traveling in Vietnam. As a part of their own personal healing journey, they made their first film together, a film borne out of love for Josh.
Jane and Jimmy likely thought originally that they would only make that one film, but something almost magical happened. They witnessed first-hand the power of storytelling and what it can do for grieving people. They now have a charity in the UK called The Good Grief Project. Through the charity, they have continued to make films as well as host support groups for bereaved people.
Two of their newest projects are simply amazing. Their latest film entitled, ‘A Love That Never Dies’ chronicles their journey across the United States speaking to bereaved parents and sharing their stories. This film is available to watch on Amazon both in the UK and in the US. It is a film not about death, but about love and healing. In addition to the film, Jane and Jimmy are releasing a book, ‘When Words Are Not Enough’ which can be ordered through their website or also through their book publisher.
When I think back once again to that ‘We’re Going on a Bear Hunt’ nursery rhyme, I realize how much we can apply that to our grief journeys. Going on a bear hunt by myself would be terrifying, but in the nursery rhyme, we say, “I’m not scared.” What keeps us from being scared is the fact that we are going on that hunt together in community. We have films and books. We have podcasts. We have other bereaved parents. We can help each other go ‘through it’ together.
When today’s guest, Jane, reminded me of the great children’s story, ‘We’re Going on a Bear Hunt’ by Michael Rosen, it made me smile. It is a wonderful book that has been made into a nursery rhyme that I loved to do with my kids. If you remember the rhyme, it starts with clapping and giving a call and response, ‘We’re going on a bear hunt. Going to catch a big one. I’m not scared.’ Then as the story progresses, we come across different obstacles on our bear hunt. With each obstacle, we talk about trying to go around it or over it, but ultimately, we always have to go through it. Grief is exactly like that. Even though I would love to be able to go around it or over it, we must go through it.
When Jane and her husband, Jimmy, met in film school, they never would have imagined what films they would be making years later. In fact, Jane likely did not think that she would be making films at all as she went on to become a therapist. But then the unimaginable happened when their son Josh was killed in an accident while traveling in Vietnam. As a part of their own personal healing journey, they made their first film together, a film borne out of love for Josh.
Jane and Jimmy likely thought originally that they would only make that one film, but something almost magical happened. They witnessed first-hand the power of storytelling and what it can do for grieving people. They now have a charity in the UK called The Good Grief Project. Through the charity, they have continued to make films as well as host support groups for bereaved people.
Two of their newest projects are simply amazing. Their latest film entitled, ‘A Love That Never Dies’ chronicles their journey across the United States speaking to bereaved parents and sharing their stories. This film is available to watch on Amazon both in the UK and in the US. It is a film not about death, but about love and healing. In addition to the film, Jane and Jimmy are releasing a book, ‘When Words Are Not Enough’ which can be ordered through their website or also through their book publisher.
When I think back once again to that ‘We’re Going on a Bear Hunt’ nursery rhyme, I realize how much we can apply that to our grief journeys. Going on a bear hunt by myself would be terrifying, but in the nursery rhyme, we say, “I’m not scared.” What keeps us from being scared is the fact that we are going on that hunt together in community. We have films and books. We have podcasts. We have other bereaved parents. We can help each other go ‘through it’ together.
Jenny’s son, Sam, was a kid who lived in the moment. He loved life, and he enjoyed every second of it. Even as he was dying from a brain tumor, Sam continued to love life and live big. As others approached the family with apprehension or avoided them entirely, Sam still smiled and jumped and played. Even when he couldn’t jump and play anymore, he still enjoyed lying on his mother’s lap, and just spending time with his dear family. He still loved at 100%. He didn’t live as others expected him to live.
Today, his mom is on a quest. Just as Sam did not ‘fit that narrative’ as to what a kid with a brain tumor was ‘supposed’ to look like, Jenny doesn’t want society to dictate how she and other grieving parents should live. She says that sometimes she wishes that she had a ‘feeling machine’ that she could hook people up to for just a few moments so they could live in our shoes and feel what we feel. She certainly does not want others to experience child loss, but if they felt this way for just a few minutes, they would likely not judge us so much.
There is definitely no time limit on grief. I know that I have gotten to the point where I hesitate to tell people that it has been 4 years since Andy died. If I am sad and having a horrible day really missing Andy, I don’t tell people that it has been four years since his death. I have gotten to the point where I don’t even want them to ask. I feel almost embarrassed that I am not ‘better’ than this. I fear that they will judge me, labeling me as ‘not doing well.’
Jenny’s goal is not to change us or somehow help us to get through our grief quicker or easier. She wants us as grieving parents to unite together and teach society that grief is a normal part of loving and living. Grief is not something to be fixed. She has entitled her new organization, Maverick Grief. On her website, Jenny writes, ‘Grief is not a problem to be resolved. Grief is not a mental illness or an ailment to recover from and nor is it a linear condition that travels through an upward trajectory to a definitive end. To deny the human experience of grief is to deny the existence, depth, and worth of love. These two most powerful forces are the foundation of humanity. They co-exist and are at the epicentre of the human living condition. Grief IS love.' I couldn’t agree more.
Jenny’s son, Sam, was a kid who lived in the moment. He loved life, and he enjoyed every second of it. Even as he was dying from a brain tumor, Sam continued to love life and live big. As others approached the family with apprehension or avoided them entirely, Sam still smiled and jumped and played. Even when he couldn’t jump and play anymore, he still enjoyed lying on his mother’s lap, and just spending time with his dear family. He still loved at 100%. He didn’t live as others expected him to live.
Today, his mom is on a quest. Just as Sam did not ‘fit that narrative’ as to what a kid with a brain tumor was ‘supposed’ to look like, Jenny doesn’t want society to dictate how she and other grieving parents should live. She says that sometimes she wishes that she had a ‘feeling machine’ that she could hook people up to for just a few moments so they could live in our shoes and feel what we feel. She certainly does not want others to experience child loss, but if they felt this way for just a few minutes, they would likely not judge us so much.
There is definitely no time limit on grief. I know that I have gotten to the point where I hesitate to tell people that it has been 4 years since Andy died. If I am sad and having a horrible day really missing Andy, I don’t tell people that it has been four years since his death. I have gotten to the point where I don’t even want them to ask. I feel almost embarrassed that I am not ‘better’ than this. I fear that they will judge me, labeling me as ‘not doing well.’
Jenny’s goal is not to change us or somehow help us to get through our grief quicker or easier. She wants us as grieving parents to unite together and teach society that grief is a normal part of loving and living. Grief is not something to be fixed. She has entitled her new organization, Maverick Grief. On her website, Jenny writes, ‘Grief is not a problem to be resolved. Grief is not a mental illness or an ailment to recover from and nor is it a linear condition that travels through an upward trajectory to a definitive end. To deny the human experience of grief is to deny the existence, depth, and worth of love. These two most powerful forces are the foundation of humanity. They co-exist and are at the epicentre of the human living condition. Grief IS love.' I couldn’t agree more.
Four years into my grief journey, I continue to witness how people grieve in vastly different ways. As grieving parents, you might think the grief would look much the same, but it does not. There may be some underlying similarities, but from the outside, it can look as different as night and day.
Today’s guest, Laurie, had worked as a therapist for many years before her son, Adam, died from an accidental drug overdose in college. You might think that she would know ‘all of the answers’ about grief - that she would have been so in tune with her own emotions, that she would somehow find grieving to be ‘easier,’ but that was not the case.
Laurie said that she actually found that she was completely numb after Adam died. She couldn’t really feel her emotions, and she was unable to truly grieve. From the outside, Laurie certainly looked like she had it all together. She returned to work seeing patients only 10 days after Adam’s death. I’m sure she continued to be a great therapist, helping many adolescents through their struggles, but internally, she remained frozen.
Then, ever so slowly over many, many months, Laurie says that she began to ‘thaw’. She began to feel the pain more fully. She truly started to grieve. Now, from the outside, people may think that she wasn’t grieving in the ‘right’ way, but for her, it was perfect. That first year wasn’t a waste; it just took that long for her brain to process her life to get to a point when grieving was possible.
That is an amazing lesson for all of us. Don’t beat yourself up that you aren’t grieving right. Don’t let others judge your grief or judge others in their grief. The process is different for everyone, and what feels right for me may not work for you. Timing and feelings are different for each person.
Four years into my grief journey, I continue to witness how people grieve in vastly different ways. As grieving parents, you might think the grief would look much the same, but it does not. There may be some underlying similarities, but from the outside, it can look as different as night and day.
Today’s guest, Laurie, had worked as a therapist for many years before her son, Adam, died from an accidental drug overdose in college. You might think that she would know ‘all of the answers’ about grief - that she would have been so in tune with her own emotions, that she would somehow find grieving to be ‘easier,’ but that was not the case.
Laurie said that she actually found that she was completely numb after Adam died. She couldn’t really feel her emotions, and she was unable to truly grieve. From the outside, Laurie certainly looked like she had it all together. She returned to work seeing patients only 10 days after Adam’s death. I’m sure she continued to be a great therapist, helping many adolescents through their struggles, but internally, she remained frozen.
Then, ever so slowly over many, many months, Laurie says that she began to ‘thaw’. She began to feel the pain more fully. She truly started to grieve. Now, from the outside, people may think that she wasn’t grieving in the ‘right’ way, but for her, it was perfect. That first year wasn’t a waste; it just took that long for her brain to process her life to get to a point when grieving was possible.
That is an amazing lesson for all of us. Don’t beat yourself up that you aren’t grieving right. Don’t let others judge your grief or judge others in their grief. The process is different for everyone, and what feels right for me may not work for you. Timing and feelings are different for each person.
As I listened to this week’s episode, one word kept coming into my mind. Compassion. I initially thought of this word as it is a great way to describe Jam’s daughter, Taylor. There aren’t many 13 year old girls who would be described as compassionate, but I think that it describes Taylor perfectly. Her mom says that Taylor never met a stranger. She was quick to compliment people whom she barely knew. She adored her twin sister who is only severely autistic. Instead of sitting with friends at lunch or riding a regular bus to school, Taylor would happily join her sister and other special needs kids. Taylor’s goal in life really was to make everyone feel loved and appreciated.
Just over 4 months ago, Jam’s life was turned upside down in a sudden, unexpected way. What started as a complaint of a red, swollen leg while at school one day quickly spiraled out of control. A blood clot in Taylor’s leg became a blood lot in the lung, leading to further complications and eventually a brain bleed. In a short period of time, Jam’s healthy daughter was gone, but this is where compassion enters the story once again.
First of all, were Jam’s ‘tribe’ of friends. Jam worked as a labor and delivery nurse at the hospital and her friends and co-workers surrounded her with love throughout the entire ordeal. They were there throughout Taylor’s brief illness, helping care for the family including Taylor’s twin sister. After Taylor died, these same friends handled everything. Jam said that she and her husband just needed to show up. Their friends did it all.
Jam even saw compassion in virtual strangers. They met another family while Taylor was in the Peds ICU. Despite only knowing the family a week, the young boy’s dad went to Taylor’s funeral. When his son later died, Jam’s friends went to honor his son as well. The compassion continues to spread. Despite that fact that these last 4 months have easily been the hardest of Jam’s life, she has learned more about true love and compassion than she ever expected. In listening to her today, I know that you will feel her light and compassion as well.
As I listened to this week’s episode, one word kept coming into my mind. Compassion. I initially thought of this word as it is a great way to describe Jam’s daughter, Taylor. There aren’t many 13 year old girls who would be described as compassionate, but I think that it describes Taylor perfectly. Her mom says that Taylor never met a stranger. She was quick to compliment people whom she barely knew. She adored her twin sister who is only severely autistic. Instead of sitting with friends at lunch or riding a regular bus to school, Taylor would happily join her sister and other special needs kids. Taylor’s goal in life really was to make everyone feel loved and appreciated.
Just over 4 months ago, Jam’s life was turned upside down in a sudden, unexpected way. What started as a complaint of a red, swollen leg while at school one day quickly spiraled out of control. A blood clot in Taylor’s leg became a blood lot in the lung, leading to further complications and eventually a brain bleed. In a short period of time, Jam’s healthy daughter was gone, but this is where compassion enters the story once again.
First of all, were Jam’s ‘tribe’ of friends. Jam worked as a labor and delivery nurse at the hospital and her friends and co-workers surrounded her with love throughout the entire ordeal. They were there throughout Taylor’s brief illness, helping care for the family including Taylor’s twin sister. After Taylor died, these same friends handled everything. Jam said that she and her husband just needed to show up. Their friends did it all.
Jam even saw compassion in virtual strangers. They met another family while Taylor was in the Peds ICU. Despite only knowing the family a week, the young boy’s dad went to Taylor’s funeral. When his son later died, Jam’s friends went to honor his son as well. The compassion continues to spread. Despite that fact that these last 4 months have easily been the hardest of Jam’s life, she has learned more about true love and compassion than she ever expected. In listening to her today, I know that you will feel her light and compassion as well.
When Kellie sent an audition tape to be on Ellen DeGeneres’ Game of Games in 2018, she was a teacher, making the tape with her students hoping to be be selected to be on this fun game show. She had an abundance of creative energy. At the time, Kellie was passionately working on writing a fiction book dedicated to Matthew Shepard and the LGTBQ+ community. Time went by, however, and no call came about the audition tape. Kellie said that eventually she almost forgot about the tape.
Over the years, Kellie’s adopted son, Chris, had many struggles with addiction. When the pandemic hit in 2020, he was desperately trying to put his life back together, but the isolation during the early days of COVID became too much for him. Kellie suspected that her son relapsed. The combination of the isolation of the pandemic and the overwhelming nature of addiction was too much for him. In the summer of 2020, Chris died by suicide.
In her overwhelming grief, Kellie found herself unable to even get off of the couch. She didn’t want to shower or care for herself. Her creative nature was completely gone. The book writing stopped. Then something unexpected happened. After 2 years, Game of Games invited her to be a contestant. Instinctively, she wanted turn them down, but Kellie knew in her heart that God and Chris were behind this - it was not random. Kellie was ‘supposed’ to be on that show.
During that trip to California, something truly amazing happened. Kellie could feel Chris beside her pushing her along, comforting her. The healing certainly did not end in California, but it did ever so quietly begin there. Forcing herself to get up and smile opened up her heart again. Her creativity blossomed again. She started writing that book again complete with a cameo appearance by Chris at the end.
Now, Kellie will be the first one to tell you that she is not healed, and that, in fact, she is far from it, but she is moving forward with Chris right beside her. She finished and published her book, Mount Hope, which is available here on Amazon. Kellie focuses on sharing love and compassion to as many people as she can reach and is now an inspiration to many.
When Kellie sent an audition tape to be on Ellen DeGeneres’ Game of Games in 2018, she was a teacher, making the tape with her students hoping to be be selected to be on this fun game show. She had an abundance of creative energy. At the time, Kellie was passionately working on writing a fiction book dedicated to Matthew Shepard and the LGTBQ+ community. Time went by, however, and no call came about the audition tape. Kellie said that eventually she almost forgot about the tape.
Over the years, Kellie’s adopted son, Chris, had many struggles with addiction. When the pandemic hit in 2020, he was desperately trying to put his life back together, but the isolation during the early days of COVID became too much for him. Kellie suspected that her son relapsed. The combination of the isolation of the pandemic and the overwhelming nature of addiction was too much for him. In the summer of 2020, Chris died by suicide.
In her overwhelming grief, Kellie found herself unable to even get off of the couch. She didn’t want to shower or care for herself. Her creative nature was completely gone. The book writing stopped. Then something unexpected happened. After 2 years, Game of Games invited her to be a contestant. Instinctively, she wanted turn them down, but Kellie knew in her heart that God and Chris were behind this - it was not random. Kellie was ‘supposed’ to be on that show.
During that trip to California, something truly amazing happened. Kellie could feel Chris beside her pushing her along, comforting her. The healing certainly did not end in California, but it did ever so quietly begin there. Forcing herself to get up and smile opened up her heart again. Her creativity blossomed again. She started writing that book again complete with a cameo appearance by Chris at the end.
Now, Kellie will be the first one to tell you that she is not healed, and that, in fact, she is far from it, but she is moving forward with Chris right beside her. She finished and published her book, Mount Hope, which is available here on Amazon. Kellie focuses on sharing love and compassion to as many people as she can reach and is now an inspiration to many.
Without a doubt, the most common questions that I am asked by bereaved mothers concern understanding the men in their lives. Whether it is a husband, an ex-husband, or even teenage sons, women can have trouble understanding how men grieve. Men tend to grieve differently than women. Today, Gwen and I delve into the subject more deeply.
Recently, Gwen was at a Compassionate Friends conference listening to a bereaved father speak on the difference between grieving mothers and fathers. He said that women tend to ‘bee hive’ while men will ‘man cave.’ I know that I personally need to be around others in my grief. If I am alone and isolate, I can feel overwhelmed in my grief. I wallow in sadness. I definitely feel better when when I open up with others, especially with other bereaved parents.
Many men, on the other hand, tend to hold their feelings a bit closer to the chest. Those men may actually feel better when they are alone with their thoughts and feelings, perhaps doing a job or an activity. This can be hard - both men and women may feel that when men want to be alone and not talk openly, they are grieving in the ‘wrong’ way. It is not inherently wrong, however - it is just different and absolutely normal.
There are so many ways to grieve, and the differences between men and women can make It hard for us to understand each other. What works for a woman may not be at all helpful for a man and vice versa. The most important thing to remember as we grieve is that we cannot judge each other. We need to instead communicate openly and be patient.
I feel like I have so much in common with today’s guest, Sheila. Perhaps that is why even though I have never met Sheila in person and only talked with her remotely, I consider her a good friend now. Throughout Sheila’s adult life, she has become used to being able to fix problems. Whether at work or at home, it seemed that if she worked on the problem hard enough, it could be solved.
Sheila parented her son Angelo in much the same way. When he was a young child, he developed food allergies. She parented him through those struggles and instead of having a limited palate, he became a bit of a ‘foodie’ as a young adult. When his grades dropped in middle school, she got him tested for learning disabilities to help him succeed. As he became older, she changed her focus from solving problems for him to being a partner with him to help conquer adversities. She was there when he needed help, but gave him autonomy as well. Sheila felt that between the two of them, they could fix anything.
Almost a year ago, Sheila was faced with the unfathomable when her beloved son Angelo was killed from an accidental drug overdose. His death was unfixable. Her grief felt unfixable. She saw the reality that the world is a fragile place where horrible things happen, and she couldn’t do anything to fix them. It’s such a hard reality for a bereaved parent to live in. It feels like your job to keep your kids safe and healthy, and sometimes, that just isn’t possible.
So how do we move on after such great loss? I wish there was a simple answer, but unfortunately, there isn’t one. For now, the best thing I can say is that we get through this new life one day at a time as we try to surround ourselves with people who can support and understand us. That makes life just a little bit easier when we go through unfixable tragedy.
I feel like I have so much in common with today’s guest, Sheila. Perhaps that is why even though I have never met Sheila in person and only talked with her remotely, I consider her a good friend now. Throughout Sheila’s adult life, she has become used to being able to fix problems. Whether at work or at home, it seemed that if she worked on the problem hard enough, it could be solved.
Sheila parented her son Angelo in much the same way. When he was a young child, he developed food allergies. She parented him through those struggles and instead of having a limited palate, he became a bit of a ‘foodie’ as a young adult. When his grades dropped in middle school, she got him tested for learning disabilities to help him succeed. As he became older, she changed her focus from solving problems for him to being a partner with him to help conquer adversities. She was there when he needed help, but gave him autonomy as well. Sheila felt that between the two of them, they could fix anything.
Almost a year ago, Sheila was faced with the unfathomable when her beloved son Angelo was killed from an accidental drug overdose. His death was unfixable. Her grief felt unfixable. She saw the reality that the world is a fragile place where horrible things happen, and she couldn’t do anything to fix them. It’s such a hard reality for a bereaved parent to live in. It feels like your job to keep your kids safe and healthy, and sometimes, that just isn’t possible.
So how do we move on after such great loss? I wish there was a simple answer, but unfortunately, there isn’t one. For now, the best thing I can say is that we get through this new life one day at a time as we try to surround ourselves with people who can support and understand us. That makes life just a little bit easier when we go through unfixable tragedy.
Technology has changed how we look at the world in so many ways. Information is available with the click on your phone or computer at any time of the day or night. Today’s guest, Reid, worked in the field of technology for many years. Although his education background was in psychology, he never really felt called to work in psychology after college. When Reid was hit with his own grief after the deaths of his father and then his step-father, he got a first-hand look at grief. He began to feel a calling to help grieving people, not by being a professional counselor, but perhaps in another way.
Reid started taking classes on ‘companioning’ others in their grief. When giving a talk to his class about grief and guilt, Reid was told by a classmate that he should utilize his soothing voice on the Calm app in a way to help grieving, anxious people. Although he talked with the Calm executives about joining their team, it never went any further than a few conversations. Then a friend suggested starting his own app instead - specifically for the grieving community. Although Reid originally hesitated, it was honestly the perfect fit for him. By starting the Grief Refuge app, Reid merged his technology background with his passion to help grieving people.
His goal for the app is to help people feel more empowered on their own grief journeys. Now over a year since its release, the app is doing just that. People have downloaded the app (on both iTunes and GooglePlay) from all over the world. To learn more, visit their website, griefrefuge.com. With new content added daily, grieving people can use the Grief Refuge app to help them walk through each day. Through using the app, people have ‘a safe and sacred space to explore grief related feelings learn helpful ways to cope, and find peace and purpose after loss.’
My favorite quote from today’s guest, Ninette, is perhaps the best line ever uttered on the podcast. When describing grief, Ninette said, “It’s a long journey, you know. Bring some snacks.” Truer words have never been said. Grief is a long journey.
If anyone understands just how long the grief journey is, Ninette would. Ninette lost her infant son, Erick, 30 years ago now. Her grief journey started out like many of ours did - Ninette started seeing a therapist. Unfortunately, her therapist knew next to nothing about grief and child loss. In fact, every time Ninette tried to talk about Erick and her loss, the therapist would change the subject. She wanted Ninette to talk about her distant past and not her recent loss. The therapist was a young mother herself, and the idea of child loss was not something she could handle discussing.
Now, at this point, I would imagine most of us would either decide to find a new therapist or be turned off on the idea of therapy altogether. Ninette, however, did something else entirely. Ninette took her therapist out to lunch and asked her how she could go to school and become a therapist herself. She knew that grieving people needed help, and she decided that she was one who could provide grieving people with the help they needed.
Now, thirty years later, Ninette specializes in helping grieving people, especially grieving parents. She has walked alongside hundreds upon hundreds of patients over the years. Her wisdom simply blows me away. I know that there are listeners out there who read my description before deciding to listen to a particular episode. They think about whether the guest might have a story that is somewhat similar to their own before deciding whether to listen. Today, I urge anyone who reads this to listen to the full episode. When it comes to grief, Ninette is one of the wisest individuals that I have ever had the pleasure to know. We all have so much that we can learn from her.
After Andy died, many well meaning people had all sorts of ideas of things that we could do in his memory. People encouraged me to go to our state capitol to work on registration to combat distracted driving. People recommended scholarships to be made in Andy’s name, plaques to help remember him. Everyone seemed to have a different idea and they were all good ideas, but just because someone has a good idea does not mean it is the right fit for me and how my family wants to remember our Andy. After time, I knew that I was called to remember Andy through the making of a podcast.
When Carrie’s young son, Jackson, died, she and her husband knew that they wanted to do something to help keep Jackson’s memory alive as well. After thinking through a huge number of options, they felt called in one specific direction. Young Jackson had spent all of his 10 month long life in the NICU. During that time, Jackson’s mom had worked hard to make his NICU room a home. It was his own little nursery right there in the hospital. His parents wanted to spend as much time as they could with him. During just the first month of his life, they paid $2000 in parking fees.
They learned over all of these months that there were parents who could not afford the parking and therefore would not be able to visit their babies as often as they would have wanted. Additionally, parents who had premature babies born out in a suburban hospital, would ask doctors not to transfer their infant to Lurie Children’s Hospital in Chicago because they knew they would not be able to afford the parking to go see them. It was heartbreaking for Carrie to see.
After Jackson’s death, Carrie and her husband saw an amazing opportunity to remember Jackson and help other parents all at the same time. The started the Jackson Chance Foundation (jacksonchance.org). They had a single goal - provide parking passes for NICU families to visit their infants. Carrie feels that this single goal is what has helped them be so successful. Their organization now supplies parking passes to NICUs in three different Chicago hospitals. They provide 90,000 daily parking passes each year. In this way, little Jackson and his family can help families make memories that might not have been possible without them. It is their special calling to remember Jackson and help others at the same time.
You can't judge what is going on the inside by what you see of the outside. From the outside, Dani looked like she had it all. She lived in a great place on Capitol Hill, drove an expensive car, had many designer purses, sunglasses and shoes, but on the inside, Dani struggled with her mental health. She was always quick to help others going through a hard time, but sometimes did so even when her own well was running dry.
Dani's parents shared that on that fateful day back in 2019, their daughter went from the highest of highs with the birth of her new niece to 15 hours later feeling like she could not see tomorrow. Dani ended her own life that night. Her parents, although completely devastated, were determined that their daughter's memory would not end that night. Her love for helping others would live on.
Soon after Dani's Death, her family created an amazing organization, 33 Forever, which strives to help people going through mental health crises. To learn more about their amazing work, visit their website, 33forever.life or follow them on social media. Currently they are partnering with Ohio State University, and have opened a mental health urgent care center to help transition patients until they find permanent care for their mental health needs.
One day just over a year ago, Dani's step-dad, Jeff, was talking to a local TV show in their home state of Ohio to do advertising for an upcoming event for 33 Forever. He mentioned that it might be 'cool' if there was a TV show completely dedicated to mental heath that discussed stories and resources for mental health. Within a week, the vice-president of the TV station announced that they would start producing the show and that Jeff and Donna would be the ones to host it. Since that day, they have produced over 50 episodes offering hope and healing to all those who struggle with mental illness as well as those affected by suicide. All episodes can be found on the 33 Forever website.
Through 33 Forever and the Sparking the Conversation TV show, Dani's life and story and touching thousands of people each and every day.
I have recently been feeling sort of drained emotionally. I want to keep giving to others and helping other people, but there are days when the well seems a little dry. I worry that I won't have the capacity to do everything I want to do. My therapist told me to take care of myself. Gwen tells me to take care of myself. Friends and family members remind me to take care of myself, but I'm not even sure how to do that anymore. As I asked myself that question, "How do I care for myself in my grief?", I realized that there is one person whom I fully trust to have the right answer. Gwen. So today, Gwen and I talk about what it means to do good self-care in your grief. You would think that taking care of yourself would be an easy thing to do instinctively, but it really isn't. When unexpected things pop up throughout the week, I personally find that the first things that I will sacrifice are the things that I was planning to do for myself. Suddenly, taking that bath, sitting outside to read a book, or having a quiet dinner with my husband - all things that fill me up, take a back seat to life's responsibilities. Gwen reminds us today, that it is wrong to think about self-care as doing those little things that seem like you should only do 'if you have time' after all those other 'more important' tasks are completed. It is not selfish to take care of yourself; it is necessary. Don't just take that long bath 'if you have time. The bath is equally, if not more important, than going to that meeting or even making dinner for your family. If you find that you don't have time to sit and read that book or go for that walk in the woods, you need to make time. Eliminate tasks that don't need to be done. Ask for help from others for things that must be accomplished. If someone you love reminds you to take care of yourself, be brave enough to ask for help in doing the things that have prevented you from being able to do so.
‘Everything happens for a reason, life goes on.’ Please know that bereaved parents have not lost their ability to think or to be logical. We know life goes on; we just don’t know how. Yes, everything does happen for a reason; we struggle with the why’s. Our child’s life as we once knew it, does not go on. Our child’s body has stopped functioning. In lots of ways, so did ours. - Sherita Thomas, ‘What Did You Say?’
Like many other bereaved parents, today’s guest, Sherita, has heard many well-meaning statements from people after the death of her 4 1/2 year old son, William. Oftentimes, instead of bringing comfort, these words actually caused increased pain. Unlike other bereaved parents, Sherita took the time to write down many of these statements that others said to her, and ponder what these friends could have said instead. She found a way to express their intent in a kinder way and she wrote them down, often typing on her computer through tear-filled eyes. Years passed and she continued to have thoughts of putting everything together in a book format to help others know what to say to newly bereaved parents.
Then, 23 years after the loss of William, his older brother, Emir, died for unknown reasons. The well-meaning phrases started up again, and Sherita realized that such a book was truly needed. She understood how overwhelming the grief of child loss truly was. She felt called to finish that book despite her deep pain after losing the two youngest of her five children. A few years later, her book, ‘What Did You Say?’ was published. She finally was able to share all of her wisdom gathered over more that a quarter of a century. (Click here to purchase on Amazon.)
Sherita hoped that it would help many people. She hoped that newly bereaved parents whose friends and family had read the book would not have to hear the ‘crazy’ things that she had heard. Never in her wildest dreams, however, did Sherita think that she would be one of the people her book helped. Unbelievably, last December, just months after her book was finally published, Sherita lost a third son, Elon, when he was shot and killed. All of the pain was fresh and raw again. Losing Elon brought back the pain of losing Emir and William as well. Amazingly, however, she says that no one in her life has said anything crazy or hurtful this time around. They read Sherita’s words and learned how to better support her in her pain. Now, her hope is that others may gain this same knowledge through her book as well.
I love how interconnected things can become and how our huge world can suddenly feel really small. Two weeks ago now, I interviewed Cassie, Ella’s mom. You may remember that Ella died from an extremely rare tumor. Although she was 23 years old at the time of her illness and death, her tumor acted very much like a pediatric rhabdoid tumor so she was treated by a pediatric team in her home city of Paris, France. Almost 4000 miles away, baby Kian, was undergoing treatment for his own rhabdoid tumor which had been found on his kidney at 3 months of age. Kian’s mother, Sahar, was navigating through their own family cancer journey at almost the exact same time. Sahar says that as even though Kian had cancer throughout most of his life, he continued to be a happy, smiling boy throughout all of his treatments.
Not only did thy go through their cancer journeys at the same time, but the fact that both women found me at the same time is also remarkable. I had no idea that both of these women’s children suffered from similar illnesses. They had no idea that the other one even existed yet they both reached out to me. Both families started foundations within months of the deaths of their children. Even those organizations complement each other well. Ella’s parents started an organization to bring researchers together for conferences in the south of France so that they may learn about research others are doing for these rare pediatric tumors. Sahar’s family started Rawr for Kian, whose first goal is to raise money for research for rare these rare pediatric cancers. I found myself wondering during the interview whether some of the research that was being funded might someday be shared at one of those conferences in France.
In addition to funding research, Rawr for Kian also works to support families going through cancer treatments. They work to provide hot meals for families that they don’t have to work to prepare themselves. They strive to show love and support in any way that they can. Last year in the very first year of the organization, they were able to raise $100,000 for pediatric cancer research and to support families.
It certainly makes me smile and feel a little bit better about the world when I think about how much good can come from a passionate 23 year old French young woman and happy 2 year old American boy when their parents open their hearts up to support others around them.
Experiencing the death of a close loved one changes people. I became a changed person after mom mom died of cancer when I was in college. I changed again probably even more dramatically after my son, Andy, was killed in our car accident. When today’s guest, Crystal, lost her sister to suicide 3 years ago, Crystal’s life was forever changed.
Crystal had a young family including a 3 year old daughter. She was just finishing up her final weeks of college to earn her degree. She had a plan for her life. And then, her world was turned upside down when Gina, whom everyone described as a full of life ‘Energizer Bunny,’ took her own life. Crystal had decisions to make. She finished those final college classes, but then decided to take some time for herself to heal. It was during this time of healing when she began to feel a prompting to help others. She kept seeing little signs pushing her to help other grieving families. She felt like Gina want her to do more.
It was then that she started her business that she named ‘Scattering Hope.’ Even in the name, she felt her sister’s influence. “That’t what we need to do, Crystal,” she could almost hear her sister saying, “We need to scatter hope.” That is Crystal’s new life’s mission. She helps families heal after losing loved ones to suicide. Grief and hope aren’t often words that go together, but in community, we can begin to heal and to experience hope once again.
Next month, Crystal is hosting her third suicide summit for survivors of suicide loss. The summit is virtual and will feature speakers from all over the country, speakers that will hopefully help help Crystal scatter even more hope. Both Gwen and I are featured speakers as well. The summit is completely free to attend. The goals really are three-fold. First of all, it gives grievers an opportunity to be in community with each other. Secondly, it gives grievers tools to help them along their grief journey. Finally, it gives grievers opportunities to share their own stories. If you or anyone you know has been affected by suicide loss, I hope you will take time to register at scatteringhope.com.
A few years ago now, Cassie’s daughter, Ella, wrote a piece on the meaning of beauty. In the final sentence of the piece, Ella wrote, “The only thing that means anything at all is excruciating beauty if only you can find it.” For people who follow me on social media, they will recognize that I have grown to appreciate that phrase and even apply it to my life. Every guest certainly teaches me something about my own grief. Every once in a while, however, I have an interview that I feel impacts me in a way where I will be forever changed. Hearing Cassie repeat the words written by her daughter has done that for me.
Cassie’s 23 year old daughter, Ella, had an amazing spirit and personality. She was unique and loved by everyone around her. She was artistic and expressive, truly a beautiful soul. What began as a headache and suspected severe sinus infection around Christmastime in 2019 was found to instead be an exceedingly rare cancer that would take her life in a few short months. Only a month or two after the world started shutting down for COVID, Ella took her last breath and died.
Ella’s death was in April 2020 in Paris, France which made it impossible for her to have a true celebration of life. During COVID, Cassie’s American family were not allowed to enter France at all. Everything was put on hold. In some ways, the family’s grief was even paused. Finally, two years after Ella’s death, the family was able to celebrate her life in a way that could truly honor her. Her family and friends could finally gather together. Cassie called the experience ‘excruciatingly beautiful.’
When we as bereaved parents think about our lives now after the deaths of our children, we are so many experiences that can be described as ‘excruciatingly beautiful.’ Recently, Andy’s life has been honored through two graduation ceremonies and a camp building dedication. When I would mention these events to friends, I would often get a big smile telling me how great it was that they were honoring Andy in that way. I can’t argue with that. It certainly is amazing that different people are remembering Andy, but I actually had a hard time with the big smiles and others telling me how happy I must be feeling. As amazing as these things are, and as amazing as Ella’s celebration of life certainly was, it was not a happy experience; it was an ‘excruciatingly beautiful’ one. I think that phrase helps people to understand just a little bit better.
Thank you, Ella, for the gift of that phrase. I know it will change others as it has changed me.
As a self-proclaimed data and analytics guy, Ben discovered a disturbing fact shortly after his infant son, Jackson, died. He learned that nearly 50,000 children between the ages of 0 and 20 die each year in the United States alone. That means that each year, 100,000 parents have to live through this horrific nightmare. This does not even include any step-parents or other family members who are suffering as well. Last week, we were introduced to Everly’s parents, Nick and Martha. They also lost their infant daughter, although in a very different way than how Ben and Lara lost Jackson. Both sets of parents, however, felt a calling to help make the experiences of future bereaved parents a little better than their own had been.
Ironically, although both couples are from St. Louis, Missouri, they actually met at a bereaved parent’s retreat in northern Wisconsin. During that retreat, the two couples began to feel inspired. If they could help each other so much in their pain, perhaps they could expand their efforts and work together to help even more parents. The long drive home sparked exciting ideas which led to the formation of the non-profit group, Just Enduring. Their mission is to help promote living and loving after child loss.
Just Enduring offers immediate resources after the death of a child ranging from planning a funeral to finding a therapist to contacting social security, as well as everything in between. These resources are readily available on their website, justenduring.org. There are resources not only for newly bereaved parents, but also for their family and friends and even information for medical professionals. They help walk parents through those first days and weeks and know what may happen in a step-by-step fashion. There is also a blog section where moms and dads can individually write their own stories about their children.
A second area of focus is truly amazing and is called the ‘A Parent Like You’ program. In that program, the organization helps match parents with another family who lost a child under similar circumstances or at similar ages. It is so incredibly painful to go through this grief journey, but going through it with someone else can help bring a little bit of peace and comfort knowing you are not suffering alone. I know that as Just Enduring continues to grow, it will spread hope and healing to so many families.
When Nick and Martha’s young daughter, Everly, was brought to the emergency room from daycare, they were told, “Your daughter is very sick.” Martha remembers thinking, “No, she’s not. She’s totally healthy.” Shortly after that conversation, the parents were brought into the room were they were unsuccessfully trying to resuscitate Everly. Nick and Martha were hit with the reality that their previously healthy daughter had suddenly died.
Nick and Martha were in shock. They were completely devastated and had no idea what to do. Nick, being a problem-solver, began to ask hospital staff, “What do we do now?” The responses to his question tended to be one of the following:
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I’m so sorry.
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Take as much time as you need.
Now, both of these responses were very nice things to say. It was good that they were’t being rushed out of the hospital as many people are, but it was not an answer to Nick’s question. It seemed that nobody could answer his question. They knew this could not be the first time a child had died in the emergency room of that children’s hospital, but the staff really did not seem to have any answers.
Martha recalls being handed a nice book with a pretty cover, but that book said nothing about finding a funeral home, what an autopsy would entail, how to tell family members about the death, or even that Gift of Life might soon make a call. They were very alone in all of that. They had to walk out of that Emergency Room without their little girl and they had no idea what to do next.
Now, Nick and Martha muddled through those next days and weeks and did get through what they needed to do, but they began to wonder, ‘Could it have been better?’ Obviously, nothing would have made this experience good, but it certainly could have been easier in many ways, if there had been a little road map of everything that would need to be done over those first days and weeks. How comforting it would have been if some experienced person could have offered some guidance.
This week’s episode is truly a Part 1 of a two part series. Next week, I speak with Ben and Lara, Jackson’s parents. Although the circumstances around their children’s deaths were quite different, their experiences after their losses inspired the four of them to found an amazing new organization, Just Enduring, to help make bereaved parents especially in those first days, weeks, and months. Next week, we will learn more details so I don’t want to spoil it, but if you want to learn a little more today, visit the Just Enduring website.
I have to admit that before I lost Andy and started this podcast, I did not think much about the importance of caring for grieving people. You might have thought that this would have been a big focus that I had as a physician having lost my own mom when I was in college, but it truly was not. When my mother was dying, the medical team really did not do a great job supporting her or us, but at the time, I thought this was an aberration. Certainly, most hospital staff did a better job. Our experience was not typical.
It turns out, however, our experience with my mom was actually quite typical. Thinking back through all of my own medical training, I never really was shown how to truly be present for dying people and how to support their families after the death occurs. In fact, aside from a role playing exercise on ‘giving bad news’ early on in medical school, I can’t remember any other conversation about showing support to grieving people. As I talk with more and more bereaved parents, I saw how rare it truly was for medical professionals to show a little humanity in these dark times. People feel like they need to ‘stay professional,’ but they do not realize that to a newly bereaved patient, this professionalism just seems cold and uncaring.
This caused Gwen and I to embark on a new mission together to help educate medical professionals in this area. Caring for grieving people may come naturally to some, but for many, this is difficult. Our society tends to shy away from talking about grief. We want to help them feel more comfortable being in this dark space with a family. Families don’t expect us to be able to fix everything; sometimes not running away is the best thing we can do. Today, Gwen and I talk about our initial efforts in this area.
The second half of the podcast today is more personal. This past month has been extremely hard for me. It started with the days before Andy’s 18th birthday, has extended through graduation ceremonies honoring Andy, and finally next week, we will have a camp building dedication in his honor. The tears have come daily again - honestly, multiple times per day. At times, it actually feels like I am back there again in the early days of grief. Honoring Andy has been in the words of an upcoming guest, ‘excruciatingly beautiful.’ I love that they are honoring him, but at times, the pain feels almost like it is too much to bear.
It may seem odd in a way to put these two topics together in one podcast episode, but I realize that the overall theme is the same - caring for grieving people. The first portion is how I as a medical professional want to help other medical professionals care for grieving people. The second is actually about how my community continues to offer care to me and my entire family. As we come closer to the 4 year mark of Andy’s death, there are times when I feel my little family and I are the only people who still remember my boy, but over the last month, I have been reminded again and again, that his life affected far more people than I would have ever thought possible. These ceremonies, as painful as they are show me that Andy has not been forgotten.
“I’m sorry, Katie, but I can’t find a heartbeat.” These are the words that changed Katie’s life forever. After an easy pregnancy, today’s guest went into labor on her due date, never expecting that anything could be wrong. She and her husband had just heard baby Poppy’s strong heartbeat a few days before. Now, she was dead? How was that even possible? A stillbirth? In this time of modern medicine, it was hard to even believe that still happened to people.
As much as Katie didn’t want to believe that those words could be real, they were real and her life was changed forever. It reminds me so much of the words that were said to me in August of 2018 - “Despite our best efforts, we were unable to save your son.” When we hear words like that, we suddenly feel isolated and alone. We are suddenly bereaved parents and we will never be like everyone else again.
When we walk along this journey, however, we eventually learn that we are not alone. There are many other bereaved parents out there and together, we can help each other heal. Every time I release a podcast, I can help someone heal just a little bit. As Katie began to slowly heal and live once again, she learned that there are 24,000 stillbirths in the US each year. That means there are 48,000 mommies and daddies out there mourning their own lost babies.
That got Katie thinking about how she and Poppy might be able to help those 48,000 parents and others who struggle with loss. When she lost Poppy, Katie had no idea what to expect or what to do, but maybe sharing her story with others might help bring them a little bit of peace and comfort. It might help shine a little light on the path that seems so dark right now. Her book, Still Breathing, was born out of that desire to help others through their little family. Katie writes, “My path to healing was both long and winding. Now, in the wake of both birth and death, I own this story by choosing love over fear, acceptance over resistance, and being over doing.”
Empowered.
When I was about halfway through today’s interview with Braeden’s Mom, Tiffany, the word that came to my mind was ‘empowered.’ I remember thinking to myself, this is an unusual word to describe a bereaved mom, but in Tiffany’s case, that word just fits perfectly. Her life certainly felt broken after losing her only son, Braedon, but it was not destroyed. She was determined that her life would not be over and that she would continue living the best life that she could.
While many bereaved parents feel like they are being tossed about in stormy ocean waters with control over nothing in their lives, Tiffany promised herself that this would not be her story. She would not live life thinking of herself as a victim. She would not lay around in her bed unwilling to at least try to get up. In fact, Tiffany’s biggest pet peeve as a bereaved mom is when others say, ‘I don’t know how you do it. I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed.’
That statement is isolating for several reasons. Firstly, the person may be inferring that you aren’t grieving enough. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed.’ Secondly, they can be indicating that they certainly don’t think that your life is valuable enough to even be worth getting out of bed. Thirdly, that statement can feel so judgmental. ‘How can you even get out of bed. Your only child is dead.’ They likely mean that they are admiring some inner strength that they think the parent possesses that they never could, but even that is isolating, setting the bereaved parent somehow apart.
On social media platforms, Tiffany is known as @tiffanyagnewinspires. She certainly inspires me to be a better person and to find my inner strength. She writes, ‘The strength that is within me is the same strength that lies in you; it’s in all of us. That’s something I’ve learned along this grief journey; we are all braver, more courageous, and more resilient than we can even imagine. We are miracles in nature capable of living the impossible. We possess the power to move mountains and yes, even the power to heal through unimaginable loss.’
Sometimes, it feels like the world is really big and at other times, it feels really small. When I first spoke with today’s guest, Jen, the world actually felt quite tiny. She is from my home state of Iowa and lives in the town where I went to college, beautiful Decorah, Iowa. She graduated a year ahead of me and we even have two mutual friends - Sarah a friend from high school, and Meredith, one of my best friends from college.
This is amazing enough, but even more precious to me is the timing of this introduction. You see, Sarah introduced Jen to the podcast about two years ago. Meredith knew about our similar stories from the first days after Andy died, but she did not introduce us until now. Why would that be? What triggered Meredith to connect us now?
I feel like Meredith must have been nudged by God at just the right moment in time. I certainly always would have appreciated talking to her and our shared experiences, but honestly, I needed to talk to her now. Brendan died shortly after graduating from high school, 105 days into his freshman year of college, to be exact. Right now, in my life, I find myself constantly thinking about what ‘should be’ happening. We should have just celebrated Andy’s 18th birthday. We should be 2 weeks from his graduation from high school. We should be starting to buy things for his dorm room as we prepare to send him to college.
Every graduation announcement is a trigger. Innocent conversations at work about graduation parties make me want to burst into tears. I seem to be experiencing trigger after trigger over the past few weeks. Now, at this moment in time, because of Sarah and Meredith, Jen is here for me. Brendan did graduate from high school and even started college, but then suddenly died in his sleep from a seizure. Jen appreciates those precious memories in ways that other moms just can’t. These are some of her last memories of her son so she truly understands the longing that I have right now.
So today I say, “Thank you, Sarah. Thank you, Meredith. And finally, thank you, Jen. Thank you for listening. Thank you for understanding and thank you for bringing a bit of Iowa home to me at just the right moment.
From early in Betty and Kyle's relationship, they had a basic plan for their life together. For years, that plan worked without a hitch. They got married, finished their education, and then started their wonderful little family.
When their first child, baby Ella, was born, life continued to feel perfect. They documented every little milestone, watching her grow, begin to walk and even say a few words. Then right around her first birthday, Ella began to show symptoms that looked like a little cold. Even when they learned that it was not just a cold, but was heart failure, doctors still thought that given time, her heart would recover, and life would continue on much as it had before.
A couple of weeks later, on Kyle's birthday, however, Betty got a call from daycare that Ella's lips were turning blue. Despite being quickly transported to the hospital, Ella died shortly after arrival.
Shock, disbelief, devastation - these are just a few of emotions that flooded through Kyle and Betty, but along with that was a promise the two of them made to each other. The death of Ella would not tear them apart; it would bring them closer together. This experience would strengthen their marriage. Betty and Kyle became very intentional about communication with each other. They got a journal and planned times to write in it together - the good, the bad, the ugly. They wrote whatever they were feeling at the moment, often over a glass of wine.
Over the past few years, others began to think of Betty and Kyle as grief 'experts.' They were called on to sit with other grieving families in those first weeks and months. They would go with their little journal in hand, using it to help others on the journey. After having many people ask for copies of specific pages, they realized that publishing the journal as a book might be a way to help even more people than those in their little circle.
Last month, "Unraveled: When Loss Changes Everything" was published (available for purchase on Amazon). Here is a little taste of what Betty and Kyle write: 'Who would choose for bad things to happen? Nobody wants a silver lining - we all just want the sun. Trying to avoid pain is natural, but darkness creates contrast so we can better appreciate the light. Think about it - all light and no dark is just a whiteout. Contrast is what exposes beauty.'
When we experience a great loss such as the death of a child, our worlds are unraveled. With time, however, life can be re-woven back together. It will not look the same as the original, and it is certainly not as beautiful and perfect as it once was, but in some ways, it may be fuller, richer and more meaningful.
Today's guest, Rachel, has had a long relationship with grief starting in her teens when her dad died in a car accident. Over the years, she was there for the deaths of several other loved ones. She had even witnessed family members who lost children. She saw those who 'grieved well' and those who did not. I think that if you had asked her before Easter weekend 2019, if there was really anything that grief could throw her way that would be completely unexpected or shocking, Rachel would have answered no.
Shorty after her dad's death, Rachel saw a hypnotherapist who gave her an amazing analogy. He said that our memories are like a huge filing cabinet of emotions. When we have a joyful or a painful experience, we need to open the filing cabinet and the appropriate file and place it inside. Whether it is a big memory or a little one, we still have to open that file. When you have a big file filled with grief, opening it to even add something little can release the floodgates of pain.
This analogy that makes so much sense to me. I can better understand how going to the grocery store and seeing that favorite yogurt or box of cereal can affect us so deeply. That little bit of pain causes me to open the pain file, and once that file has been opened, I suddenly am overwhelmed by the pain and am sobbing in the grocery store aisle.
When the tragic events of April 20th happened, and Rachel's teen son, Matty was killed in a car accident, Rachel's pain file was blown wide open. Everything she thought she knew was suddenly thrown on its head. All grief is horrible, but this grief consumed her being. Her filing cabinet was upended and those emotional files were everywhere. The pain memories tainted everything.
This is how overwhelming grief can feel. My emotions are a jumbled mess and the painful memories that I want to file in the pain file, are everywhere. I think back to joyful, happy family memories and the pain is there. The pain seems to be everywhere, covering everything.
Over time, hopefully, we can start to set the filing cabinet up again. We try to separate and file the memories as we have done in the past. We hope that someday, the joy file doesn't feel stained by the pain file anymore. We wait for the time that little comments and conversations don't make us open that pain file quite so often. Until that day comes, however, know that it is completely OK and normal to cry in the grocery store aisle over a box of cereal.
When I realized that Andy's 18th birthday was going to fall on a Thursday, and thus be a podcast release day, I knew that the episode would have to be devoted completely to Andy. I planned to arrange this amazing episode with recordings from all of the people who loved him. I wanted it to be absolutely perfect. As the day came closer, however, I found that I could not do it. The pain was just too deep - I was constantly crying, and I was putting way too much pressure on myself.
Last week, I tearfully opened up to Gwen, telling her what I had dreamed for the episode and of my disappointment in myself. She quickly volunteered to help and encouraged me to let go of all of the expectations I had for myself. She invited me to simply open up and talk about all of my feelings and to not hold anything back.
Normally, my episodes are recorded about a month before I release them. We have plenty of time to edit and I do this write-up after I listen to the entire thing one last time. This week is completely different. I am writing this out the night before I even do my interview. I have no idea how it will turn out. It will be published completely unedited. I don't really know if I will even be able to talk or if my emotions will be too overwhelming.
I do have a couple of special birthday messages to play including a rendition of Happy Birthday sung by Andy's old choir. I have not even had the courage to play that for myself yet because I know it will release a floodgate of tears. I have a few emails that will be read as well, but mostly, Gwen and I will just talk about my dear, sweet Andy and what this day and this whole time of year means.
I always try to make each episode as encouraging as possible, and I fear that I will not be able to do much of that this week, but I have to remind myself that grief cannot be tied up in a neat little package. Holidays and birthdays are hard. This week, Gwen is in charge, and I am being interviewed, and if I am a 'hot mess,' it is OK because grief IS messy.
When Monica's daughter, Zoey, suddenly died on her 5th birthday on a trip to Disney World, she did not know how she could go on. How could she continue to be a good mother to her other daughter, a wife to her husband? As a physician, how could Monica continue to care for her patients? I feel so drawn to Monica today, because I, too, struggled with those same thoughts. I would find myself wondering if I could not save Andy, did I have any business trying to treat other patients? If I 'let him down,' was it possible that i would let others down as well? On the surface, I could see that these are not rational questions, but inwardly, they would still sneak in.
Is there a magic answer to continuing to live after devastating loss? In some ways, the answer is definitely 'no', but at other times, I would say the answer to living each day is to simply do it 'one day at a time.' Trying to think too far ahead can be overwhelming, but taking things minute by minute and day by day is truly the key. This is how we all must survive.
Today, Monica relates her 'secret' to surviving the last months since Zoey died. That secret is to collect little 'nuggets' of wisdom from other people who love her, grasping new ones to give her daily comfort. One such nugget that she has recently been clinging to is to think, 'Every day that I make it, I am one day closer to Zoey.'
It is so easy for us to count the days since we lost our children. We know the date. It is written on a tombstone at the cemetery, but if we think of things differently, it changes our perspective. It is a fact that each day we live brings us one day closer to unification and not just one day further from loss. Somehow, that thought gives me just a little bit more peace to live each day.
In the days after Andy died, someone from my office quickly arranged for each member of our family to start seeing a counselor. Eric and I were given an appointment together and it was, in a word, weird. We sat there on a loveseat in the office while the therapist crouched in front of us by our feet for the entire hour.
I don't remember anything anyone said, but I do remember looking at her thinking, 'That cannot be comfortable.' The visit was awkward for both Eric and me. I remember him saying as we left, 'We are not going back there again.' Less than two weeks later, we found our home at Starlight Ministries in a grieving parent support group. It was exactly what we needed.
As time passed though, I think others realized before I did that I did really need a therapist on top of the peer support. When trying to go back to work, I cried between every patient and eventually needed to take a prolonged leave of absence. I honestly did not think I would ever work as a pediatrician again.
When the first person suggested I see my eventual grief therapist, Nancy, I really brushed it aside. I had tried therapy and thought it would not help. Then a second person gave me the same name. I again did not listen, but when a third friend of mine mentioned the same name again, I decided that maybe God was trying to tell me something.
I started seeing Nancy, and it was truly life-changing. When I said that I thought my days as a pediatrician were over, Nancy said, 'I promise you that if you want to go back, we will get you there.' It took almost a year of hard work, but together, I was back to doing the career I had always loved so much.
I feel somewhat similar feelings about this week's podcast. Nine months ago in Episode 94, I interviewed Daisy's Mom who is now helping grieving parents from Sick Kids Children's Hospital in Toronto by leading grief yoga. Just a few weeks ago in Episode 131, I spoke with Judson's Mom who is finishing up her trauma yoga certification so that she can lead grieving parents in grief yoga as well. Today's guest makes number three. Dakota's Mom, Erin, has started grief yoga via Zoom through her website, yogawitherinb.com after having working with grieing mothers in person since 2019.
This third person reaching out to introduce me to grief yoga made me pause. Perhaps again, God is trying to tell be something. In the last weeks since the interview, I have tried some sessions and have found that they do decrease my stress level and just give me a bit of peace. After completing a thirty minute session, I just feel better.
Overall, the more things that we put in our toolbox to give us a bit of comfort, the better we will all feel. Whether it is attending a support group, individual therapy, listening to a podcast or doing grief yoga, they all are ways we can help ourselves heal just a little bit at a time.
When applying to medical school, potential students are required to write a personal statement to accompany the application. I remember specifically what I wrote in my statement because I was in the pain of grief. I wrote that I was applying to medical school to become a doctor both because of, and in spite of, my parents' battles with cancer and my mom's recent death.
You see, without the cancer, I never would have really been exposed to the medical community. My plan in life was to become a writer or a librarian. I loved reading and always wanted to surround myself with books. After cancer entered our lives though, I became exposed to the world of medicine and I started feeling the longing to help ease the suffering of others.
However, after my mother's death, the 'in spite of' part became a reality as well. Mom did not get better. My pain after losing her was worse than anything I had experienced. As I completed my junior year of college after my mom died, I began to have doubts. Would I really be able to do this career anymore? Would the memories of my mom's illness be too much for me? Onward I went through the process, however, hoping that in the end, emotionally, I would be OK.
This reminds me so much of my faith and relationship with God after the death of Andy. WIthout my faith, I am certain that I would not have been able to get through this pain. I turn to him in my pain and suffering. I look for others to be God's hands and feet to help me. I have felt the love of God and others surround me when I am at my lowest points.
On the other hand, however, I have at times felt so alone and abandoned by God. I can feel like He betrayed me or let me down in some way. I feel disappointed by God and have often felt so angry that He would allow Andy to die and for this to be my life right now. I want to shout out against Him and turn away.
In the end though, I think my faith journey needs to continue on in the same way that my medical school journey did. I just kept on the path working through those feelings of anxiety and doubt about my future. I went to medical school and ended up not being a doctor treating suffering cancer patients, but one that focused on healthy children and families. It was better than what I could have dreamed.
Down the road, my faith certainly will not look the same as it did before Andy died, but hopefully, at some point, I will be able to look back and see that it is in fact, better and stronger than I could have ever imagined. That day is not today, certainly, but, until then, I just keep going.
Tenacious. When listening to today's guest, Nancy, talk about her precious daughter, Jessica, the word that immediately comes to my mind is tenacious. No matter what life threw her way, Jessica continued to fight and even thrive. Despite being born with congenital heart disease requiring multiple surgeries resulting in many complications, she just kept going. Jessica loved life and would talk and talk until she quite literally turned blue and her family would say, "Jessie, slow down a minute. You are turning blue."
In the mid-1990's, as Nancy was learning more and more about congenital heart disease, she felt drawn to find other parents going through similar struggles and offer comfort and support to them. Initially, this came in the way of a listserve where people would write emails sharing their stories with each other. Through this experience, Nancy formed many friendships, including friendships with Michael (Episode 122) and Anna. In fact, Michael talks about how when his daughter, Liel, died, it was Nancy (although she lived on the other side of the world) who was able to give him comfort during those first days.
Although Jessica lived until she was 22 years old, she never developed higher than the level of about an 8 year old. Today, Nancy talks about the beautiful memories that they have of Jessica and even of those last weeks of her life when they were helping her to prepare her and answer her questions about heaven. These are beautiful stories that are inspiring and heartbreaking at the same time.
Nancy says that in life, Jessica would say that she always needed her mommy. Now, in death, Nancy still feels Jessica with her constantly whether it is by seeing unexpected butterflies or other little signs. Jessica always taught her in life and now Nancy is continuing Jessica's work by spreading help and healing to bereaved parents everywhere.
Nancy helps in this work by being a producer (along with Anna and host, Michael) of the Bereaved, but Still Me podcast. If you didn't listen after hearing Michael, start now! It may actually mean even more now that you know of the stories of not one, but two girls whose lives inspired their parents to start a podcast.
When I started the Always Andy's Mom podcast, the story was picked up by local TV stations. I remember one particular interview on my family room sofa. I was brought to tears several times, but managed to relay to her my goal of trying to bring a bit of hope and healing to grieving parents. When we finished the interview, she actually gave me a hug. I remember her saying, "I feel like you are going to do something so amazing with this. I can't wait to see what happens." She went on to say that she felt like I was going to be the next 'Oprah.' I remember being a bit blown away by that, wondering how she could come to that conclusion so quickly. Now, I think I understand just a little bit. As I was interviewing today's guest, Jami, a similar feeling came over me. Here she is, only months into her grief journey, still broken and in SO much pain, but I can sense what she is going to be able to offer others down the road. Her desire to help other grieving parents and also people dealing with addiction and mental illness was palpable.
Before Jami's son, Judson, died, she was a fitness coach and personal trainer. Her life focused on wellness and helping others. After walking with him down this journey of addiction that ultimately led to Judson's death by suicide, Jami temporarily closed her business. She felt that she could not help others when she struggled to even help herself. At the time of Judson's death, Jami was only 20 hours away from her 300 hours of training to teach trauma informed yoga.
Jami's goal now is to transform her health and fitness website, jamisfitforlife.com, into a safe space for people for healing after loss. She plans to complete those last hours of training by the end of this month and even start a yoga series that she is calling, 'Grief Relief Yoga: helping to reduce the symptoms of trauma after the loss of a child.' I just KNOW that Jami's work will help to bring a bit of peace and healing to others.
As far as that reporter goes, she was clearly quite wrong about me becoming the next Oprah. Two and a half years into the podcast, it is still recorded on Zoom in my dining room. It is still just my little side project that I do with Andy each week and I love it. That reporter was right in one aspect though. Despite our small size, I do feel like we have been able to do something amazing. Every email or social media message that I get telling me what the podcast has done for them personally, shows me that this is worth it. Every bit of hope and healing that I can spread to others gives me a little peace and healing as well.
So whether Jami and I are able to bring comfort to a handful of people or thousands, it really does not matter. What matters is that we each do our own part, offering what we can to others who are in the depths of pain and depair.
A few month's after the death of Debra's 6 year old son, Aven, she had a friend point out something that she had never noticed before. Her friend said, "You know, you can't spell heaven without aven." Debra and her family had never noticed that before. They named their son, Aven, after a dear grandmother named Neva. It was special to them, but they certainly had never noticed a connection to heaven before that moment. Aven's story is a very special one to me because Aven almost died years before as an infant. In fact, you could even say that he did die as his heart was stopped for 42 minutes before the hospital team got it restarted again. Aven's family prayed desperately outside of his hospital room so many years ago, and they got a miracle. I find myself jealous of these families sometimes. Don't get me wrong; I certainly don't wish that their child had died, but I will start questioning God a little bit. Why was that family's prayers answered when mine were not? Did they pray harder? Are they better people? Better Christians in some way that they were rewarded and I was not?
Last summer, however, the miracle did not come for Debra's little boy when he faced a deadly illness. He suddenly became sick with a rare organism with no known treatment and given a 5% chance of survival. The family was devastated, but hope remained. Aven had defied the odds before and he could do it again. The prayers began in earnest once more. This time, people prayed from all over the world.
Certainly with thousands of prayers, Aven would be healed once more. This time, however, Aven wasn't healed. The miracle that they longed for did not happen. Did they pray less fervently this time? No, certainly not - in fact, far more people prayed. Were they different, somehow less deserving now than they were 6 years ago? Of course not.
Now, you might think from the outside that this 'unanswered' prayer would in some ways diminish my faith or the faith of Aven's family. For me, actually, it does quite the opposite. It shows that it is not somehow my fault that Andy died, just as is not Debra's fault that Aven died. We do the best that we can, but sometimes God doesn't answer prayers in the way that we hope he will. As much as we would long to know why, on this side of heaven, we will not know.
Now, Debra will tell you that she actually did witness a miracle last summer, just not the one that she hoped to receive. An entire community rallied around Aven and their family. They continue to see God's love and support in people all around them, even now more than 6 months later. They were able to start a foundation, amazingaven.org, to help with awareness and treatments for the amoeba infection that took Aven's life. On top of that, they do get a bit of comfort from the fact that you can't spell 'heaven' without 'aven.'
Sometimes when you meet someone, you just click and a friendship forms immediately. I had that sudden feeling of friendship from the first email that I received from today's guest, Amanda. I don't want to give away too many details because I want you all to listen, but I feel like meeting Hudson's mom, Amanda, was somehow divinely orchestrated from above. After the death of their son, Hudson (affetionately known as Buzzy), Amanda and her husband formed an organization in their son's memory called Buzzy's Bees. Initally, the organization was formed with the goal of offering financial support to grieving families. Amanda knew that they had been blessed by family and friends offering support to them after 13 month old Hudson's unexpected, sudden death. She wanted to spread the love by offering help to others going through this experience as well.
Amanda soon realized, however, that financial stressors were not often the primary concern for bereaved parents. All parents want their children remembered and a great fear for many whose children die is that over time they will be forgotten.
How can we keep our children's memories alive? One way is through the gift of storytelling. Perhaps this is why I feel so drawn to Amanda. As all of my listeners know by now, I love telling stories. I feel extremely privileged to help parents share the stories of their children each week on the podcast.
Buzzy's Bees takes this stroytelling to a whole new level in their project, Give Grief a Voice. Even sharing with you the process brings tears to my eyes. First, a writer meets with the family and interviews them about their son or daughter. Then, this person records the child's story in a beautiful approximately 2000 word written format. After the story is completed, the parents pick out an artist to create visual art to accompany their child's written story.
How amazing is that? These parents are blessed with a new memory of their child, and we all know how precious that can be. Ultimately, Buzzy's Bees plans to publish these stories alongside the artwork in a book. For more information, to support or to fill out an application, please visit their website, buzzysbees.org.
Shortly after recording today's episode, I received an email from today's guest, Shirlene. I want to share part of that email with all of you - 'I was giving blood today and my “Krissy” tattoo was in full view … the phlebotomist asked me about Krissy and she shared that her sister had died from sepsis too… we shared some thoughts, words, and tears….but then she said to me…, ”may I ask what your favorite memory is about Krissy? I’m sure you have many…” I was so touched and so eager to share and talk about her and revel in all those wonderful memories. It was such a beautiful couple of minutes for us.' Storytelling is such an amazing way to share with others. Whether it is the weekly hour-long storytelling that we do on the podcast or a quick memory that you tell someone you just met, both can bring us little bits of comfort and joy. This email from Shirlene reminds us all of the power of sharing with other people.
Shirlene goes on to ask in her email, 'How can we let people know we want to talk about them, remember them, share them?' I think one answer to that question is to model it to them. Relate funny, happy stories about your own child. Ask others to share a favorite memory of their own loved one. By showing this is not taboo, hopefully, we can help change the world a little bit at a time.
I have a distinct memory of a promise made on the night that Andy died when our broken, little family stayed together in Peter's hospital room. Eric and I could not sleep so we went out in a little area that overlooked the city of Grand Rapids. Eric said these words to me that night, "This will not break us." I immediately knew what he meant. No matter how hard the upcoming days, months, and even years would be, we were going to face it together.
One of the most common questions that Gwen and I are asked is about how to mourn as a couple. Today, we try to help answer that question and give people thoughts on how to better understand each other. Couples need to work together through this unimaginable loss.
Everyone's grief is unique, but when in a marriage and a family, you are not grieving by yourself. It is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that your partner is not grieving 'right' and that he/she should be doing things differently. "The key," Gwen says in today's episode, "is to have open, honest conversations about what each partner needs for themselves and for each other."
This is certainly not easy to do, but I am so thankful that the two of us made a vow to each other that night. This is definitely the hardest thing Eric and I have ever experienced in our marriage. In fact, I cannot imagine anything more difficult. We definitely make mistakes and will continue to make more in the future, but as long as we keep working and talking, we will make it through and I know that other couples can do the same.
It is usually not difficult for me to decide what to write to sort of 'sum up' my podcast each week. Normally, I feel a pull in a certain direction, something specific and special about the guest that I really want to highlight. This week, in my interview with Madrona's Dad, Ryan, however, I find myself struggling, not because I have nothing to write about, but because there is so much to choose from. I learned so much from Ryan and enjoyed so many aspects of our conversation. It feels impossible to narrow it down to one or two areas, but unfortunately, I must try. Initially, Ryan and I talk about raising a child with significant developmental challenges and how he constantly worked to be Madrona's advocate. As Madrona ever so slowly made progress, her dad helped her to have a life filled with the same experiences her sisters had. Although many people may have underestimated nonverbal Madrona, her expressive, inquisitive face and quick laughter brought joy to all around her.
After Madrona's unexpected death, Ryan, like so many of us, struggled with how to continue to live without her. Ryan said he had to work on truly learning how to love himself. He had spent so much time as a dad focused on loving his children, he had really forgotten how to love himself.
Ryan has always been a spiritual person; he started participating in Native American sweat lodges at the age of 13. After Madrona's death, however, he began to feel even more in tune with nature. Trees looked even more beautiful. His sense of spirituality and oneness with the world grew in new ways.
Now, Ryan looks to share this knowledge with others through his website, theryanhartford.com and with his new podcast which can be accessed through his website as well. He has so much to offer those who are hurting and grieving. Ryan says he has been able to find courage and love in the darkness of pain. He now wants to help others who walk along this same path.
(If you finish listening to his episode on my podcast and wish you could hear more of the two of us, listen to Episode 4 of his podcast. I honestly think he did a better job interviewing me that I did interviewing him!)
When I started thinking about what to write about for today’s guests, Traci and Michelle, a song immediately came into my head. Perhaps it is because both of these women describe their children as ‘old souls’, but an old song came to mind. The song is, ‘You’ve Got a Friend,’ as sung by James Taylor originally recorded in 1971. The lyrics start:
When you’re down and troubled and you need a helping hand.
And nothing, whoa, nothing is going right.
Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there.
To brighten up even your darkest nights.
This song truly seems to fit what they have become to each other. On the surface, Michelle and Traci are different in many ways. They originate from different parts of the country. They have very different backgrounds, different accents. Even the ways that lost their children are very different. Michelle’s daughter, Rachel, died from an electrical accident at a pool where she was working as a life guard (Episode 70) and Traci’s son, Hunter, died due to an accidental drug overdose. However, the bond of this shared experience of child loss brings them closer than they even could have imagined.
This friendship led them to seek out and attend different bereaved parents retreats across the country. Most recently, they attended an amazing While We’re Waiting retreat (which has been featured on the podcast). Michelle and Rachel loved these retreats and loved the bonds and friendships that were started on these weekends. Michelle says that during these retreats, she really felt like for the first time in a long time, she could truly breathe. She could open up and be herself without fear of judgment.
After seeing the long waiting lists for these retreats, Michelle and Traci had this overwhelming feeling that they should start one themselves. The organization, ‘Pangels’ (Parents of Angels) was born. The goal of their ‘Reflective Healing’ retreats is to help build personal supportive friendships. Their first retreat will be held March 4-6, 2022 at Lake Gaston In their home state of North Carolina, but the dream is to spread them to other parts of the country as well. To learn or and register for this retreat, visit their website, pangels.org.
Shortly after her son Ray died in 2001, Darla's neighbor, Kay, walked up to Darla's front step. Kay told Darla that she recognized Darla's pain because she, too, had lost her son at the age of 10. When Darla asked her how long ago her son had died, Kay's answer stuck with her forever. Kay said, "1968. Yesterday. An hour ago."
When Darla's two children were born with cystic fibrosis, she lived with the knowledge that she may outlive both of her children. Darla expected that she may slowly watch their lungs deteriorate and infections become more frequent. She lived though, with the hope that continuing advancements in cystic fibrosis treatments might mean that they would in fact live long lives.
Out of the blue, however, 12 year old Ray suddenly died of a previously unknown heart defect (ARVD). Kay's continued words of wisdom gave her support in little ways. Despite this, Darla says that she spent those first years really wasting her life.
Interestingly, a breast cancer diagnosis (five years after Ray's death) is what turned her around to show her what her life should be. Her transformation over these past 20 years has now culminated in her new book, Muddy Thursday. When we share our stories, we can enlighten them. We can inspire them. We can bring about change in the world.
Today's guest, Karen, says that in today's society, we all suffer from a lack of 'loss intelligence'. We are taught so many things in our lives, both intellectually and emotionally. We are taught how to love others and even how to love ourselves. One thing that is often ignored, however, is how to handle loss in our lives. In her newest book, Demystifying Loss, Karen describes more than 40 types of loss that people experience.
In 2011, Karen was chief financial officer of a large publicly traded company in Australia when her life was turned completely upside down. Karen's 27-year-old son, Dan, suddenly and unexpectedly passed away at her back door. Karen talks about how in those first 15 months, she made many mistakes when trying to deal with grief and true loss for the first real time in her life, but ever so slowly, Karen began to learn and grow.
Karen says that at that point, she really took a 'deep dive' into herself to learn who she had become at her core. The loss of Dan changed her; other losses changed her as well. As devastating as these losses are, we can learn from them and even grow from them. We can work through the losses in our lives, see how they have changed us and allow them to make us the people who we are today.
Karen's life looks nothing like it did ten years ago when she was in the corporate world. Despite the horrible pain of losing Dan, in many ways her life is actually better. She understands herself better and through her books and her organization, The Chaston Centre, she helps others 'deep dive' into themselves as well. In Karen's words from her website, karenchaston.com, “Life is too short to be suffering from any kind of loss; unwrap the gift this has brought and then design a life that you live and love.”
I have a confession to make. I have been lying to you all for almost two and a half years now. In my defense, I did not know that I was lying so I guess maybe technically, it is not a lie, but I do need to apologize regardless. I have said from the very first Always Andy's Mom podcast episode that when I looked for a podcast specifically for grieving parents back in May 2019, there were none out there. I was wrong. There was one at that time, and it is hosted by today's guest, Michael.
Michael's precious daughter, Liel, was born with congenital heart disease, later was diagnosed with autism and in her teen years, developed epilepsy as well. Ultimately, in her teen years, Liel died from sudden unexplained death in epilepsy. Throughout Liel's life, Michael got to know others in the congenital heart disease community online while seeking support for Liel. Although Michael and his family are from Isreal, Michael got to know Anna Jaworski (from Texas) and her HUG Podcast Network (Hearts Unite the Globe). Anna currently hosts the podcast, Heart to Heart with Anna, for the congenital heart disease community.
As Michael will explain in today's episode, this relationship with Anna, led to them starting another podcast within the network, this time for bereaved parents. It is now called, 'Bereaved But Still Me' (although the original title was Heart to Heart with Michael which although a great title may have made it difficult for someone like me to find it). In this monthly podcast, Michael hosts a guest to discuss grief in a variety of ways. This month's guest is actually me so after listening today, you can pop over to his podcast and listen to another 30 minutes of us!
After speaking with Michael, now three different times, I can see why his podcast is starting its 6th year. He is amazing to talk to - one of those people that I would talk to for hours on end without tiring of it. Today, we talk about Liel, her life and death, his Jewish faith and Jewish customs that accompany his grief journey. At the end of today's interview, I immediately began thinking of reasons to invite him on for a second time.
I am happy to admit that Michael has proven that I am a liar. I am so glad that the HUG Network and Michael launched Bereaved But Still Me as a resource to help bereaved people all around the world. I am glad that many other podcasts now fill this space as well. The world certainly needs more hope and healing for grieving people, and I am glad that we can all do our part to help.
Courageous. Brave. Strong. These are words that people often use to describe those of us who are bereaved parents. 'You're so strong! I could never do what you are able to do!' Statements like this actually irritate me somewhat. I am not courageous or brave or strong. I am weak and I want and need help from others every single day. This is not something that I even want to be strong enough to do on my own.
Today's guest, Ivan, feels much that same way that I do about these often-used phrases. Ivan worked for many years as a sports journalist for ESPN so after his son, Max, died by suicide, he said that words just poured out of him as he was adjusting to life as a grieving father. He suddenly was thrown into this world of grief that he had known nothing about and was forced to adjust and live a new life that he had never planned.
Several years after Max's death, Ivan wrote an essay on medium.com talking about his life and his grief journey, hoping to help others understand grief a bit better. That essay became extremely popular and led to Ivan being asked by The University of Georgia Journalism School to speak at a symposium on journalistic courage. He spoke at the conference, but was quick to deny that his essay was a demonstration of courage. Using the word 'courage' implies that he had a choice. There was no choice; this was his new reality.
Now, Ivan has published a new book which is based on the ideas of the essay entitled, 'I Keep Trying to Catch His Eye.' (Use andysmom.com/catchhiseye to purchase on smile.amazon.com) In the book, he hopes to teach others (in an entertaining way) a bit more about grief so when death hits them, they might be more prepared than he was. Hopefully, in daily life as well, people might know how to give a bit of comfort toward the bereaved and not want to run away.
Support from other grieving people can play such an integral role in our grief journeys. Being able to talk with people who 'get it' can bring us comfort. Witnessing those who are just a little further along in their grief story can inspire us to know that it is possible to not only live after loss, but to experience bits of joy in that life as well.
As a part of the wrap-up to the Christmas season, as well as a wrap-up to 2021, I decided to get 4 amazing moms together to talk just about this and to show how slowly and surely, things do change over time when we allow ourselves to work through our grief. Today, we have a chat with Demetra (1 yr after the death of Eleni), Chrisy (2 yrs after the death of Caleb), me (3 yrs after from the death of Andy), and Laura (4 yrs after the death of Luke). The pain is still strong, surely. We mourn our children each day, but over time, the pain softens a bit, and joy begins to sneak back in in little ways.
Slowly, a few good days begin to sneak in, and then the good days start outnumbering the bad. Living each day starts to become just a little less heavy, the pain less sharp. If you are interested in working through your grief with other bereaved people in 2022, I encourage you to look for a support group in your area. If you are interested in a virtual (or in person in west Michigan) Christian-based support group, email Stephanie at stephanie@starlightmin.org. A new session, (which I facilitate) starts in early February. Hopefully, 2022 can bring each of us a little bit of peace and hope for the future.
What do yellow irises, a winter planter and a $10 bill have in common? They are all parts of amazing stories in today's podcast. The holidays are an especially difficult time to be grieving. It seems that everyone around you is happy. Their smiling faces often make our pain feel even more raw. Happiness seems so distant.
Two years ago, shortly after starting the podcast, as Christmas arrived, I felt like I needed to do something different for a Christmas episode. It needed to be special and it needed to be uplifting. I settled on doing an episode called "Messages of Hope" (Episode 17). I was attending a Christmas party for bereaved women and I took time to hear a few inspiring little stories as well as read emails of others I had received. It was so moving and inspirational to me that last year, I decided to do something similar (Episode 67: Messages from Heaven).
The stories in these episodes did more for me than give me a little hope for the holidays. They helped give me hope for life, hope that our children, although gone from this earth, are still ok and that God can give us little signs from beyond to show us this is true. Although many episodes of my podcast still give me tears of sadness, these stories only make my heart feel joyful.
This year once again, I wanted to help others feel happiness during this otherwise difficult time. Gwen and I recorded this year's episode as a Livestream which can be seen on Facebook or my YouTube channel. I felt lighter after recording it, more able to face the difficulties of the season. I had a tiny bit of peace in my soul. I guarantee that you too, will never look at yellow irises, winter planters, or even $10 bills in quite the same way again.
When today's guest, Dana, lost her son Brogan in a freak accident at the young age of 10, people watching her from the outside might have thought that she would be able to handle it a bit 'easier' that other parents. You see, Dana is a pediatric oncology nurse in a children's hospital who has cared for dying children for her entire career. She has been the one to hug a newly bereaved family who lost their precious son or daughter. Dana has attended more funerals for children than the vast majority of people. In fact, Dana had even thought about what she would want at the funeral for one of her children long before it ever happened.
When her oldest son, Brogan, died however, she was anything, but ready. I know as a pediatrician, I too, have cared for dying children and know that kids die more often than most people like to admit, but when it happened to me, I was paralyzed. Dana says that during that first week especially, she felt like she was on 'autopilot' because she was so numb.
Although God gave her the strength to plan the funeral, her friends and family were the ones who worked to make a photo board for the wake and even put together a slideshow. Dana says that she just sat there in a chair, unable to even give an opinion. They did so much for her and were, in her words, 'an amazing support' for both her and her entire family.
Dana's biggest piece of advice to grieving parents - Don't be afraid to ask for help. Ask for what you need. Tell people what you don't need. Don't worry about offending anyone. Most people don't understand what you are going through, and those who do, will not be offended. Others can be truly blessed by being able to help out and do the things that you are not able to do. Don't limit them by trying to do things that are too difficult for you.
On the day that Marie's husband, Rob, died suddenly of a brain aneurysm, Marie's young son asked her a question through his tears, "Who will take care of us now?" Marie's answer was quick and definite. "I will. I will take care of us." At the time, she did not realize just how important it was to say that sentence out loud to her boys, but it was crucial. She made a decision in that moment. It was up to her to raise their boys and to continue the happy life they had started together.
As Marie began to navigate this new world of being a 'widow', she quickly began to hate the term. She realized that society had expectations for widows, and she didn't want to fit into that mold. First of all, she did not look the part of an old, graying widow, but secondly and more importantly, she did not want to act the part, sitting around crying all day, waiting for others to help her, and never laughing or smiling again.
Marie says, "Adversity changes you, but it does not have to define you." She wanted her two boys to have happy lives moving forward. She wanted to not only live life again; she wanted to love life again. This realization led to her writing a book, 'Loving Life After Loss.' She says that the book sort of poured out of her and was written in only 4 short weeks. Amazingly, the book quickly rose in popularity and overnight became #1 on Amazon and in the top 100 of Australia!
It was then that she knew that she really had something that resonated with others and that she needed to keep spreading the message. Her movement, 'Loving Life After Loss' began. Those first days and weeks were a whirlwind having requests from 150 people per day to join. Now she has online groups and resources, as well as in person retreats. To find out more, visit her website at mariealessi.com.
From the first moments after baby Emilia was born, things did not go according to plan. The birth plan that was so carefully written, went completely out of the window when Emilia had trouble breathing. She was quickly diagnosed with a diaphragmatic hernia. Later, it was found that she had a mild heart defect as well. Although Emilia battled breathing problems and feeding problems, she seemed to defeat each obstacle that was put in her way with a big, happy smile on her face.
By the age of 16 months, it seemed as if Emilia had conquered all of her medical problems and was going to spend the rest of her childhood as a normal kid. They had even scheduled an appointment to have her feeding tube taken out. Emilia's parents describe their little daughter and a 'tubie who was a foodie.' I doubt many tube-fed babies and toddlers would be described as 'foodies,' but little Emilia was just that. She loved to eat, and not 'normal' toddler foods (although she did love a good French fry). Her favorites were things like wagyu steak, scones and even octopus.
But just as everything seemed to be going perfectly for this little family of three, the unimaginable happened. A routine simple surgery led to an infection and in a matter of a few days, little Emilia, the joy of her parents' lives, was gone. There were no more little family walks with Emilia on here dada's shoulders, no more music coming from her bedroom, no more fun days of feeding her new foods. The house was quiet and Bryan and Claudia's lives were forever changed.
Even though Emilia was physically gone, however, her parents wanted to make sure that their daughter was never forgotten. Living almost all of her life during COVID meant that Emilia met very few people in her life, but that doesn't make her life any less special or important. A month after Emilia died, her mama and dada tattooed her name onto their arms. They are quite literally wearing their grief on their sleeves. The hope is that the tattoo will spark conversation and have people ask about Emilia. Bryan says, "I want to put her name on someone else's lips for the rest of my life." It is just one tiny way to help Emilia, the little 'foodie' be remembered.
"Grief is not an emotion; it is an experience." These are wise words from today's guest, words that I want to spread far and wide to anyone who will listen. Grief is not a feeling like happiness, sadness, anger or worry. I don't say to someone, 'I am feeling grief today.' I feel grief every day. It just looks different depending on which of the countless number of grief emotions that I might be feeling at that moment.
When Sara's brother, Jacob, died unexpectedly in college from a heart attack, she was in the middle of her training to become a social worker. Prior to Jacob's death, Sara thought that she wanted to spend her career working within the prison system. All of that changed in a moment when he died. The grief that she felt was overwhelming to her. It impacted every part of her life. She felt isolated and alone, even when surrounded by others. The little brother that she thought would be there with her forever was suddenly gone.
She sought counseling for her own grief and realized just how little she was taught on the subject even in her own training to be a therapist. She learned that even the goal of grief therapy is different than the goals for other types of therapy. The typical end goal of counseling is to get rid of the problem - the anxiety, the depression, the eating disorder, etc. The goal for grief therapy, however, is not to get rid of the grief. It is to walk with the person through the grief, to help them survive the grief and even to grow in their grief.
Today, Sara and I talk about individual grief therapy versus group therapy or support groups and what each of them have to offer. We talk about what to look for in a grief therapist (and about the fact that not all therapists at good at doing grief work!). We discuss the blessings that can come from the peer support when in a group with other grieving people. If you are thinking about starting therapy or attending a support group for your grief and don't know what to expect or how to start, this is the episode for you.
It is heard both in song and in general conversation that this is 'the most wonderful time of the year.' For those of us who are grieving, however, nothing can be further from the truth. We often approach this holiday season with feelings of dread, rather than excitement. We fear that our loved ones will not understand the pain that the holiday season brings. We feel pressure to do more than we are ready to do.
In today's episode, Gwen and I delve into how grieving people can approach and try to prepare for holiday events and all of the emotions that come with the holiday season. This was Facebook and YouTube Livestream so was answer questions directly from listeners as well. Overall, I feel like there was so much good information shared from Gwen as well as ideas from listeners. The bottom line is, as difficult as the idea of grieving through holidays is, by preparing ahead of time, we can give ourselves at least a few 'wonderful' moments during an otherwise difficult time.
** If you want to participate in our next Livestream event, Gwen and I will again be talking on Tuesday, December 21st at 8pm Eastern Time. At that time, we will be answering any last minute pre-Christmas questions. We will also be sharing some sweet stories as now has been a Christmas tradition for the podcast (Episode 17: Messages of Hope and Episode 67: Messages from Heaven). If you are interested in contributing stories to these podcasts, you can email me at marcy@andysmom.com. You can either email the story directly for us to read or I can email a link to the livestream so you can share it yourself on the broadcast. We hope to have many stories to share just as we have in past years!
Eight months ago, today's guest, Erin, got an unthinkable call while she and her husband had gone away for a weekend getaway - their previously healthy 14 month old daughter hadn't woken up that morning. She remembers the day vividly, the thoughts, the feelings. 'I remember being in such disbelief. What happened? She's healthy. She's never been sick.' Erin was right. Stevie was completely healthy. Her autopsy results showed nothing. Her cause of death was officially termed, 'unexplained,' a condition also known as Sudden Unexplained Death of Childhood.
Erin's life is now divided into the before and the after, before Stevie died and after Stevie died. Her mind is at war with itself, alternating between thinking that this cannot possibly be real and knowing that somehow, this actually is her life now. She now has one living child, not two. As the shock starts to wear off, there are times when the pain actually seems more acute instead of less. Erin says there are days when it feels like her very soul is on fire.
The biggest source of comfort for this little family during all of this pain has been through Charlie, their 4 year old daughter. Erin has been simply blown away by her innocent heart and caring empathy. Charlie talks about her baby sister and will even carry her picture outside with her to play. She will blow kisses up to heaven. A few months ago, Erin and husband were crying together having a particularly difficult day. Charlie went to the kitchen, filled up bags of ice and handed it to them, saying, 'Here. This is for your heart. It is hurting.'
What a lesson Charlie shows to all of us with her caring spirit. Unfortunately, our hurting hearts can't be made better by bags of ice, but little gestures do matter. Kind words matter. Helping each other one day at a time promotes gradual, but steady healing.
I can honestly say that I enjoy talking to every single guest I have on the podcast. Every story is unique and special, and I always learn something, whether big or small. Many of my guests are inspiring and make me feel just a little bit better about this world. A few guests though, are inspirational to the point that meeting them and talking to them for just an hour changes me and my entire life going forward.
Today's guest, Melissa, falls into that final category. I honestly feel like talking to her has motivated me to work on helping myself and my faith in new ways. Melissa's 22 year old daughter, Alexis, died only 6 months ago unexpectedly in her sleep. For me, 6 months was my absolute low point; the shock had worn off by then and I was just left with the pain. I often felt alone and misunderstood.
I know that Melissa would be the first to tell you that she does have her dark, sad days, but she also has a light that seems to surround her. While many of us struggle with our faith after the deaths of our children, Melissa has not. She turned to her faith in a new way unlike what she had in the past. She felt herself clinging to God and to her faith in general. She talked to God, listened to God in her heart and has found a peace that she never would have dreamt possible.
The inspirational story of Melissa and Alexis didn't just start six months ago, however. It started 22 years prior to that when Melissa found herself pregnant at the age of 14. Melissa says that she and Alexis 'grew up together' and that without Alexis she would not be the woman that she is today. If you want to learn even more about Melissa, Alexis and their story, I would invite you to visit her blog at alexismom.com.
One of my favorite 'letters' that Melissa wrote to Alexis in the blog reads as below:
To My Dearest Alexis, Words cannot and will never express how much I love and miss you. Until my last breath, I will share with the world how much you meant to all of us. You were God sent and hand delivered back to him. Watch over us all the days of our lives, our little angel. Love Mom.
When Liene's only child, Davids was killed at the age of 7, she didn't know how she and her husband would survive. Davids was their only child - their joy, full of life and energy. Suddenly, while riding his bike at the park, that life came to an end. When looking back at that time in her life now seven years ago, she credits getting through it by making one little decision at a time.
The first decision that she made was that she would not drink one drop of alcohol. She feared if she started, she might not stop. She then decided that she would start to run, but she had so little energy that could only manage to walk at first. She started seeing a therapist to help with her own mental health. Little decisions were made every day to try to move forward.
Little decisions were followed by big decisions. Liene was a lawyer by training and has worked as a lawyer in many parts of the world, but after Davids's death, life looked different. Priorities changed. Suddenly, Liene found herself caring so much for the emotional well-being of others. In her own grief journey, she had found a life coach that really helped in her healing journey. With the encouragement of her husband, she got training to be a life coach herself with the goal of helping other bereaved moms.
After that training was complete, however, Liene says that she 'chickened out.' She felt nervous that she could not really help grieving parents so those first two years, she went back to what she thought she knew best. She became a life coach for other lawyers. Despite the fact that her practice was going well, Liene knew in her heart this is not what she was meant to do. She was meant to support grieving mothers.
Now, she has taken the plunge and it has been truly amazing. Liene exclusively does coaching for grieving moms all over the world (coachliene.com). She helps them look to the future, and helps them make those little daily decisions that eventually become big ones. She helps them have hope again, dream again, and most importantly shows them how to have love and compassion for themselves during the worst days of their lives.
Like many young boys, Luc loved sports. He loved playing soccer and baseball and like every good Canadian boy, Luc loved hockey. His mom, Lianne, says that she thinks what he really loved was being part of a team. He didn't enjoy having the spotlight himself, but he loved being a part of a team in which everyone had fun and shared the spotlight.
When Luc was diagnosed with leukemia at the age of 7, he really took it all in stride. He was always very upbeat and positive, just accepting that if he did what the doctors told him, he would be fine. Other kids at school called Luc a 'hero' after his diagnosis, but Luc never wanted to be a hero. He just wanted to be a regular kid, a quiet part of the team.
Unfortunately, that isn't what happened. Luc was special, but not in the way he would want to be. Luc was one of a few kids to get leukemia in Manitoba that year, then one of the few children to get a more aggressive type of cancer requiring additional treatment. He eventually became one of the few to have a recurrence and then, finally one of the far fewer children who die of cancer each year. It was like he kept winning the lottery no one would ever want to win.
Luc's mother, Lianne, is only 8 short months into her grief journey so it is so fresh and raw, but she still amazingly finds bits of gratitude in her life. She wants to continue to honor Luc by remembering his fun-loving, team oriented perspective. She recently participated in a fundraiser and was able to raise $20,000 for Cancer Care Manitoba. She called her little team 'Living for Luc,' and they had a great time having fun, playing different sports, laughing and truly experiencing life.
Lianne said to me, "There is life after loss and it is different and it is hard, and it is not always trampolines and laughing, but sometimes it can be, and that's OK." This may be one of the wisest statements about child loss I have ever heard. Such a powerful statement and so true - something we should all remember. Even in grief, we still live and we still need to do crazy, fun things like jump on a trampoline every once in a while.
Today's guest, Hans, says he 'prides himself on being a father first and foremost, cherishing every moment of his fatherhood journey.' Before bed each night, his children beg for their dad to make up another silly story to tell them. The stories are always fun and fantastical, including things like dragons, race cars and unicorns.
His youngest daughter, Aviva, was not yet one year old and was just starting to appreciate his dad's stories. Aviva was a joyous child who had an infectious smile. She loved to laugh and had a voracious appetite. Aviva also mysterious episodes of illness, however, that would cause her to be hospitalized. Numerous tests could not uncover a diagnosis. Tragically, last November 18th, a 6th and final episode took her life.
Hans made a promise to his little girl that night. He promised that he would make her proud. At the time, he didn't know what that would be. What he did know, however, is that he wanted other children to laugh and smile like his sweet Aviva did. This is when he came back to those beautiful, fun bedtime stories that would leave his children begging for more. Now, in his grief, Hans, could have let go of the silly stories, but he did not want Baby Aviva to be remembered in a sad way. He wanted her to be joyful, laughing and playing.
An idea came to him then, to create a new character for his stories, one that is carefree, brave and fun - Baby Aviva Orangutan Diva. He then worked with an illustrator and editor to create a beautiful book with a beautiful story that children everywhere will absolutely love. Learn even more about Hans, his book and little Aviva by going to his website, hanskullberg.com. You can get your copy by searching on Amazon or by clicking on this link.
Parenting can never be described as easy, but parenting when your family is suffering after the death of a child is beyond difficult. Grief is everywhere, surrounding the family in all that they do. Simple tasks are suddenly not at all simple. In many ways, just getting up every day to get through the day is a huge accomplishment. Adding on the task of trying to raise children and guide them through their own grief seems almost impossible.
When Michele's almost 7 year old son David died after a long battle with cancer, his 3 year old sister, Deanna, said something that affected Michele deeply. Deanna said, "Mommy, half of me is gone." From the outside, Deanna played as other children played. She did not spend her days crying and staying in bed. Others likely thought she was doing 'quite well', but inside, she was grieving deeply. If she had not said that simple sentence, Michele would have likely not known that she even felt this way.
Given the fact that Michele had a background in early childhood education, she knew from that very moment that her mission in life would be to help Deanna grieve the death of her brother. At the same time that she worked through her own grief, she would learn about how to guide her daughter through her own grief as well. Someday, however, she hoped to use her knowledge to help other grieving children as well.
Now, many years later, Michele is doing just that. She started Good Grief Parenting in order to help parents and friends and family members who work with grieving children. Her goal is to help people learn that grieving is a good thing and not something to be avoided. Grieve openly with children and show them that you are a safe person to talk to about all of the messy emotions of grief. Sadness is ok; anger is ok, fear is ok, relief is ok. In fact, it is more than just ok; it is necessary to feel all of that in order to really understand and get through grief. These are lessons we can all learn and grow from as well.
Nine years ago, when 6 week-old Corey was admitted to the hospital for generalized weakness, everyone assumed that he had some sort of infection. His mother, Stephanie, thought that he would get some medication, maybe some IV fluids and then she would be able to take her little boy home again. On the third day of his hospitalization, however, Stephanie overheard a few residents talking. She heard the use the term, 'SMA' for the first time. A young doctor started a sentence with the words, 'if he lives to 6 months' and 'if he lives to a year.'
Suddenly, Stephanie's life was turned up-side-down. Corey did indeed have SMA (Spinal Muscular Atrophy) and he actually did not live to see 6 months. When Corey was born, a diagnosis of SMA was a death sentence. Only months after Corey was born, clinical trials for a treatment for SMA were developed. Now, that medication is so successful in treating SMA that we are really nearing the day that these children will live with SMA and not die from it.
Since Corey's death, Stephanie has done so much to support this cause. She was instrumental in getting SMA testing on the newborn screen in the state of Ohio. She speaks to groups nationally as well. I know that after losing a child, I want to do anything that I can to prevent another parent from feeling my same pain. Stephanie feels the same way and her work has truly helped prevent some many deaths.
Today, we talk about her work in the Cure SMA organization, but we also discuss her personal grief journey as well. Stephanie talks about the pain of returning home without her baby boy in her arms. We discuss learning to help her then 5 year old daughter grieve in an open, honest way and the pain that comes with watching our children grieve.
Now, so many years later, there are fewer and fewer people who remember baby Corey, and that makes some days even harder than in the beginning. It certainly make those who remember and understand the lasting pain all the more precious.
When someone asks you how you are doing, what is your response? I know that for most people, even bereaved people, the quick answer is, "Fine." (I learned today a great acronym for FINE - Feelings I'm Not Expressing.) Inwardly, we may wonder, 'Do you really want to know or are you just making polite conversation?' We don't want to open ourselves up to the many people who would truly be uncomfortable if we are honest with them. We want to be sure that they will be supportive first, but how can we really know the answer to that question?
On today's podcast, Gwen and I discuss the topic of who can support us as grieving people and how we can help others be more equipped to help us. Let them know that we don't want them to try to fix us, just be there with us. Grief is something that must be worked through, and it is so much easier if you are not alone. We need to work to find the right people to help us on our healing journey. Honestly, they may or may not be the people we expect. Sometimes, friends and family cannot support us in the ways that we need. It is necessary to go outside our inner circle to find help. Support groups, social media groups, friends of friends - it takes some bravery to branch out like that, but it can be so rewarding.
As an aside, Gwen and I will now be doing all of our podcast episodes as Livestream Events that can be seen on the Always Andy's Mom Facebook page, YouTube channel or on Gwen's grief-guide Facebook page. In this way, we will be able to answer listeners questions right away giving us an even better sense of community. The next Livestream will be on Tuesday, November 16th at 8pm Eastern time. The topic will be on how grieving people can get through the holiday season.
We have spoken many times over the past two years about the fact that there is no 'right way' to grieve and that different people grieve in very different ways, even if they are grieving the same person in the same family. Archie and Elina are great examples of this very point. From the first days after Garret died in a tragic car accident just over a year ago now, their grief journeys looked very, very different.
Elina, Garret's sister felt motivated to do everything even bigger than she did before his death. Birthdays and holidays needed to be bigger and better. She went back to work at her summer job almost immediately, and today is determined to study hard and live a life that would make Garret proud. She even started an Instagram account discussing sibling grief under the name, @garretssister.
Garret's mother, Archie, on the other hand, felt completely paralyzed after Garret's death. She felt as if she couldn't even live her life, let alone go back to work. These overwhelming feelings lasted for months and only recently has she felt ready to even enter the workplace. For her, the goal is to just get through each day, not to live bigger. She needed time to mourn quietly before being able to return to more 'normal' activities.
You might think that these two different ways of grieving in the same household might cause conflict, and I'm sure in some households, it does. For this family, however, it does not. It is beautiful to me how the two of them are so accepting of what the other needs. Elina does not get frustrated with her mother and her need for time by herself to process. Archie did not feel hurt when Elina jumped back into her life.
According to Archie, the key to this acceptance is unconditional patience. Grieving family members need to have patience with each other, and perhaps even more importantly, have patience with themselves. We need to know that no matter how much or how little time we need in certain areas of our grief, our loved ones will accept us. Our friends and family will be there waiting with open arms whenever we need them. That is an amazing lesson for all of us to remember that grief should always be free of judgment.
Live in the moment.
When Joni's son, Martin, was dying from cancer at the age of 18, the family asked him if he had any words of advice for his newborn baby sister. His answer, "Live in the moment." Those four simple words pack a lot of punch when you really think about them. They remind us to appreciate each and every day. Don't worry about what might happen or what you might be missing. Just enjoy what you have.
Martin's medical history is about as complex as any I have had on the show. He was born in kidney failure and had to start dialysis as a newborn. He survived and even thrived after getting a kidney transplant. As a child, he was diagnosed with Crohn's disease and finally died after getting lymphoma as a teen. Throughout these years, Joni suffered with infertility and loss. She finally became pregnant with a healthy little girl and only gave birth a few short weeks before Martin died.
If any family had a right to complain about their lot in life, it would have been this family. This is probably why they are so inspiring to me. They didn't grumble. They lived in the moment. When Martin's favorite NFL team, the Denver Broncos, made it to the Super Bowl, they went to the game. Was that a smart financial decision for them? Absolutely not, but they went anyway, enjoying the moment.
Right as Joni was giving birth to Marlee, the family was told the Martin was dying and could be discharged from the hospital to go into hospice care. They did not just make the decision to move him home, however. They decided to move their entire family from Oregon to Denver, Colorado where Martin had dreamed of living someday. There, with the support of a hospice team, this new family of four had a precious two weeks together before Martin died surrounded by his loving family. They, undoubtedly lived in the moment.
Today, 2 1/2 years later, Martin's family still lives in the moment and works to spread that message far and wide. They formed The NittyStrong Foundation (nittystrong.org), to provide scholarships for teens as well as support children's athletics. Joni has even spent time working as a nurse in the very hospice that helped her own family get those precious last days with Martin. This is her gift to others so they can make their own special family moments in the last days of their own loved ones. What an amazing inspiration to us all to live in the moment each and every day.
Emmy's Mom, Erin, knew her daughter was going to be a special girl from the moment she was born. Emily (known by her family as Emmy) was born on 8/03/03 at 3:08pm weighing 8 lbs 3oz in labor room 308. She quickly became the talk of the entire labor and delivery floor. Everyone wanted to meet the girl with all of the 3's and 8's.
Emmy's special nature had only just begun in that labor room. For the next 17 years, Emmy continued to be special and unique although not always in the fun ways of those first minutes and hours. She was always an emotional girl. Her highs were amazingly high, but her lows were very low as well. She had ADHD and struggled in school. Eventually, she had a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. There were hospitalizations, medications, therapy. Sometimes, life was hard.
Making friends did not always come easy for Emily either. Kids could be very mean to her, but she had a kind, forgiving nature. She could be easily picked on because, by the following day, her mood would brighten and she would be quick to forgive any wrongs done to her the previous day. There were really never any consequences for being mean to Emily.
Today, Erin talks about her sweet daughter, Emmy, and her kind nature. She talks about the bullying that she endured throughout her life (and even after her death). She talks about those first moments after realizing her daughter was in a car accident with her car somewhere in the cold water at the bottom of a canal. She talks about the call that came months later when the police told her that it was not an accident at all, but that Emmy decided to drive into the water that night.
She also talks about her own life now, seven months later, and working with families to teach more about the consequences of bullying. Kindness is something that can be learned. It is so easy these days to hide behind a screen and say mean comments toward others. The impact of those comments often run far deeper than the person could ever guess. Getting out from behind that phone or computer is key. Interact with others in positive, supportive ways.
Erin has even made a Facebook page, Emmy's Champions, that encourages all of us to perform little kindnesses to others, always paying it forward. She hopes in this way, Emmy's life, can bring a bit of peace to others who have been quietly suffering.
Today's guest, Laura, loves sharing the story of her son, Luke, and his amazing teen faith in God. Throughout all of his struggles with cancer, he never lost that faith. Luke always lived with an eternal perspective. He was an inspiration to so many people, including his own mother.
In the days before Luke's death, the one thing he wanted to do before he died was to be on a work crew at a Young Life Camp. He had gone to Young Life Camps many times as a camper. His parents were in ministry and heavily involved in camp. While other kids may want to spend their last days a little more selfishly, all Luke wanted to do is serve at this camp, share his testimony and make new friends.
The dream almost didn't even happen. Luke was so sick and so weak from the cancer at this point, even he started to give up on his dream. Shortly after arriving, he told his mom, "I think we should just go home. I can't do this." Laura said at this point she went outside and started really yelling at God. "You can't even give him this one thing?" she sobbed, "I have accepted that he is going to die, but you can't give him this one last thing that he wanted!" She said that she didn't even pray to ask for a bit of healing, she just yelled.
But God hears our angry hearts, too, and I love that. God answered her unasked prayer and gave him a renewed energy that lasted one more week to the end of that camp. Now, did Luke really get to do much 'work' at camp? No - he did not, but he did meet new friends and get to share his story. On the final day of a week with campers, Luke stood up on his prosthetic leg for the last time and held up a sign which read, 'Broken on earth' on the front and 'Made whole in Heaven' on the back. Now, did those campers know his whole story? No - they did not. No one knew that is the very last time that Luke would stand on his own with his prosthetic leg.
Today, Laura talks about her son and his forever servant heart and about her own broken (and sometimes angry) mother's heart that isn't always so accepting. It is so inspiring to hear her story, and the fact that now, four years later, she is working through her own brokenness to have a serving heart once again.
This episode of the Always Andy's Mom podcast focuses on relationships and loss. Today, I have the privilege to speak with two guests mourning the loss of two special people in their lives. Just over one year ago, Nicholas (Nico) and his 4 year old son, Julian (Juju), were killed in a car accident when they went out for a quick trip to get ice cream. In a moment, the lives of the two women who loved them most were changed forever.
Janie lost her son and grandson while her daughter-in-law, Andrea, lost her husband and son. Both were experiencing tremendous loss with the deaths of these two amazing people. Janie originally reached out to me, but knew that she couldn't do their story justice unless Andrea joined her. It is so beautiful to hear about them from two different perspectives, to hear about the little boy and the man and father Nico grew to become as well as learn more about young Juju and his developing personality.
This conversation really shows the differences between people who mourn the same person. Andrea's loss of a son is different than the loss of her husband. Janie's loss of her son is different than the loss of her grandson. This is not to say that one is better or worse than the other, but they are different. I actually noticed that the time when these two women seemed the most similar is when they were discussing their grief regarding the loss of their sons.
This demonstrates even more the importance of grieving parents bonding together and relying on each other for support. It often does not matter the ages or the circumstances of the loss; they were our children. Family members have their roles in supporting us while other bereaved parents have a slightly different role. Perhaps that is why Janie and Andrea are so good for each other. They can be both.
Two years ago, when I started the Always Andy's Mom podcast, I never could have imagined getting to episode 100. I remember Eric saving the first episode on the computer which he named 'Episode 001.' I thought it was ridiculous that he would put three digits. I never expected that first digit would ever be anything other than a zero, but here we are. As of this moment, the podcast has over 72,000 downloads in 78 different countries. It is bigger than me. It is even bigger than Andy.
Today's podcast episode is far different than the others. It is a recording of a livestream event that Eric and I did last night. On it we talk about these two huge milestones occurring within days of each other - the 3 year anniversary of our accident and the death of Andy and the celebration of 100 episodes of the podcast. The timing of these events truly feels meant to be. It absolutely was not planned in any way. In fact, if I had not taken off the week of Christmas my first year and 2 weeks early in the pandemic last year, these events would have been almost a month apart.
It seems fitting somehow that they are happening at the same time. August is now incredibly difficult for me. I am constantly reminded of the things that 'should' be happening. Andy should be 17 years old. He should be starting his senior year of high school. He should be looking at colleges. He should be like other teens complaining about the pandemic and what the experiences it has robbed from him. Yet, life is far, far different for us than the way it 'should' be.
This 100 episode milestone, however, distracts a little bit from all of those things. Today, I honestly have visions of Andy running around heaven telling absolutely everyone how excited he is that his mom is on Episode 100! That vision of Andy makes me smile - the vision of him talking with the children of all of these amazing parents I have met over these past two years. Yes, I think there may be just a little more laughter in heaven today caused by my Andy and his infectious smile.
Unlike all of my previous guests, when Miles' mom, Kate, first contacted me in January of this year, her sweet, almost 1 year old son, was still alive. They had just taken Miles home to die after learning that his cancer had spread to the point where treatment could no longer be effective. Kate and her husband were grasping at anything, trying to prepare themselves for his death, perhaps trying to limit some of the pain that they knew would be coming.
Kate knew, even then in January, that she would want to share Miles' story with others. She just didn't know when that would be and what exactly that story would be like. During those days and weeks at home, Kate and her husband, along with both sets of grandparents, sang to Miles, played with Miles and even celebrated his 1st birthday. They tried to get ready as well for the day they knew was right around the corner.
It turns out though, as much as you'd like to, you can't truly prepare for the death of your child. You can't prepare yourself for how quiet the house suddenly becomes. You can't prepare yourself for the fact that after weeks and months of your life revolving around that care of your child, it is suddenly over. There is nothing left to do, nothing left to prepare for. Life is now just the 'after' - that moment where your child, and in Kate's case, their only child, is gone.
Today, only months after Miles' death, Kate is ready to share Miles with the world, on this podcast, as well as on her blog, thisgrievingmama.ca. The wound is certainly still fresh and raw. Some days, in fact, she wonders if the whole thing was even real. Did she really even have a baby? Did that year where Miles was alive even exist? Miles was born shortly before the COVID pandemic began. His life ended before the pandemic did. It's hard to even imagine that an entire life was lived during the time the world shut down, but for Miles and his little family, that is exactly what happened.
Over the past almost two years, I have interviewed dozens of bereaved parents. I have learned something from each and every one of them. All of them have done something they never thought possible after the deaths of their children. Some of these things are big, like starting a foundation or organization to help others and keep the memories of their children alive. Some have done smaller, quieter gestures. All have been brave enough to share their stories with other bereaved parents on the podcast.
This is why when Gwen and I recorded Part 1 of Meaning Making (Episode 90), we thought that we would have more people write back to us about what meaningful things they had been able to accomplish than we would have time to share them. It turns out, we were absolutely wrong. Although each one of my former guests could have written in, only one actually did. I got a total of three emails, and one of those emails was to explain why although she wanted to be one of my 'success stories,' she couldn't ever imagine actually ever climbing out of that deep dark pit of grief enough to accomplish anything meaningful.
That got me thinking, "Why did nobody write in when so many could have?" I realized something then; it is because almost nobody really feels like they have done something brave or amazing. Bereaved parents, me included, just feel like we are doing what we need to do to survive - nothing more, nothing less. We start a foundation or a podcast because our children deserve to be remembered, not because we are brave or think we have grown through the trauma.
I think of the number of times people have told me that I am strong over these past almost three years. I actually hate hearing those words. I never feel strong; I still feel like I am still just in survival mode doing what I need to do to get through. So this episode is much different than I thought it would be. Instead of celebrating victories, it reminds us that sometimes, others can see victory and be helped by us, even when personally, we still feel like we are barely hanging on.
- As a bonus today as well, I tack on a little bonus episode where I interview Bryson's doctor from Episode 87. If you remember, Dr. B had a huge impact on both Bryson and his mom. I needed to reach out and learn a little bit from his side of the story.
Imagine for just a moment that you are on a long-planned 'girls trip' to Las Vegas for a fun weekend with 10 of your closest friends from college. It is a time you've been looking forward to for weeks, planned and re-planned, coordinating everyone's individual schedules to fly across the country and arrive at about the same time. Imagine now, that you wake up in your hotel room early that first morning to your phone ringing. It is your husband, crying on the other end of the phone, making the hardest call he has ever had to make in his life.
Your only child, your precious 4 year old daughter, without any warning, died in her sleep the night before. The screaming starts then, the guttural noises that you'd never imagine that could come out of you. For today's guest, Aimee, this was not a bad dream; this was real life, and somehow, it was her life. She says that in the midst of the nightmare that day though, she truly saw the goodness of people, working to get her back to Virginia Beach as quickly and easily as possible.
In the days and weeks after the death of her daughter, Eliza, Aimee found a strength that she never knew that she had. Days after Eliza's death, she began to have the dream of starting a foundation in Eliza's name. This foundation would offer support to families of children like Eliza who suffered from autism. It would offer every type of therapy those children need as well as hope and support for their parents after receiving this life-changing diagnosis.
Amazingly, the Eliza Hope Therapy Center opened its doors 1 1/2 years after Eliza's death. Today, the center does exactly what Aimee hoped it would when she first imagined it five years ago. They now see 150 children a week and offer hope to 4-5 new families each week as well. From the depths of grief and tragedy, something truly amazing was born. Eliza lives on through the foundation giving so much happiness to other families.
Marcie's son, Michael's, motto for life was as follows: 'The purpose of life is to help others through it.' Michael lived that motto every single day of his 27 years. After suffering through cancer as a child, he knew hospitals. Michael knew that hospitals were boring places for children and that overall, kids and families don't want to be there.
After Michael received a precious, rare 'goodie bag' from the hospital during one of his many hospitalizations, an idea was planted in the mind of Michael and his family. New games and toys are fun. They add just a little bit of excitement to an otherwise boring day. His mother thought, 'This is something we can do to help other families like ours, making life just a little bit better during a hard, trying time.' Their organization, Boredom Busters was formed.
Since its founding in 2004, Boredom Busters has changed and grown. Initially, they provided boxes of games and toys to school-aged children, but then expanded to make them for the very young as well. Michael's cancer stayed in remission for years as he graduated from high school, college and even began his career, but Boredom Busters continued. Michael thought that his days at hospitals were over, but they still worked to help other families through their Boredom Buster boxes. After Michael's cancer returned in adulthood, he made packages for young adults as well. Overall, thousands of bags have been distributed to hospitals and grateful families all over the country.
Sadly, Michael did not see the day that Boredom Busters became a 501c(3) charity. That happened one day after his death last year in 2020, but through Boredom Busters, Michael's motto can continue. He and his family can, through Boredom Busters, continue to help others get through life just a little bit easier and make it more fun in the process.
*For more information on Boredom Busters, visit them on their website, boredom-busters.org. You can also follow them on Facebook - Boredom Busters and on Instagram @BoredomBustersInc. They have an amazing online auction on July 31st so be sure to check that out as well!
Grief Dreams. What are they? What do they mean? Is it normal to have a grief dream? Is it normal not to dream of the deceased? These are questions that Dr. Joshua Black has been studying for years now. Ever since he had a dream about his father several months after he had suddenly died, Joshua was curious about how these dreams affect people.
For Joshua, that dream brought him a sense of peace. He had never had a chance to say goodbye to his father or tell him that he loved him. In the dream though, Joshua did just that. He said when he woke up the next morning, he felt that a little bit of color had returned to the world. He had a sense of peace and felt just a little bit better.
As Joshua got further into his psychology training, he began to wonder if others had similar experiences with grief dreams. He decided to look into the research and found that very little existed. He dug in and started doing research himself. He found that although overall, 80% of dreams are negative, when looking at grief dreams, the overwhelming majority of these dreams are positive. They offer comfort to us, giving just a few more precious minutes with our loved ones.
What about those of us who don't have grief dreams? Dr. Black says that most likely everyone does dream of their deceased loved ones. What happens though, is that many times, we don't remember those dreams. Approximately 10% of people never remember their dreams, and for those people, it will not really be possible to remember a grief dream either. For those of us who do at least occasionally remember dreams, however, we can do things to help ourselves have more dreams and have those dreams be positive.
On his website, griefdreams.ca, we can download our own Dream Builder Worksheets to help us think about dreams we'd like to have about our loved ones. Dr. Black also has a podcast fittingly called, Grief Dreams Podcast where guests talk about their own grief dreams. Overall, these dreams can be a wonderful healing part of our own grief journeys.
How can two girls who never met, had very little in common and who died 5 years apart bring two people together in friendship?
Daisy was a girl with a never-ending smile and a head covered with blonde curls. She was born with microcephaly and had medical challenges throughout her entire four years of life. Daisy brought her mother, Paula, so much joy in her life. It would be putting it mildly to say that Paula struggled after Daisy's death. She battled addiction for the first year and a half after the death. Daisy was Paula's only child and after Daisy's death, her marriage ended as well. Life was hard and there was very little hope for happiness.
At some point in time though, Paula made a decision to start anew. Inspired by her beautiful Daisy, she became clean knowing that this is the life Daisy would have wanted for her. She looked inside herself and discovered a bit of spirituality inside as well. She replaced alcohol with yoga and actually became a yoga instructor.
This is when a deep friendship was forged. Paula knew what a blessing yoga was to her in her grief journey. She decided to start teaching the class to other bereaved parents as well. That is when she met Deme (Episode 92) as a new student in the class. Deme had just lost her daughter Eleni. She was still measuring time in days and weeks, while Paula now measured in months and years.
Friendship is an amazing gift that originates in so many different ways. Friendship makes good times great and the hard times tolerable. Sometimes friends are brought up together through childhood. At other times, however, we come together during times of tragedy. This is what happened to Paula and Deme.
These friendships are really some of the most precious types. These friends are not scared away by pain and darkness. They understand and are willing to stand beside you making those hard times just a little more tolerable and even allowing laughter to sneak back into life one moment at a time.
How do you go on when your whole world quite literally blows up in a second? When Shawn Maguire woke up one morning last September to make himself a cup of coffee while his wife and two children slept, he never could have imagined that pushing a button on a coffee maker would cause a massive explosion. That explosion completely flattened his house and instantly killed Berklee, his 14 year old daughter. People actually said that it was a miracle that the rest of the family was able to survive at all. The explosion was so powerful that neighbors had severe damage to their own homes. Insulation fell from the sky for days. The house was gone.
Even though there was thankfulness that God protected Shawn and his wife and son, Shawn's heart wept and still weeps for the loss of Berklee. He says that the best parts of both he and his wife lived in her. He desperately cried out for God to bring her back to him. He questioned why the rest of them were saved while Berklee was not. There is so much pain, both physically from the injuries due to the explosion and emotionally, from the tremendous loss of Berklee.
Shawn's story is certainly a difficult one to hear, but his pain resonates with so many of us. His safe little world was destroyed that day. The biggest lesson that I learn from Shawn is his willingness to receive help from others. When you have absolutely nothing, not even the clothes on your back, you are truly humbled and need to receive help from other people. You are really forced to let others be 'Christ's hands and feet' for you in ways that you would not think possible.
Shawn has truly witnessed the goodness of others through this tragedy. People go out of their way to help them - from getting a place for the family to live, to putting them on their cell phone plan to sitting beside Shawn while he weeps for Berklee. We can all learn from Shawn in this way. We may not have lost all of our belongings when our child died, but that does not mean that we should not allow others to help us. Let them do those errands. Let them bring a meal. Allowing others to help blesses us and blesses them as well.
For today's guest, Demetra, life changed the day her daughter was diagnosed with a rare condition called HHT (Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia) at 7 years of age. Although many people live a long, happy life with this condition, Eleni's disease affected her lungs making running, playing and growing like a 'normal' child impossible. What Eleni lacked in physical ability, however, she made up for in spirit a hundred times over.
When Demetra is asked to describe her daughter, Eleni, she says that Eleni was her 'mini-me.' They truly understood each other. Eleni was smart, funny, and sarcastic. She was beautiful, both inside and out. If Eleni truly was like her mother, Demetra, I can confirm that all of those things are true. Demetra is a woman not yet 8 months out from the death of her precious daughter, but her wonderful soul shines through in every word that she speaks.
Eleni was a girl who witnessed beauty in absolutely everything. She saw beauty in butterflies, flowers and baby kittens as many 11 year olds might, but Eleni could also see beauty in a small pile of dirt, sifting it again and again to make 'the most beautiful pile of dirt ever.' That is what Demetra takes with her now - the appreciation that beauty can be seen anywhere. You just have to slow down enough to appreciate it.
After her 16 year old son, Christian was killed in a car accident three years ago, Valerie was understandably devastated. She, like so many of us, felt completely crushed. She longed to find people and a place to give her hope. Shortly after the accident, she found a grief support group at a local church and decided to attend. Unfortunately, though, she did not find hope in that place - she found elderly mothers grieving decades after losing their children. They seemed 'stuck' in their grief.
Although she in no way judged the women at the group, in that parking lot after the group finished, she made a promise to herself, her husband, and her living son. Valerie would not let herself become 'stuck' in her grief. No matter how much work it took and how tough it was, she vowed that she would feel all of the emotions of grief and learn to love life again.
Three years later, that is exactly what she has done. She has worked hard each and every day on her grief journey. She has spoken to groups about wearing seatbelts in the car and about the dangers of drowsy driving. She continues to have relationships with Christian's teenage friends, even, as difficult as it was, watching them graduate last year. She works to be a caring mother to her living son and wife to her husband. She does all of this while continuing to talk about Christian and keep his memory alive to all who want to listen.
Valerie still struggles, certainly, as all grieving mothers do, but she makes the effort to make a little progress each and every day. She is truly an inspiration.
When Andy first died, I didn't want anything good to come from his death. I selfishly wanted everything about it to be 100% horrible. I didn't want there to be a silver lining. Perhaps that is why it annoyed me so much when people tried to cheer me up in some way, telling me that he was in a better place or that it was all part of God's plan. 'Well, God's plan stinks," I would reply (either in my head or even out loud if the person was a close enough friend).
After time though, I began to realize that I did want something good to come from this whole experience. Andy deserves that - he deserves to have something amazing and beautiful come from the ugliness. For me, the desire to make something beautiful with Andy became the Always Andy's Mom podcast. For others, it may be founding an organization like Mothers Against Drunk Driving. For the majority of people, however, it is doing something much smaller, perhaps something just for you, your family or even something that helps just one other person in pain.
Today, Gwen and I talk about meaning making or post traumatic growth, the way we can actually grow and become 'better' people after experiencing devastating loss. We are certainly not the same people that we were before the death loss occurred. I know it felt to me like I did not just lose Andy - I lost a huge part of myself as well. I had to take a long hard look at myself and ask this question, "What do I do with what's left?" I am not the same person, but what can I do moving forward? What are my strengths and how can I use them in a positive way?
The answers to these questions are different for every person, but know that as broken as we feel, we all do have strengths and turning to them is what will lead to healing. So for all of my listeners who are a bit further out on their grief journey, I have questions for you as well. What have you felt called to do in your grief? How have you grown? What things have you been able to do that you would have never thought possible?
*If you want to share the answers to these questions, email me at marcy@andysmom.com or comment or message through Facebook or Instagram. Gwen and plan to do a follow-up episode in July sharing some of those answers.
Dads are somewhat overlooked in the deaths of children in general, but this is especially true for stillborn deaths. Joseph's dad never got to meet his baby, Joseph, when he was alive. One day, when Lou's wife, Francine, was 30 weeks pregnant with their first child, he stopped moving. He had died and there was nothing that could be done about it.
Instead of getting time to mourn in those first hours, Lou felt that he needed to be the tough guy as well as the spokesperson for the couple. He still had a job to do, too - he still had to coach his wife through delivery as they had planned. He felt this pressure to be the strength for the couple. He also says that he was actually surprised that for a short period of time at least, he felt a sense of excitement at getting to meet and see his son for the first time.
He said that it was on the first day when he realized what a stigma having a stillbirth would cause. As a proud dad, he sent out a text announcing Joseph's birth and death and no one responded. Nothing. He realized that he and Francine were about to start a long, lonely journey. When people don't know what to say or what to do, they often do nothing at all. Lou wanted that to change. Parents who have experienced stillbirth should not have to feel the need to hide it in some way.
It was in those first days and weeks, that Lou started to have the dream of a charity focused on helping parents who have lost children. Lou and his wife started Walk In Sunshine Charity to help give financial support for burial and funeral expenses to families who have lost children from 20 weeks gestation to 18 years of age who live in Union County, New Jersey.
In addition, this website is a place for people all over the world to visit to find resources. They highlight books, other websites, podcasts such as this one, as well as anything a bereaved family may need during the worst moments of their lives. Lou loves to help people feel a little less alone during this dark time. He longs to help people feel a little bit of sunshine while they start their long walk.
Easton's Mom, Alexandria, says that her young son, Easton saved her life not once, but twice. Theirs is a beautiful love story not unlike many mother-son love stories, but this one taught the mother even more than it did the son. It taught her what true unconditional love was like and helped her realize that she was worthy of both giving and receiving this type of deep love.
Easton lived only 4 1/2 short months and those months were filled with multiple diagnoses, hospital stays and surgeries. These months, however, were also filled with laughter and moments of pure joy. Alexandria grew emotionally during those times as well and eventually found the courage to leave her toxic marriage. The strength that she learned from her little Easton gave her the courage to start a new life.
Now, seven years later, Alexandria is in a happy place, remembering happy memories of Easton more than the hard ones. She is engaged to be married and now feels ready to start a new life with a loving husband who adores her. She says she is ready to have children again and teach them all about their amazing big brother, Easton.
'For some people, it takes 70 years for them to make an impact on the world; for Bryson, it took just 7.' - Amanda, Bryson's Mom
Over the past 20 months, I have heard about many amazing children through their powerful stories. None, however, affected me in quite the way that Amanda's story of Bryson did. Perhaps it is because he was a 27 week premie and it reminded me of days caring for tiny premies. Perhaps, it is also because of his many months, and even years, spent in the hospital with his multiple medical problems. Perhaps it is because I think of all of those 'medical moms' that have become such dear friends to me.
It could be any of the above, but I don't think it is really any of those reasons at all. I think the reason why this story is so powerful to me is because of the way this story shows that knowing Bryson made everyone around him a better person. Everyone. Amanda says that nurses tell her they are better nurses, more caring because they knew Bryson. He impacted doctors, staff, even the people assigned to clean his room. When he died, a hospital and a whole community grieved with Amanda for it seems that everybody knew Bryson.
Bryson's impact on the world, however, did not die when he did. His legacy continues to make people better even today eight years later. Amanda's husband did not meet her until after Bryson died, but he feels that he knows Bryson and holds him as part of his family. Perhaps the most powerful story ones at the end of the podcast episode when Amanda shares a letter written by the father of Bryson's favorite doctor who met him for only 15 short minutes. All I can say is, 'Wow. What a kid! If we could all just be a little more like Bryson.'
A butterfly lights beside us like a sun beam, and for one brief moment its glory and beauty belongs to our world. But then it flies on again, and although we wish it could have stayed, we are thankful to have seen it all.
This is the inscription written on Renee's daughter, Carly's headstone. She was a bright light for her family and for the whole world. She was a smart, funny, beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her. She had struggles in her life as well after losing her boyfriend to one of her best friends. In addition, she did not get accepted to the art school of her dreams. Her self esteem took a hit. She then started dating a boy with a history of drug abuse.
Carly's family and friends would never have guessed in a million years that Carly would ever make the choice to use heroin, but she did. Even when Renee suspected drug use and confronted Carly, the rest of the family, friends and even Carly's doctor remained convinced that Carly was too smart to use drugs. The first lesson that I learned from Renee is that heroin doesn't care how smart or pretty you are. It doesn't care if you use it once or a hundred times - it still kills.
The second lesson that I have learned from Renee is one that gave me so much encouragement. Carly died eight years ago now, but Renee still feels Carly with her all of the time. The stories that Renee shares today about feeling her daughter's presence in nature lifted my spirit so much. Whether it is dozens of monarch butterflies covering a bush in the yard the day after her sister's bridal shower or the frequent experiences Renee has with red tail hawks, the stories will make you smile.
Renee feels like God gives her these little gifts all of the time. She does not go looking for them, but if you keep your eyes open, you will see them. As Renee says, 'Carly and our children are only a breath away.'
Pregnancy with your first baby should be a fun, exciting time. For Farhana, unfortunately, this fun time lasted for only the first 22 weeks. It was at that ultrasound when Farhana's life was forever changed. She and her husband discovered that their firstborn daughter had a congenital heart defect. Eesha, though, was a fighter, spunky and stubborn from the beginning. That fight served her well through many hospitalizations and surgeries, but eventually, Farhana lost her tough, little warrior.
Farhana said that Eesha taught her so much about how to live in her short little life. She taught her to fully appreciate life and to live in the moment. After Eesha's death, Farhana and her husband turned to the arts and music for healing. Farhana says that although she previously described herself as not at all a spiritual person, she began to experience and notice little things that just 'shouldn't' happen, little gifts from Eesha. Farhana was forever changed.
Last year, Farhan decided to try her hand at children's illustrations and actually took a class taught by an amazing woman in Toronto. She imagined what little Eesha would look like had she lived and created a character - a 7 year old Eesha - complete with all of the scars that she had on her little body. She named her a 'heart warrior,' and labeled all of her 'battle scars.'
During those first months of COVID, Farhana found herself feeling more down and alone. She looked at the mirror one day and saw the many affirmations that she had written to herself over the years. She decided to match these positive little sayings with her little Eesha character. The result was beautiful and inspirational to so many. The little characters were turned into posters, magnets and even a book.
In addition to the affirmation series, Farhana also does commissioned artwork in her Life After Loss series. This artwork is done for individual families after the loss of a loved one. All artwork is done without a specific charge. Farhana asks only that a donation be made to Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto, the amazing hospital that treated her amazing little warrior. All of her art can be found on her website, shaktiartstudios.com. She is truly an inspirational woman.
Grieving the death of your child is horrific, but grieving it publicly is even worse. When Ivan died in his fraternity room while he was away at college, his mom, Velvet, desperately wanted to know what happened to him. His own sister learned of his death by people who saw the local news. Soon Ivan's death grew and made national news. He was young, healthy, good-looking, and attended a well know university. His death was 'a good story.'
That story, however, barely scratches the surface as to the sort of person Ivan was. He was a smart kid, an excellent student and an amazing son. He had a 3.45 GPA at Arizona State University. He had a bright future ahead of him in sports management, but these sorts of comments aren't the headlines that make for a 'good' news story. He made a bad decision that night certainly, but in no way did he think he was putting himself in a dangerous situation.
Velvet came on the podcast today to tell Ivan's true story, not the one that people think they know from the news, but his real story. This story is not one of a reckless frat boy who lived to party as many people assume. This is a story of an incredibly intelligent young man who trusted the wrong person. Velvet's warning to all of us is that if this death could happen to her son, Ivan, it could really happen to anyone.
At first glance, Kelly's life seems incredibly scary after losing two of her four kids to tragic accidents eleven years apart. You may even think that you wouldn't want to hear her tragic story, but to me and many others, Kelly is an absolute inspiration. I know that when others see Kelly, they must think, 'Wow! Look at Kelly. She's lost two kids and she can still smile. She can still help me. Maybe there is hope for me, too."
Now, let me be clear. This is not how Kelly's grief journey started. In the first years after Alisha's death, she says that she kept to herself. She and her three young children tried going to grief therapy a few times, but felt like it was too difficult. Instead, she kept to herself, focusing on writing and raising her kids. She said that her family and friends often avoided talking about Alisha, because they didn't want to make each other sad. Although she was living with her husband and three children who were themselves grieving, she felt very alone in her grief.
After several years though, she did learn to open up and heal. She found her faith strengthening once again. Not only did she attend grief support groups, she led one at her church. She worked to help every grieving person she met to let them know that they are never alone. God was a constant presence, and she was there to be God's hands and feet.
When Kelly lost her oldest son, Jason, a couple of years later, as devastating and horrific as it was, she handled it in a much different way. The family didn't avoid talking about Jason. When someone wanted to share, they did. They mourned as a family. Kelly, specifically, allowed others outside of the family to bring her comfort by providing meals and doing errands.
Kelly is quite honestly one of the most inspiring people I have met along my grief journey. I have found that I have been counting the days, weeks, and months without Andy over these past 2 1/2 years. I have felt myself feeling like I am getting further and further from him. I worry that over time I am forgetting little bits of him as time passes. Kelly reminds me that actually I am not leaving Andy behind. Andy has actually gone ahead of me and is waiting for me. Each day, in fact, is one day closer to being with him again. That can bring a little smile to my face as well.
To learn more about Kelly and her writing, visit her website
Siblings are often referred to as 'the forgotten mourners.' People worry about the parents of a young person who dies. They worry about the spouse and children of an adult who dies. The siblings, however, never get the focus. 'How are your parents?' people say, 'How is his wife? How are his kids?' They are not often asked the question, 'How are you?'
Siblings grieve, too. They have a special bond that others, even their parents, don't quite understand. Siblings may fight and not always get along, but they are always there. They often don't remember living without them. They expect that they will always be there in the future.
Surviving siblings often feel compared to the one who has died. It is a delicate balance of talking about the child who has died, while not idealizing that person and acting as if they were perfect. Constant communication is so important. Each member of the family has different needs, and we all need to work hard to understand those needs. We really must focus on having an open communication system in the family as opposed to a closed system.
We want to protect our children from pain. We feel like it is our job to make our children happy. When a child is grieving, however, we can't take away that pain - it is impossible. It hurts us to watch them hurt, and we so desperately want them to be OK. We have to accept the fact that, just as we are changed, our surviving children are forever changed as well. At first glance, this may seem completely negative, but it is not. I am reminded of the saying, 'Calm seas do not make a skillful mariner.' Going through these hard struggles in life, can give these children that compassion for others that they might not have otherwise ever known.
'Any day that I get to talk about my child is a good day.' This is one of the many things that today's guest Jerry has learned from others when he has spoken to bereaved parents on his new podcast, 'The Nameless Minority.' 'Nameless' represents the idea that there is no word in the English language for a parent who lost his/her child. 'Minority' is used because as opposed to a hundred years or more ago, there are not nearly as many bereaved parents as there once were. It can make us feel isolated and alone.
Jerry's daughter, Bella, suffered from cancer from 4 months of age until her death at age 6. Jerry says that he did not truly grieve for his daughter for the first 8 years after Bella died. He simply ignored it. He decided to start running. Jerry became an excellent runner, and running was a great distraction for him, but it soon became more than a distraction. It became an excuse to just push the grief away.
Two years ago, however, it all came to a head and he felt the grief hit him. He still says that despite therapy, he is 'bad' at feeling his emotions and letting them out, but he has found that talking about his daughter and his experiences brings him comfort and healing. Jerry decided to start a podcast for grieving parents so that they, too, could share their stories with others.
Others tend to look at Jerry a bit strangely when he tells people what his podcast is about. They wonder why he would want to talk to grieving parents all the time. It just seems like it would be so sad, but it is not a sad narrative that Jerry wants to tell. He wants to talk about the good times and the great ways that people can support each other. When Jerry talks about Bella, he tells people that he was 'blessed' with a terminally ill daughter, not that he had a young daughter who died of a brain tumor. Just a simple change in thinking like that help Jerry and others a bit more.
Never in a million years did today's guest, Nicole, think that she could lose a child to drowning. She was a teacher and her husband, a physician. They were always so careful - whenever her children were around water, they wore life jackets. They were always watched closely. Something like that simply couldn't happen to them, but one summer day in June 2018, it did.
Nicole left her son, Levi, on a couch with other kids happily munching on a brownie in a room full of people. She went to throw away something in the trash, then walked onto the balcony and saw his yellow shirt in the bottom of the pool in the vacation home where they were staying with friends. She remembers thinking, 'That can't be Levi - he's on the couch with the other kids' just before she started screaming and running toward the pool. Her life changed in an instant. Her youngest son, Levi, despite having amazing medical care by a team of anesthesiologists on the scene, was not able to be saved.
That day, Nicole learned firsthand the harsh reality of drowning. She learned that drowning is the number one cause of death in 1-4 year old children. She learned that the majority of these deaths do not occur when the children are actually swimming. Perhaps most importantly, Nicole learned that a child can drown in as little as 30 seconds.
Today, Nicole does advocacy on drowning prevention, and has started a non-profit organization, Levi's Legacy. She works to educate the public to let others know just how quickly and easily drowning can happen. She uses social media and her Instagram account not only to educate people on drowning prevention, but to talk about her grief journey after child loss as well, and to offer comfort to other parents.
Nicole made a decision early on that she needed to keep living life for her other children. She needed to still have happiness in their family and give her other children a childhood filled with love. Initially, Nicole thought that it could be a one time decision to live this way, but she has since learned that it is a whole pile of little decisions that need to be made each day.
This experience has affected her outlook on others as well. She says that she tries to start each day by asking herself this question. 'How can I be generous to others today?' It is a great lesson for all of us to learn. Opening ourselves to others can help our own hearts to heal.
When today's guest, Riley, learned that she was pregnant with twins after a two year struggle with fertility, she felt incredibly blessed. She went through 11 weeks of bedrest and went on to deliver two perfect, near-term infants - a boy and a girl, Eli and Alice. Her happiness was complete, and she felt as if her future was bright. This happiness was short-lived, however, when seemingly healthy Eli died in his sleep at three weeks of age.
Suddenly, Riley was grieving her little boy while still trying to raise her newborn daughter, experiencing all that comes with being a new mom while trying to deal with tremendous grief. Friends gave amazing support to them, but often Riley felt that others wanted her to focus on Alice, and not Eli. They likely thought that trying to put all of the focus on Alice would lessen Riley's pain, but, in fact, Riley wanted to talk about Eli and not let him be forgotten.
Now, three years later, Riley and her husband still don't know exactly what happened to their little boy. His cause of death is listed as Sudden Unexplained Death in Infancy. Eli's autopsy showed abnormalities of both the heart and liver, but genetics have never been able to pinpoint a specific cause of death. That makes going on even more difficult, when you think that it could happen again to one of your other children.
Today, we talk about their loss and the unique struggles that arise when you have multiples and lose one or more of them. Riley reminds us to remember that each child is a unique, precious individual, and the death is not less difficult because their twin lives. Having a twin does not simply mean that you have a 'back-up' who is somehow expendable. In fact, the loss of a twin can actually make normally happy milestones feel painful. Every birthday is a day of celebration for one and mourning for the other. The first day of kindergarten is an exciting day certainly, but also a reminder that one is missing. It is a good lesson for all of us to remember.
I felt an instant connection to today's guest, Maureen. The most obvious reason for this is that our sons share a name, Andy, and that they were both killed suddenly in tragic car accidents. Another similarity is due to the fact that this was not the first death loss for either of us. For me, my previous experience with profound grief was when my mother died in 1994 when I was in college. For Maureen, her loss was only 3 months prior to her son's death, when her granddaughter, Charleigh, Andy's daughter, died in her sleep at 7 months of age.
One of the worst things about Charleigh's death certainly was watching her son Andy grieve as her dad. After Andy died, and Maureen felt that excruciating loss of her own child, she wondered how Andy was able to deal with his own grief as a young dad. She says that she felt like she couldn't really handle the grief at 53; she wonders now how Andy did it at 23.
Andy has now been gone for over a year. The hole in their family's life is enormous, but Maureen said that relatively early on, she made the decision that despite these two life-changing losses, grief will not define her. The losses are a part of her story surely, but they are not her entire story. She will continue to live each day not only for her other two children, but for herself as well. She will live each day, and she will experience laughter and joy again.
Mental illness and alcoholism often go hand in hand. When people struggle with depression and anxiety, turning to drugs or alcohol may seem like a short-term solution. They can forget about their problems for just a little while. TJ struggled with mental illness throughout his life. After discontinuing prescription medication, he turned to alcohol to self-medicate.
Although TJ had years of struggles, the year 2020 brought a whole new level of anxiety with the COVID pandemic. Laid off from work, he was alone in his apartment, isolated from others. His anxiety grew and grew. He told his mother that COVID would 'be a death sentence for him' if he got it. Unfortunately, TJ was right, but not in the way that he thought. He never suffered from a coronavirus infection. He did, however, isolate himself more and more over time. His overwhelming fear caused him to turn down the chance to return to work again.
His family worried and called, trying to get him to leave his apartment, to safely socialize with others, to return to work, but TJ refused. Instead, he turned to alcohol, to try to numb the fears. In late July, alcohol actually killed TJ at 36 years of age. His mother found him several days after his death. Today, TJ's brother and mom come on the show to talk about TJ, his struggles, and what fear and isolation can do to a person already suffering from mental illness.
As a working mom, I think I felt some type of guilt almost every day. I never felt like I was doing enough. I would feel guilty about not spending enough time with my kids, missing school parties, or not being able to volunteer as much as some other moms. In addition to the 'I am not a good enough mom' guilt, I also felt, 'I am not a good enough doctor' guilt when I would have to explain to a family that I would not be able to see them for an appointment on a Tuesday, because I worked a Monday/Wednesday/Friday schedule.
I know that I am not alone in feeling these types of guilt. However, nothing could have prepared me for the guilt that I experienced after losing my son, Andy. Suddenly, I was unable to do the one thing that parents need to do above all others - protect their children, and raise them to adulthood. My previous guilty feelings seemed trivial. As a mother, I felt like a complete failure and the guilt was overwhelming.
People told me again and again that it was not my fault and that I should not feel guilty. I guess a part of my brain knew that my guilt was not rational, but that did not change my feelings one tiny bit. The guilt was still there and other people's words were not going to magically make that guilt disappear.
Recently, I have had many people reach out, emailing me about their feelings of guilt. So often, it comes in the form of numerous questions. 'Why didn't I see how hopeless he was feeling?' 'Why didn't I notice the signs of illness earlier?' 'Why didn't I push the doctors harder?' 'Why didn't I confront her sooner about the drug use?' All of these questions fall back to one thing - guilt, but is there a way to get past it?
Today, Gwen and I talk about this important topic and how eventually, we can conquer these feelings of guilt that complicate our grief. We need to face our guilt head on and not ignore it. This is not easy and takes a lot of work, but it can be done. As Gwen says, "We need to feel it to heal it!"
'Paying it forward' is a phrase that is often used in our culture. Today's guest, Ann, says that has been the way she has always tried to live her life even before it became popular. She worked to teach her three children to live that way as well. Her youngest son, Daren, lived his life always looking to help others in quiet ways. After he died, she heard story after story of how he was always reaching out to help others. Even in his death at the age of 19, he showed his selfless spirit when he jumped into a vehicle that had started rolling down a mountain road, thinking that he would be able to stop it and save others.
In the weeks after Daren's death, Ann felt lost and alone as many of us have. Her other children were out of the house and her marriage did not survive. She felt it difficult even to concentrate enough to read a book. She needed support, but did not know where to find it. She thought, 'I must be doing it wrong; there must be an easier way.' She began to search the internet and found dailystrength.org, a site for different virtual support groups. She joined the bereavement group and quickly found a small group of mothers who had lost their children.
One of these women, Barbara Smith, lost her son one day before Ann had lost Daren. They quickly 'clicked' and started to form a small band of bereaved mothers. It was then that Barbara's dream began. Her goal was to have a website especially for grieving moms. Many of the moms they had met online lived in rural areas and were unable to join support groups. Barbara dreamed to have an online group for these women that would be easy to find and offer personal support.
Through Barbara's hard work and the support of Ann and others, the group, For Moms Only was formed, independent from Daily Strength. It was primarily a virtual group although they had yearly in person retreats as well. Sadly, Barbara died in 2011, but she asked Ann to carry on and take over the group. Today, hundreds of women can find comfort from each other either on the website or in the For Moms Only Facebook group. The yearly retreats have been put on hold due to COVID, but hopefully, those will be able to start up again in the future as well.
Ann certainly never thought that her life would take this drastic turn. She assumed that her way to 'pay it forward' would continue to be by buying coffee for the people behind her in the drive-thru line. However, life had different plans for her, bigger than she could have ever imagined. This tragedy has given her ways to reach out to bereaved women in ways she never would have thought possible.
When friends were recently asked to talk about Carolyn's son, Jimmy (or Jimbo as many of his friends liked to call him), he was described as being a light to others and someone who always seemed to have a smile on his face. He was active, involved in sports and had numerous friends. From the outside, Jimmy did not look like someone who was at risk to die by suicide, but almost three years ago at 21 years of age, he did just that.
After suffering from numerous concussions while playing sports, Jimmy never really seemed to fully recover. At times, he felt like he was in a fog - life became harder than it once was. Jimmy visited many doctors after these concussions and often appeared well. He sought out therapists and had counseling. He eventually carried a diagnosis of depression. Jimmy and his family worked hard to try to help him recover, but were sadly unable to get him as much help as he needed.
Shortly after Jimmy died, Carolyn realized just how little they really knew about suicide prevention. She started looking online for information and found a program through the Henry Ford Health System in Detroit that had an 80% success rate in decreasing deaths by suicide! She reached out to one of the doctors and she, along with other moms who lost their children to suicide, raised money to bring him to her community to educate as many people as possible. She has since brought this program to her area of northern Michigan.
The focus of the program starts with screening. Just as Jimmy was good at hiding his suicidal thoughts, others can be as well. When asked specifically, most people will tell a truly caring person about suicidal thoughts. Only by asking the questions, however, will we really know who is at risk. As grieving people, we are all going through deep, dark times. Carolyn's goal is to help us all to realize that talking about these thoughts and making safety plans can start people on the path to recovery. Although she could not save her precious Jimmy, hopefully, this work can and will save others.
For a little bonus, click here to see Jimmy performing a magic trick at the county fair.
Well-meaning people say these words to me all of the time - "You are so strong! I could never do what you do!" They mean that they admire me for what I have done, but I actually hate those words. For me, calling me 'strong' is, in fact, isolating. It makes me feel like that person thinks that I can do everything on my own without help from them or anyone else, like I was somehow given some inner strength giving me the ability to conquer my grief and anything else in my path.
I felt drawn to today's guest, Myesha, from the very first time she sent a short two word message on Instagram - 'thank you' followed by a purple heart. After writing back and forth a few times, I actually thought to myself, 'Wow! This woman is amazing. She is doing so much! She must be so strong!' I almost fell into the trap myself.
From the outside looking in, Myesha does seem to be extraordinarily strong. When she lost her daughter, Ahsha, at 7 months of age to cardiomyopathy, she had never heard of the disease. When others might have just curled up into a ball, she searched online looking to educate herself on this rare disease that had suddenly snatched up her daughter. She found the Children's Cardiomyopathy Foundation, where she educated herself to learn as much about cardiomyopathy as she could.
Myesha also reached out to the founder of the organization, and found for the first time, someone who truly understood her pain and exactly what she was going through. When she was feeling weak, lost, and alone, receiving support from other mothers who had experienced this same loss gave her strength to continue. She says that this foundation and the bereaved mothers that she found there was really a lifeline for her. She is not sure how she would have gotten through those first weeks and months without them.
Now, over three years later, Myesha is an ambassador for the foundation and is using her grief in amazingly positive ways. She educates medical professionals and the general public about the signs and symptoms of pediatric cardiomyopathy. Perhaps even more importantly, she is there to reach out to new mothers who have just lost their precious children to cardiomyopathy, offering them a bit of her experience and wisdom.
Myesha, too, has people tell her again and again how strong she is to do this work, but like me, she does not do this work in her strength; she does it in her weakness. Each and every day, we remember that we are NOT strong enough to survive this grief journey on our own. We need an army of people around us to help - family, friends, and others who have walked the journey just a little bit ahead of us.
To say that losing a child is hard at any time would be a vast understatement, but losing a child while in the midst of a global pandemic adds a whole new level of complication. There are no friends and family surrounding you at a big funeral bringing you piles of food so you don't have to cook for weeks, or, in general, just being there for you with a big hug. This is what today's guest, Rhonda, has had to endure since her son, Robbie, died after having a seizure this past August.
In addition, Robbie had Asperger's Syndrome and OCD so he was challenged socially and had few friends. He struggled throughout his life to get through school, keep a job and make friends, but he was resilient and persevered, hoping that one day, he would make enough money to move to the beach. Rhonda said that she worried about him every single day, hoping that he would be able to keep his job and not have any anger outbursts with co-workers. She would text each morning to make sure he was OK, and then she would be able to go on with her day.
Since Robbie's death, Rhonda's life has been turned upside down. From the outside, friends have even indicated to her that her life will be less complicated now that 'she doesn't have to worry about' Robbie, but they don't understand at all. No matter how complicated your child's life is, it is not better without them in the world. She would rather worry about Robbie every day for the rest of her life than grieve his death each day. Someone who has never lost a child might not understand, but all of us who have, surely do.
Understandably, over the past 5 months, Rhonda has felt alone in her grief. That has caused her to turn to something she had never really thought about before - poetry. In her isolation, she finds that writing poetry is a way for her to express herself and her feelings. She also searches the internet for poems about grief and has compiled them into a book that she can read and re-read during her darkest times. These words, along with certain verses from the Bible give her comfort when everything seems lost.
Michelle's daughter, Rachel, was just 17 years old when she died unexpectedly in a tragic accident. Packed in those 17 years, however, was a lifetime of profound wisdom. From a young age, various people who were exposed to Rachel called her an 'old soul' - she looked at the world differently than other children, in a deeper, more thoughtful way. In third grade, inspired by a teacher, she began to write down some of her thoughts in journals.
In the days and weeks after Rachel's tragic death, Michelle began to find pieces of Rachel's inspirational writings all over her room - on her computer, notebooks, even on small slips of paper tucked away in the deep recesses of her closet. Michelle was amazed by what she read. She had always known that Rachel was a talented writer, but these writings were so powerful and inspirational. One quote read, 'I can't tell you what happiness is, it's different for everyone, but I can tell you where to find it, within yourself.'
Michelle took a break from her career as a therapist and focused on Rachel and her writings. She wanted to share them with the world. Rachel's writing inspired her as well as many others. Some of her quotes quickly became 'viral' after being shared on a local TV station. Michelle compiled some of her writing into one book and later a second. She founded a non-profit organization, Rachel's Writers to help inspire other young writers. Sharing these writings helps keep a little bit of Rachel alive for her mom, her family and all of us.
On the home page of Salt Water's website, findyourharbor.com, there is a quote from Isak Dinesen which reads, 'The cure for everything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.' It goes on to explain these each in more detail. Sweat represents 'the healing of your body after the death of a beloved.' Tears represent 'living with unbearable loss.' Lastly, the sea represents 'moving forward into the life you create in the wake of loss.'
Salt Water's founder, Margo, lost her 21 year old son, Jimmy, to cancer in 2014. Like all of us, she found herself struggling to continue on through the grief. She turned to the internet to try to find support for herself and her family. She tried many different things, but found that nothing really 'fit' for her. Some felt too religious and others lacked any hope or spirituality at all.
Within a year of Jimmy's death, Margo suffered another great loss when her 92 year old mother died. That is when she really learned what a hierarchy people place on grief. Since her mother lived a long life, people just didn't offer as much sympathy for her in this fresh grief. They didn't really individualize the loss at all and didn't take into account all that Margo had been going through.
This is when Margo had a true revelation. You cannot put another person's experience with grief into a box and treat it the same as others in 'their' category. You cannot judge your own grief as worse or better than someone else's. The loss of a sibling should not be considered 'worse' than the loss of a grandparent or 'better' than the loss of a child. They are absolutely unique to each individual. In addition, not all people who lose children are the same. Not all widows or widowers are the same. Not all people who lose their parents, siblings or even dear pets are the same.
It was then that Margo decided to create an online organization, Salt Water (www.findyourharbor.com), so all people suffering loss had a safe place to come and not feel judged. In Salt Water, all grieving people have a home. She and her contributors offer hope and help to every mourner who enters the waters of their harbor.
As we come to the end of 2020, it is a universal joke that everyone wants this year to be over because of the global coronavirus pandemic. "Bring on 2021," they say, "when life can return to normal!" For grieving people, however, things will never go back to normal. I think though about those parents who do not want 2020 to end because it was the last year their child was alive. I remember not wanting 2018 to be over because I knew Andy would never be able to live a day in 2019.
I receive messages from parents very early in their grief after the death of their child at least a couple of times each month. I mourn for them as I read their brief stories. I think about what the weeks and months ahead will be like for them, the pain that they will have to live through. I think about how they may very well feel worse before the healing process begins to start.
Not infrequently, I look back to where I was myself at that moment in my personal grief journey. I think about what I was feeling and the emotions that were yet to come. I wonder what to say to these parents. Should I offer words of encouragement and hope for the future? Would they even believe these words if I shared them? Would I have believed them myself when I was in the depths of grief? Most of the time, I simply ask for them to share with me a bit about their child, knowing that in that moment, sharing their pain with a stranger is enough.
Looking ahead into 2021 and thinking about these conversations have made me think about things I wish I had known right after Andy's death. I wish I had known just how many emotions a grieving person can feel at one time. I expected overwhelming sadness, but anger, fear, confusion? These were unexpected. I wish I had known that when I felt flooded with an unbelievable number of different emotions that I was not going crazy - this was, and still is, completely normal.
How might other people answer this question? What is the one thing they would want to tell their past selves if they could? I posed this question to listeners over the past several weeks. I got five amazing, unique responses, ranging from parents who are only months from the death of their child to one mother who is twenty years out now. I loved hearing all of the responses! Going into a new year, I will take a bit of hope from each of them. I know that you will as well.
For grieving people, Christmastime is undoubtedly, NOT 'the most wonderful time of the year' that is sung about in the classic song. I would say that for grieving parents, this is especially true. Christmas is such a time of joy for children and no matter if you lost your child on the day that you gave birth to him or her or decades later, the pain is still a little sharper on Christmas. Grieving parents are reminded both of Christmases past and also of the Christmases that will never be.
I started thinking about what to do for the show this Christmas a few months ago. I thought about just taking a couple of weeks off, but the more I considered that, the more that it felt wrong. I know that people look forward to listening to these stories every week. I know that it gives many people hope for the upcoming week. I eventually decided that instead of skipping an episode or two, I'd do something extra special.
When I talk to parents each week, I am so often blown away by little stories of 'signs' that they received after the deaths of their children. Now, we definitely don't always interpret these signs the same way. I tend to think of them as messages I get from God letting me know that Andy is OK. Other parents think of them as signs directly from their children. Overall, I don't think that part matters as much as the overall comfort that they give us as parents.
Over the last few weeks, I have asked for people to send in stories of their 'messages from heaven,' and I have, quite simply, been blown away. I was hoping to get a few little stories to make Christmas feel 'not quite as awful.' Instead, I have been given true stories of hope that I will keep with me for the rest of my life. Many of these stories actually made me smile. I don't think that I will look at a green Matchbox car, a cardinal, a butterfly or the color orange ever the same way again. My hope is that these stories will bring smiles to your faces as well.
In 2007, today's guest, Kim, had a pretty comfortable life. She was happily married with three beautiful young children. She had gone back to school and was finishing her master's degree to become a therapist. After going through struggles when she was young, she overall felt content with her current life.
When Kim had a meeting with her advisor at school to discuss how things were going with regards to seeing patients as a student, she shared that she was really starting to feel comfortable seeing clients. She felt that she really had empathy and a lot to offer patients. In one area, however, she felt like she was lacking. Kim said that she felt like she had a difficult time relating to people experiencing extreme grief. She had not had experienced earth-shattering grief before, and she was having a hard time knowing how to approach them.
A few short months later, however, that would all change. Her life turned completely upside-down when she suddenly and tragically lost her oldest daughter, Daryn. Kim now knew, all too well, what those clients had experienced. She wondered if she would ever even be able to work as a therapist. The grief was life-changing and all-encompassing. The idea of being able to offer help and hope to others seemed completely out of reach.
After staying home and caring for herself and her family for the next year, she ultimately decided to finish her training and try to become a therapist. Kim's biggest fear was that she would no longer be able to feel empathy and that she would constantly be comparing her own loss to the losses of her clients. I know that I had that same fear as well. After having my own child die, could I now sympathize with parents whose children had relatively minor complaints?
We both have discovered that quite the opposite has been true, however. After experiencing great pain, our empathy for hurting people has increased to levels that we could have never imagined prior to the deaths of our children. Although we would exchange this wisdom and empathy to get our children back in a heartbeat, it is a gift that we can use going forward in our lives and our careers.
Today's guest, Robyn Karns, knows hardship - she has experienced abuse, widowhood, a miscarriage, and divorce, but 17 months ago, her life was absolutely rocked to the core. Robyn lost her firstborn and her best friend, Zach. She wondered how she would be able to go on from this tremendous loss. Losing Zach made all of her other trials pale in comparison. How could she keep getting up each day and living life?
Robyn truly felt as if she were under attack, like Satan thought he would finally win, but she vowed to herself that she would not give in. While many of us become angry with God and even turn our backs on Him, Robyn told the Lord, "It can’t be for nothing. You have got to turn this around for your glory. You HAVE to make this make sense in one way or the other."
Over that past year, Robyn's life has changed in more ways than she ever could have imagined. Just over a year ago, she had the idea to make leather earrings for herself and for her daughters. She needed to do something with her hands to keep herself busy. Soon, people began to ask on Facebook if she might be willing to sell the earrings. She quickly realized that there may be a way to talk to others about Zach and about how God was helping her through his tragic death. In addition to earrings, she soon began designing other jewelry including warrior bracelets for bereaved mothers, and jewelry with anchor designs in memory of Zach. This project quickly changed from something to keep her hands busy to a business and ministry.
On Robyn's website, robynkarns.com, where she now sells her jewelry, she writes a letter to bereaved mothers, whom she calls 'warrior mamas.' Part of that letter is written below:
If I were with you I'd wrap you up in a big hug and tell you…
When you get out of bed everyday…. You are a Warrior.
When you are in a corner crying for days...You are a Warrior.
When you are so mad at God… You are a Warrior.
When you can’t even muster a word in prayer….You are STILL a Warrior.
When you feel you will never get through this….You are still a Warrior.
By the end of my conversation with Robyn (which extended at least 30 minutes beyond the recording), I feel like I had found an old friend. I actually told her that I felt a sisterly love for her after only one conversation. She made me feel like I truly am a warrior.
In Robyn's life, she keeps getting hit again and again by trials, but she is not giving up, and that can inspire all of the rest of us as well. She just keeps fighting and turning all of the hardships, all of this bad stuff, into good. She never stops giving glory to God and continues to be obedient and show up for others when they need to be lifted up as well.
I have long hated the analogy of going through a war when someone is diagnosed with cancer. 'He's battling cancer.' 'She is a fighter.' 'They beat cancer.' Those phrases all indicate that if you are a strong enough person, the cancer won't kill you. I know that it is said so that people have more of a sense of control when you are dealing with this devastating disease, but to me, it really feels like saying those who die from cancer didn't 'fight' hard enough.
I have had many family members suffer from cancer. Both of my parents were diagnosed with cancer when I was in high school. In addition to that, my maternal grandfather and uncle had cancer as well as my paternal grandmother, grandfather, aunt and cousin. All together, that makes 8 close family members. Three of those people (my mother, maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother) all died from their cancer. Were they somehow less strong than the five who went on to survive? The answer, of course, is that they weren't less strong. In fact, two of the strongest women I have ever known were my mother and grandmother. All of that strength could not 'beat' breast cancer.
Today's guest, Melissa talks today about her daughter Isla and their brief journey with cancer. Melissa's husband, Mark, has known great loss in his life which is in many ways similar to my own. At the age of 18, his mother died of cancer and 15 years later, he lost his first wife to pancreatic cancer. He had witnessed first-hand the two women that he loved most in life 'battle' cancer and die. The pain was devastating and excruciating. When he found himself in love once again and wanting to marry, he struggled with the idea of even wanting to have children. What if it happened again? Could he possibly going through the great pain of loss a third time?
It certainly did not seem possible that Melissa and Mark would be put through that deep pain of cancer again, but when their firstborn daughter, Isla, was barely a month old, they were given devastating news. Isla had a brain tumor. The thing that Melissa thought would be impossible was happening. For Mark, the nightmare was starting again.
Isla's brain tumor was inoperable and aggressive. Melissa says that after she was diagnosed, you could really see her worsening each day. Within a matter of days, she lost vision in one eye and then the other. She had a stroke after her tumor biopsy and began to have seizures. Without a doubt, cancer was going to kill Isla. No matter how strong she was or how much her parents loved her, this was not a question. Although surgery and radiation were not options for Isla, doctors did offer chemotherapy for the tumor. Chemotherapy would almost certainly not be curative, but perhaps it could give her a bit more time.
Initially, both Mark and Melissa agreed to chemotherapy, but as the day to begin approached, they began to wonder if this was the right decision for Isla, if this was a 'war' worth fighting. After asking every doctor on Isla's team, Mark and Melissa each came to the conclusion that this was not the right choice for their sweet baby, Isla. It would not significantly increase the length of her life and would significantly worsen the quality of her life.
They decided to take her home, hold her, love her and make memories with her for as long as they had. That is, in my mind, the bravest and strongest decision that they could have made for little Isla. Just because they could have started chemotherapy and the 'fight' against cancer, sometimes that fight is not worth fighting. Sometimes what you lose is not worth the little bit of time you may gain.
I am not saying to never let someone hang onto the hope that their loved one is a 'fighter' and thus has a better chance to 'defeat' cancer than the statistical odds they are given. If it gives them more of a sense of control in an uncontrollable situation, it may be worth it, but try not to go too far with that analogy. We certainly never want patients or parents to think that somehow, they are not 'fighting' hard enough. Suffering from cancer is hard enough without adding guilt on top of it. There are many strong, amazing adults and children who die from their cancer, and they aren't any less strong or amazing than anyone else. Just ask Melissa and Mark.
Do people get little signs from God or from loved ones after they die? There are strong feelings on both sides of this issue. Many people tell you that this is impossible, and those people use very different points to defend this view. An atheist would tell you that this is impossible because there is no afterlife at all. You live, you die and that is it. A fundamentalist Christian may also tell you that this is completely impossible because there is no mention of this specifically in the Bible, and saying such a thing would be blasphemous.
I certainly am not going to be able to solve this heavily debated issue here, but I absolutely can say that not everything that I or other bereaved people experience can be explained 100% by either science or the Bible. Andy telling me at the age of 7 that he was going to go to heaven and leave our family before he grew up all of the way is not explainable. Me knowing in that instant that what he said was true is also not explainable.
Having a ball stuck up on a high tree branch in our backyard for three years suddenly fall down on the day of Andy's funeral is not explainable. Having our pastor's son announce to his mother that a boy that he did not know was 'in heaven with his friends' thirty minutes after Andy died is not explainable. Actually, I don't even want those things to be explainable. I want to just rely on my faith to know that God is sending me a little message that Andy is OK and with him in heaven.
Today's guest, Tom, started having those unexplainable things happen to him days after his son passed away as well. Now, his interpretation of these events is a little different that mine. He is not from a Christian background. In fact, he has never believed in a formal religion at all. He said that in an abstract sense he felt that there was a higher power and an afterlife, but that he did not really have proof of anything specific.
The death of Kevin changed everything for Tom. His view of death changed, and it actually made his view of life change as well. He feels his son's presence with him all of the time. Tom sees things in nature that he can't explain and feels that his son is orchestrating them. He says that if this had happened two or three times, he might think it was coincidence, but when it happens fifteen and twenty times, he just can't explain it away.
When Tom shares these stories with others, he gets many reactions, some positive and others negative. Some feel that he has been blessed to see these things. Others feel uncomfortable, and still others likely feel that he is crazy. Honestly, however, it really doesn't matter what others think. What matters is what he knows, what he feels, and how healing has come from it.
Recently, Tom has even written a book about his son, Kevin's life, illness and death, and about Tom's own journey and experiences after Kevin's death. The book is called, 'Relentless: From Both Sides of the Veil.' It can be purchased here through Amazon. Also, to learn more about Tom and his story, visit his webpage. He and his wife have also started a local chapter of Helping Parents Heal, an international organization for bereaved parents.
I have often thought how nice it would be if I could just wear a sign around my neck that said, "I am grieving. My child is dead. Be nice to me." I think others might go out of their way to be a little more kind. They might ask if they could do an errand for me. They may have nice words to say about me or my child. At a minimum, they might complain about their own lives just a little bit less.
It would certainly help strangers treat us better, but I think it would be a good reminder for family and friends as well. As time goes by, their lives, for the most part, return to normal. Our lives, however, are forever changed, and our wounds will never fully heal.
Today's guest, Farrah, needs a sign like that. Her daughter, Hannah, died 7 months ago now. As grieving parents know, for Farrah, the grief is actually still in its very early stages. The numbness and shock of this sudden, unexpected death is just starting to wear off, leaving this gigantic, devastating hole in its place.
From the outside, Farrah looks like her life is returning to 'normal'. She is working five days a week, caring for patients in a busy orthopedics practice. She has always been a strong, professional woman, being the one to give help, not the one who needs it. Hannah was grown and had been living halfway across the country. It is easy from the outside for people to almost forget about Hannah. This does not mean that Farrah misses her a bit less than she would have if she had been younger and still living at home. Her absence is just less obvious to others around her.
Today's episode is a great reminder to all of us. Remember others who are hurting around us. Don't just tell the grieving person to call if they need something. Just do it. Offer to go to the store. Offer to make dinner. Offer to get the oil changed in the car. Offer to take their pet to the vet. Offer to take their other kids to the park. Most importantly, offer to sit and listen. Sit in the sad place with that person for a while. You don't have to try to 'cheer them up' or make it better, because, let's face it, you can't. What you can do, however, is show up and be there.
Today's episode is far different than the average Always Andy's Mom episode. We dive into a topic that I never would have considered on my own. About 2-3 months ago, a listener wrote in to me asking if I could do an episode focusing on intimacy with one's spouse after the death of a child. She said that her husband continued to be interested in sex, but that she was not. She wondered if this was a common issue for grieving couples and if there was any advice that I could offer.
This question caught me completely off guard. As a physician, I sort of pride myself on not being shocked easily. Sometimes, especially when I see teens, it feels like they will say something extreme just to try to get a reaction out of me. For almost 20 years, I have really always stayed calm and never acted flustered. This question, however, threw me. On my podcast, I am always open and honest about everything, but this seemed like it might be a bit too much for me to tackle.
A couple of weeks later, I was at Starlight Ministries after our first support group night for the fall. As I was waiting to get a minute to talk to Gwen, I was standing next to my good friend, Stephanie. I told her about the email and why I was waiting for Gwen. Stephanie was immediately interested and thought it would be a great topic for the show. She actually was quick to volunteer to be on the episode with us. She said that she was open to share all of the struggles she and her husband had gone through in the 3 years since their daughter, Keyan, died. She felt like it was a topic that was too often ignored in the grieving community. I then talked to Gwen and she was excited as well, quickly telling me about some notes that she had taken on this very subject.
Well, that was it. I was committed. Always Andy's Mom was going to do an episode about sex. As nervous as I was about this topic, it ended up being so good! It is a huge issue for many, if not most couples. One thing that I really feel like we landed on by the end was the importance of communication with your partner, especially after the tragic death of a child. It is so important to be completely open and honest with your spouse regarding what you need both emotionally and physically. It seems almost impossible to feel good about your physical relationship if your emotional relationship is strained.
If you are someone who normally listens to the podcast in the car with your kids, this is not the episode for that. This episode is one to listen to with your spouse or significant other. Hopefully, it will spark good conversation that can help make both your emotional and physical relationship better.
For most of my adult life, I had claimed Romans 8:28 as my own personal Bible verse. 'And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.' I clung to that verse, believed it and tried to live it. After I became a doctor, I remember thinking to myself that if I had not gone through the pain of my parents' cancer treatments and my mom's eventual death, I would have never learned about the field of medicine in such a personal way, and almost certainly, would not have become a physician.
Throughout all of the trials in my life, I really tried to think from that Romans 8:28 perspective. This experience was molding me into the person I was to become. Each of these struggles had a purpose and even through the tough times, I was becoming a better person for it. That perspective changed though, the day that Andy died. I wanted to push that verse as far away from me as possible.
In my head, I knew that the verse was still true after August 15, 2018, but in my heart, I really did not want it to be true anymore. I wanted to think of Andy's death as 100% bad. Any thought that some good might come from it made me feel sick to my stomach. I didn't want to look on the bright side. I just wanted my son back.
Today's guest, Victoria clung to that verse as well during her daughter, Sydney's, entire life. Sydney was born with four tumors on her brain and spinal cord. She underwent surgery after surgery, and was in some type of physical therapy all of her life. They lived that verse, however, just knowing that there was a greater purpose for all of the suffering. Sydney believed her whole life that God would eventually heal her from her tumors. Victoria and her mom planned to write a book about the miraculous healing work that God would do in her life. That would be her purpose on earth.
Except that it wasn't. Showing God's miraculous healing power was not God's purpose for Sydney. Sydney died just days shy of her 15th birthday. Victoria says that she personally struggled in those last months. How could God not heal her daughter when she had such great faith? How could her prayers not be answered? Sydney, however, found peace at the end of her life. She realized even before Victoria did, that she had completed God's purpose for her. Throughout her almost 15 years, she spread God's love wherever she went. She lived the miracle of being able to walk and talk, laugh and play for most of her life. She was tired, and she was ready.
It's funny how your perspective changes on a Bible verse when you live through tragedy. I was fine living life according to Romans 8:28 when it helped me get through medical school. Victoria was 'ok' watching her daughter battle through her tumors, when she thought that the end result would be a miracle. That's not how life works though; we can't know ahead of time what the final result will be. That's what makes trust such a hard thing.
Now twelve years after Sydney's death, Victoria can again hold onto Romans 8:28. She sees the many good things that came after Sydney's death. She met and became friends with a woman who received Sydney's kidney in a kidney transplant. She sees how Sydney's life impacted others in a profound way. Now, she is even writing that book that she and Sydney always planned to write. It still even has a good ending, just not the one that they thought it would.
Waiting is hard. Ask any 5 year old who is waiting for Christmas, a birthday or even traveling in the car on a road trip. They wait impatiently, expectantly. They may even drive their parents a little crazy. 'How many days until Christmas now?' 'How much longer until we get to grandma's house?' Parents learn to try to distract them in different ways. They may have a countdown for Christmas somewhere in the house. They might try playing games or songs in the car to try to distract them.
After today's guest, Jill, lost her teenage daughter to a brain tumor, she knew that she and her husband would see her again one day in heaven, but the idea of waiting and having to go on without her seemed overwhelming. I know I have felt that same way. I have gotten more comfortable living day to day without Andy, but the prospect of going years or even decades without having him here on earth, is still often too much to think about seriously.
After learning about a retreat for grieving parents in Tennessee, Jill and her husband made the trip from Arkansas to see if they could find some comfort and healing from a weekend away. That Biblically-based retreat was life changing for them. They learned so much and found encouragement from other grieving parents. After the retreat, they were really able to feel a little bit of hope for the future. An idea was born that weekend, an idea to start their own retreat center in Arkansas.
After another couple from their church lost their son about a year after Hannah's death, Jill and her husband reached out to them. They told this newly bereaved couple about their experience at the retreat and how it gave them comfort. They even shared their dream of feeling called to start retreats locally. That conversation led to action, and very quickly, the four of them started the organization, While We're Waiting.
Now, less than ten years later, they have a million dollar retreat center that houses multiple events per year. While We're Waiting also hosts day and weekend retreats for grieving parents in sites across the country as well. Recently, they have started a podcast as well. They have accomplished all of this without taking on any debt and not charging any fees to attend. They felt called by God to start this ministry, and God has continued to provide every step of the way.
Even though we long to be with our children in heaven, there is still much living to do 'while we're waiting' here on earth. This amazing organization brings grieving parents together to share the stories of their past and also inspire hope for their future.
My regular listeners know that some of my biggest pet peeves as a bereaved parent are the well-meaning platitudes given by others to try to offer comfort. Comments like, 'she is in a better place' or 'everything happens for a reason' tend to make me irritated instead. One comment that I know that many moms can hear is, 'you are young - you can have another baby' as if that is an easy way to erase the pain.
That is so much easier to say than to do, however, and another baby will NOT eliminate the pain caused by losing a previous one. Today's guest, Joey, has worked with families who have lost their children or had loss during pregnancy. She works with them on their grief journey as they go through the process of becoming pregnant again. Over the years, she has learned so much about the struggles that these women face. She felt called to write a book sharing some of these stories to help others know they are not alone.
The book is titled, Rebirth: The Journey of Pregnancy after a Loss, and can be purchased here through Amazon. In it, she hopes to help normalize the struggles that women, their spouses, and families face when going through pregnancy again after experiencing unimaginable tragedy. Today, we talk about the book and opening up one's heart again to a new child when that heart is still broken.
When Luna contacted me a few short weeks ago, sharing that her son, Hunter, had died suddenly while he was sleeping, my heart broke for her as it does whenever I hear these tragic stories. I thought about the grief journey that she had just begun and how challenging it would be for her in the days, weeks, and months ahead. I thought about ways that I might be a support for her from the other side of the country. I accepted her Facebook request and began to follow her writings and pictures that she posted.
Very quickly, I learned that I would not just be giving support for Luna; I would be learning a great deal from her as well. This was a woman who seemed to truly know how to grieve. Not even one month after the death of Hunter, she posted something that she titled, 'What do you say or do for someone who's lost a child?' She sent it to me asking if I might be interested in sharing it with my listeners which I quickly did. She had 13 specific points in that post, and I agreed with each and every one of them. How could she be so wise so soon? I quickly realized that this is a very special woman with a very special gift to share.
Although Luna had only recently lost her precious only child, she seemed to be understanding grief in ways that took me almost two years to realize. She lives in the present, taking each day as it comes. She does not hide away from the grief. When it overcomes her, she allows it to do so. She weeps tears of lament as they come and does not try to stuff the emotions away.
Whether at work or with friends socially, she clearly states what she can and can't do. She explains ahead of time, that if her emotions take over, she may simply have to leave a meeting. When that happens, she does not feel guilty as I often do, because she knows that she has explained herself ahead of time. She allows herself time to really feel everything that she needs to at that moment and then she moves on. Thinking too much about the past or too far into the future becomes overwhelming so she tries to keep herself in the present.
Another thing that I love about Luna is the way that she has expressed herself by turning Hunter's gravesite into a beautiful canvas. Each day, she visits the grave and creates beauty there with flowers, rocks, fabric and pictures. She arrives at the cemetary in deep sadness and sorrow and slowly feels her spirit being lifted up as she creates something wonderful that honors Hunter. She leaves with a little bit of peace that can help her get through another day. Even looking at pictures helps me to feel a little bit of peace as well.
When today's guest, Crystal, found out that she was pregnant at a young age, she says that she thinks many people thought that her life was over. In some ways, I guess it was, but not in the way they supposed. From the moment Isaac was born, she knew that he was her greatest blessing. Her focus in life suddenly shifted. She became a mom, and she wanted to work to give him that best life that she could.
She even chose the name 'Isaac' because of the story of Abraham and Sarah in the Bible. As a reminder, Abraham and Sarah longed for a baby for years. God had promised them offspring as numerous as the stars, but they remained childless. Finally, when Sarah was ninety years old, she gave birth to their son, Isaac. Sarah said, in Genesis 21:6, 'God has brought me laughter and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.'
Isaac did bring her so much laughter in his 18 years. He was a smiley, happy kid who was a friend to everyone. She said that she never had to worry about Isaac being lonely even when dropped off in a new unfamiliar place. She and her husband were blessed with two more children. They had a good life and were active in their church and community.
Certainly, Crystal's family had struggles as all families do, and Isaac had been making poor choices as many teens do as well, but nothing could have ever prepared her for that phone call in December 2018. After a day of Christmas shopping, Crystal got a frantic phone call telling her that Isaac had been shot at their local Walmart.
All people who have lost a close family member will likely have experienced working with a funeral director in those first hours and days after the death. For people who die older or after a prolonged illness, they may have met with a funeral director ahead of time and even made plans. For those of us experiencing a sudden loss, however, we suddenly are met by an absolute stranger who is taxed with guiding us through the most traumatic experience of our lives.
I will never forget Justin, our funeral director. He seemed to sense exactly what I needed without me having to say it. When we were asked about a cemetery plot, he was quick to not only guide us to a beautiful township cemetery that I had never noticed before, he arranged someone to meet us there to show us an area with three available plots, one for Andy and the other two to be saved for Eric and me. He was the first person to recommend that I call Gwen at Starlight Ministries. He told me that he would take fingerprints of Andy in case I would later want them for a necklace or even a tattoo.
Probably the most important thing that Justin did for me had to do with Andy's hair. In the last year of his life, Andy started to get very particular about his hair. I got him a small tub of styling creme at my hair salon. We both loved the smell, and he would fix his hair and then ask me to smell his head. I would happily bend over slightly and smell the top of his head and smile, thinking that as he grew, someday he would be the one having to bend over for me.
I tried to explain to Justin exactly how Andy liked his hair as I tearfully handed him the tub of cream along with Andy's confirmation suit. I also asked him to be careful and try not to remove the fingerprints that Andy had left at the bottom of the container. Justin then handed the tub back to me and asked if I would want to do his hair before the visitation instead. I nodded and began to cry. When we arrived before the visitation the next day, sitting beside Andy was a stool and a small water bottle that I could use to wet his hair. I got to fix my boy's hair one more time, just the way he liked it.
This is how a funeral director can help a family. This memory is one of the last that I have with Andy. Today's guest, Angie, has worked as a funeral director for many years. She, too, made a point to help with the little things that are important to families. She helped many parents who lost their children. Angie said that she used to wonder how those parents did it. She would think to herself, 'If I lost one of my kids, I would be a heap, and people would have to push me around in a wheelchair.'
After a tragic accident killed her son, Chad, it suddenly was her. Angie was the mother who had lost her child, and she wasn't being pushed around in a wheelchair. She was making the decisions that she usually helped others make; she was living her nightmare. She did these things because there was no other option.
This experience changed Angie as it changes all of us. Initially, she wondered if she could even be a funeral director anymore, but as time has gone on, she sees again that she can still help others while she experiences pain. As she helps write obituaries, Angie now notices just how many parents have children who have died before them. She has extra compassion for these families, and occasionally, when the time seems right, she shares a little bit of her story to offer hope and comfort to another.
The days after Andy's death were such a blur to me. Information came at me from all directions. In those days leading up to what should have been his first day of high school, we instead found ourselves in a funeral home, picking out a casket and a cemetery plot. I feel like much of the information that was shared with me I could not even absorb.
Our funeral director was truly amazing and such a blessing to us. He tried not to overwhelm us with too much at one time. He handed me paperwork, much of which I would not be able to read. One thing he did do, however, that I will forever be grateful for, is to pull out one particular pamphlet and tell me to call a specific woman. That pamphlet was for Starlight Ministries, and the woman's name was Gwen.
I still remember dialing that number for the first time. I was sitting upstairs on my bed by myself. My hand shook as I dialed the number. I wasn't even sure I'd be able to speak at all. What would I say to this stranger? Honestly, I have no idea what I did say in that first conversation, and I can't remember anything specific that she said. I do remember, however, that after I hung up, I felt a little bit better. I had a tiny glimmer of hope that I might be able to get through the next day. I had an appointment for Eric and I to go see her later that week.
That appointment I remember a little more clearly. I walked in holding Andy's teddy bear and telling Gwen about the bear and all about my sweet boy. I felt like Eric and I were truly heard and understood by her. Although we were still in complete shock and would be for a long time, I felt like I got a little bit of a plan that day as we signed up for our first support group. I left not feeling quite as lost and confused as I did when we came in.
I have felt so blessed to be in west Michigan, so close to Gwen and her expertise. When I decided to do the podcast, the very first call that I made was to Gwen. I wanted to make sure that she was involved and could be a regular contributor. Before today, very few people have gotten to experience the help that Gwen can offer like I did.
Today, all that changes. Today, Gwen launches something new, something that I think will be amazing to grieving families everywhere. Her new venture, called Your Grief Guide, can be found at grief-guide.com. On the website, Gwen offers a 5 part video series to help guide those who are on this horrible grief journey. There are additional resources available for those supporting the bereaved as well, such as church ministries, victims advocacy groups and even individual counselors. What a blessing this will be to the grieving community at large. I am so honored to be able to help introduce this new resource.
Until June 6, 2002, Dave and Sue Brannon had a life that many would envy. They had four beautiful children, a happy marriage, and a life that felt blessed by God. Sue worked as a nurse, and Dave was a successful author of numerous books. Dave wrote in the introduction of his book, Beyond the Valley: 'We loved the stuffing out of life. Not that every day was always easy and full of smiles and laughing, but for the most part, our direction was still heading securely toward the road to blessedness. Up on the mountain. Far from the valley."
On that day in June, however, their lives fell unexpectedly into that deep, dark valley. Their precious daughter, Melissa, was killed instantly in a car accident, and everything changed. Suddenly, their blessed life did not feel so blessed. They became all too familiar with pain, grief and suffering. A day that started joyously with the last day of Melissa's junior year in high school ended in tragedy on the side of a road.
A new journey started for their family that day, a journey that instead of being on a road that was high and smooth, was on a dark curvy road with potholes along the way. Sue says that in those first days, she felt as if she could not do anything. She could not make any decisions and had to rely fully on Dave and others. As the days became months and the months became years, the two kept traveling along that path together, continuing to move forward. Faith in God and help from others helped them along the way.
On today's show, they share about their amazing daughter, Melissa, and how they keep her memory alive today 18 years later, how they still think about her and talk about her daily. They also discuss how so many people came alongside them to help and how important that was in their healing process. Lastly, they talk about keeping faith in God after living through devastating loss and finding hope for the future once again.
Living through the death of one's own child under any circumstances is certainly thought to be one of the most difficult events anyone could experience. Every person's journey is hard, but some things can make it even more challenging. When the griever is in the public eye, it must be even worse. Every action, every tear is analyzed and evaluated. How difficult it must be to go on when so many people are watching.
For today's guest, Angela, that is exactly what she had to experience after her daughter, Emily, died from a drug overdose two years ago. She is a well-know investigative reporter and anchor on television in South Dakota. The very day that her daughter died she was working on a story covering the opioid epidemic and Good Samaritan laws. Suddenly, though, she wasn't reporting the story - she was the story.
It certainly may have been easier to hide away for a few months and then quietly come back, or to even make a career move that would take her out of the public eye, but that is not what Angela chose to do. She chose to make Emily's life matter. She chose to bravely use her platform to talk even more about the opioid epidemic. She chose to use her resources to help get others into treatment and to work to erase the stigma of addiction. She knew that if she could prevent even one death, it would be worth all of the effort. If she could prevent even one parent from experiencing the pain of child loss, it was her mission to do so.
Since 2018, Angela has been able to accomplish so much. She started the foundation, Emily's Hope which focuses on treatment and prevention of addiction. She has a website, paintingapathtorecovery.org where you can see Emily's amazing art, read Angela's blog and find out more about the organization. She started her own podcast, Grieving Out Loud, where she talks to guests about addiction and about grieving the loss of a child. She speaks all over the country about the dangers of addiction to teens and young adults. Through all of these efforts, she works to spread hope and honor her daughter, Emily.
'I'm sorry. Despite our best efforts, we were unable to save your son.'
These words will sit with me for the rest of my life. I will never forget them, will never forget the regret and sadness in that paramedic's voice. What a horrible thing for him to have to share with us. Earlier, he was likely one of the people who took over for my husband as he was trying to resuscitate Andy. Without a doubt, he had heard my frantic cries and prayers in the background. He knew that those words would change our lives forever, and that they would destroy our lives as we knew it. The words had to be said, however, and he was the one who needed to say them.
Those words, or words similar to them, were said to today's guest, Barb, as well. She and her husband were not with their son, Chris, when he was killed in a single car accident 14 years ago. The words were said to her in her husband's office by two volunteer victim advocates who came along with the police officers to share the news. The advocates sat with them as they tried to absorb this devastating news. One of them even drove Barb's car back home so that Barb could ride with her husband.
Their kindness stuck with Barb along her grief journey. Months after Chris's death, she was trying to find something tangible to do with her grief, something that she could do that might help others. Her mind kept going back to those volunteers from the sheriff's department who told them of their son's death and sat with them, helping them make those immediate decisions and first calls. She fought against those thoughts at first, thinking she could never do it, but slowly, she began to realize this is exactly what she should do. Eighteen months after Chris' death, she underwent training to become a victim advocate.
Now, Barb is the one, along with her partner, who says those unforgettable words when they knock on doors of unsuspecting family members with police officers. She is the one who comes to sit beside a newly bereaved person after they have found a family member dead in the home. She sits with them quietly - making calls, taking care of other children, waiting for funeral home directors, or simply being a shoulder to cry on. It truly takes a special person to volunteer to be in the depths of pain with a stranger again and again.
Barb says that on her way to every call, she prays to God and then she talks to her son, Chris. She feels that Chris is there with her each and every time, helping her make this horrible moment a little less horrible and confusing. It is her way to spread a little bit of her love for Chris to those who are in desperate need.
Shame. Guilt. Fear of Judgment. Anger.
These are just some of the additional emotions that today's guest, Lisa, felt after the accidental overdose death of her son, Jordan, eleven years ago. As my listeners all know, the death of one's child is likely the most difficult thing any of us will ever experience. No two deaths or experiences are the same, certainly, but when the death is a direct result of a bad choice that was made, the death and healing process is even more complicated.
A listener reached out recently asking me to have Gwen talk about the additional complications of the grief process for parents whose children made bad choices. Gwen wrote back, telling me that she did not think that we could do this topic justice without including a mom who had lived this nightmare herself and experienced all of these emotions firsthand.
Lisa agreed to join us, although even after eleven years, this is still a challenge for her. She spent so much time feeling shame and fear of judgment over the years. She talks about the difficulties of going back to church and wondering what others were really thinking about her and her family. It took years of faith and prayer to get past these feelings and get to the point where she could truly entrust her children to God again.
As a parent, it is so difficult to watch our children make bad choices. Even when they are young, we struggle to decide when to rush in and try to 'save' our children and when to let them suffer consequences for their actions. As they grow, we have less and less control over their choices and that, in many ways, makes things even more difficult. A part of us still feels responsible to help guide their actions, even though we just can't do that anymore.
When these actions result in death, so many emotions complicate the grief. Ultimately, the most important goal in this grief is to try to get to a place of full forgiveness and love. We need to forgive our child, their friends or others who may have contributed to the death, and ultimately, ourselves as well. As parents, we do the best that we can raising our children with the knowledge that we have at the time. We need to learn that our best was, is and always will be enough even when it doesn't feel like it.
Birthdays, holidays and anniversaries are all incredibly difficult to live through after the death of your child. We dread them. We count the days until those days arrive trying to figure out what exactly to do on that day. Is it small and private? Do we invite friends and family to join us? What is the best decision? I recently talked to a good friend of mine who was honoring the two year anniversary of her child's death two days before we had Andy's. She said to me, "No mother should have to plan a 'death party' for their child." She is absolutely right, but we do it because we want them remembered, and we don't want anyone to forget about them.
Today's guest, Chrisy, was first interviewed in Episode 19 back in January. She was actually one of the very first listeners to my show as well as my first iTunes review. She reached out to me after a couple of months, and we made a deep connection prior to her sharing her story on the show. Since January, Chrisy and her family have been through a lot, and I have been honored to have her allow me to walk alongside her. She is working hard on her grief and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of her life and turn it into something beautiful.
That something beautiful is the the organization that she has founded called the Caleb Cares Project. Her son was an amazing, wonderful young man who did so much for others around him. She is continuing his legacy through projects that she knows he would support. I loving hearing the renewed strength in her voice as she talks about doing this project for Caleb and with Caleb.
Certainly, no one wants to have to live the life of a bereaved parent, missing our children each and every day, but despite our pain, good can come from it. This organization will help so many people in their community in Tennessee. It will give healing for the family and friends of Caleb. Be sure to follow the organization and Chrisy's blog on ajourneyforcaleb.com.
Holidays and anniversaries certainly do bring additional pain when they come around, but they, too, can lead to good. Gathering together to share memories of our loved ones make them feel a little more alive in our hearts again, at least for a little while. Knowing that others miss and love them gives us great comfort. In the end, we as bereaved parents just want to know that our children mattered and will not be easily forgotten.
Recently, I have been thinking a lot about the fact that I live in a grieving home, and I am continuing to raise my children in a grieving home and that there is nothing that I can do to change that. It is just not the same place that it was two years ago. Don't get me wrong - we still laugh have fun together, but the grief is always there. The tears are just around the corner, and I feel like my children especially don't talk to me as they once did, fearing that they might 'get me upset.' My oldest daughter is moving to college in two short weeks and seems so anxious to get out of this house. I find myself wondering if she would be feeling the same way if her brother was alive and we were not so broken. Perhaps it would have made no difference, but I cannot help but wonder.
Today's guest, Pat, grew up in a grieving home as well, although it took her over 50 years to realize this fact. She never knew her brother, Greg, who was born 6 years before her own birth and died at 4 months of age. She found out that he existed only by accident as a young girl. He was never talked about in the family by anyone. She found his gravestone in the cemetery by herself and would even visit and talk with him without the knowledge of her parents or siblings.
An interesting thing happened in 2012, however - the year that Greg would have turned 60. Pat's mother, who was now in her mid-80's, began to really open up and talk to Pat about Greg. She talked about what it was like for her to suddenly lose her previously healthy baby. She talked about her guilt, her anger, the lack of support from others and all of those other pent up emotions. With the sharing of her heart, Pat saw years of stress and tension just fall away. She witnessed her mom really begin the process of healing that had not really even begun despite the passing of 60 years. Pat began to realize why her home was always just a little more sad and a little more quiet than it should be with four kids in the home. Someone had always been missing, and no one in her family had ever acknowledged it.
A major turning point in her mother's grief journey came during a trip to the bank where the bank teller innocently asked her how many children she had. For the very first time ever, she proclaimed, "Five." Ever since Pat had been born 54 years ago, the answer to that question had been inaccurate. What a relief that must have been! For sixty years, that question must have pained her as it does me, knowing that the number that she was sharing was not really true.
These months of talking with her mom and grief changed Pat as well. She had always known that she was a good listener and had been transitioning her career to become a life coach. She soon realized, however, that she did not simply want to be a life coach. She needed to become a grief coach. She needed to help grieving people face their grief and learn to live with it, in order to help as many grieving homes as possible. Recently, she even published a book, How Do I Survive: 7 Steps to Living After Child Loss, which can be found free on her website, HealingFamilyGrief.com.
Yes, I am living in a grieving home and raising children in a grieving home, but isn't everyone doing that to a certain extent? Grief is a part of life and love, and no one can truly escape it forever. Certainly, I would have liked to protect my family from having to live this way, but I could not. This experience will mold and shape them, but that molding and shaping is not exclusively bad. As I feel that I am a more compassionate person, the rest of my family will be as well. For Pat, growing up in a grieving home eventually helped her find her true purpose in life. Perhaps, it will do the same for my family.
I will never forget the subject line of the email sent by today's guest, Charne, a few weeks ago. It simply read, 'Lightning Struck Twice.' Charne's journey with grief started 8 years ago when her youngest daughter died from a freak accident while home in South Africa. That is obviously a horrible experience for any parent to experience, but then, two months ago, her oldest son died in a car accident as well.
I have to admit that as a grieving parent, my greatest fear is that lightning could 'strike twice' and another one of my children could suddenly die. When the unthinkable has already happened, I realize that it could happen again. This summer, that feeling has been exceptionally strong with me as I watch Peter at age 14 get ready for high school, the same high school were Andy would have started on the very day that instead, we held his funeral. In three weeks, I also will be dropping Kathryn off at college for the very first time. I will no longer be able to be close-by to protect her. The fear is so real for me right now.
I responded back to Charne quickly telling her just how sorry I was. I know when I thought of the possibility of having a second child die, I thought that I would just curl up in a ball and want to die. Here was Charne though, listening to my podcast and trying to get comfort from me. In that very first email, she wrote about how she thought her experiences could be helpful to others. There she was in the depths of her pain thinking about other grieving parents and what she could offer.
Charne says many times in the episode how this is not 'easier the second time around' and I definitely believe that is true. How could it be? The second death brings back all of the darkness of the first as well. Thoughts and feelings from the past flood back once again.
Even through all of this, however, Charne is doing an amazing job being completely honest with everyone around her. I know that I hesitate to be completely open emotionally with friends and family. When someone says something hurtful, I say nothing, thinking that I don't want it to negatively affect our relationship. Charne will now say to that friend, 'Stop. You said that last time, and it was not helpful then. It isn't helpful now either.' She says that her friends are actually happy when she does that. Her assumption is that if they are present enough to be with her through this journey again, they are probably not easily scared off.
As I began to listen to Charne's tragic story, initially I found myself feeling only more sorrow and fear for the future, confirmation that my greatest fear could actually happen. As I continued to listen, however, that feeling of fear transitioned to a feeling of hope. Here was this woman from the other side of the world proving just how strong we as grieving parents are forced to be. We don't want to be strong. We don't want to have to teach our family and friends about grief once, let alone twice, but we do it because we have to do it, and we help others in the process.
Honestly, today's interview was a sort of scary prospect for me. I don't like thinking too far into the future. Ten years, twenty years, thirty years, even the idea of having that much time without Andy in my life and as an active part of our family is too hard to think about. I am having enough trouble with the thought that almost two years have already passed.
That's why talking to Adam's mom, Nancy, today seemed really foreign and a little bit scary. Adam died 34 years ago now - Nancy has gone on living 34 years without her son. She has spent 34 years on this grief journey. What would she say? Does she still miss Adam every day? Does she still feel the pain of grief every day? I was almost afraid to learn the answers to these questions, but I know as time goes on, it is important to start to look at this in a little more of the long term. Life is continuing to move on, and I will have to move with it.
Listening to Nancy gave me a lot of comfort. Yes, she still does miss Adam every day, and yes, she still feels the grief. Today, however, the pain is not quite as sharp as it once was. She says that during the first years, she felt like she was living in the emergency room, and now, it feels like she has learned to live with an amputation.
I think the most comforting thing that she shared was that she has learned to live life more in a circle instead of in a straight line. When you live life in a straight line, you tend to think about getting past something or getting through something. It puts a lot of pressure on that you have to get things right and not mess it up. If you think of living life in a circle, however, you may come back to the same thoughts or experiences again and again. That is so reassuring to me. It allows me to think that I can do a little work on this now and then come back to it and work on it a little more later.
I don't need to get through it all right now. I don't need to wait and finish this one part of my grief journey before I more on to something else. I can move on and go somewhere else and know that I can come back and face today's struggle later, maybe when I am feeling a bit stronger or have a little more life experience to deal with it. I am so thankful to know that I can now live life in a series of loops instead of in a straight line.
The words 'grief' and 'improv' are certainly ones that do not naturally seem to go together. When I think of grief, I think of extreme sadness. I might also think of guilt, anger or numerous other negative emotions. Rarely, if ever, would I think about someone laughing. Today's guest, however, says that tears and laughter are often much closer to each other than they appear to be. They are the two involuntary emotional responses that can be outwardly seen by other people. "If you get one flowing," Bart says, "the other tends to loosen up as well."
When Bart's son, David, died after an acute brain bleed during football practice at the age of 10, little did he know that his career of acting and teaching improv would come to be a source of healing for himself as well as many others. Bart and his family were completely devastated after David's death. Just 6 weeks after his son's death, Bart decided to go back to the improv stage to make people laugh. He knew that David would have wanted his dad to do what he loved.
He quickly found that performing improv was not just a job and a distraction from his grief, but it actually helped him work through his grief. He wrote in his book, Healing Improv, "For the next year, those Saturday nights were a salvation. I had a place to go to escape the all-encompassing grief, and be me. Not only that, it kept my emotional floodgates open." He felt that it helped him to keep his soul open as well and be a release for him. When the tears came, they began to have the same effect as a summer thunderstorm, clearing away some of the sadness and leaving him feeling more refreshed.
After losing David, Bart met many other grieving parents. He noticed that although all of the parents continued to miss and mourn their children, some continued to go on living, while others seemed stuck in one place. Bart felt a strong desire to help those people who seemed 'stuck' in their grief. He began to wonder if the healing that he felt from performing improv and releasing his emotions could be taught to other grieving people. Grieving Improv Grief Workshops were born, the first one being held on the 4 year anniversary of David's death.
Bart has been amazed by what he has seen in these workshops. People have fun, laughing and opening up to others, but they also feel open to share their tears and heartache. Bart saw people start to heal and felt himself healing in the process as well. I learned so much from talking to him today and reading his book, Healing Improv, which can be found on Amazon. Learn more about Healing Improv on their Facebook page as well.
One day, almost 3 year old, red-headed Rory was outside playing while on a family vacation to Florida. She suddenly fell to the ground and cried out. Rory's mom, Mary, ran up to her and found that her entire left side was paralyzed. Mary frantically had her mom call 911 to get help. This was the first day of a journey that included hospital stays in two different states and a diagnosis of a rare, never seen before cancerous tumor on Rory's heart. The journey ended 9 1/2 weeks later with Rory's death in their family home.
When I asked today's guest, Mary, what message she really wanted to share with the audience, her response was that she wanted parents to know that it is OK to experience ALL of the emotions of grief. Often, people feel that it is fine to show some emotions to others around them, but certain feelings should be stuffed away. It might not be 'socially acceptable' to let people see everything we are feeling. It might not even feel acceptable to us to have certain emotions in the first place so we might try to ignore them completely.
However, there is no 'right' and 'wrong' with our emotions in grief. They are feelings that we experience and need to work through. One great example that Mary gave is the feeling of guilt. Over the years as a mom and pediatrician, I have seen and felt a lot of 'mom guilt.' Sometimes, it is quite valid and at other times, it is not at all.
No 'mom guilt' compares to what I have seen (and felt personally) with grieving moms. We are supposed to protect our children and keep them safe and healthy, and when our child dies, we feel guilt that we failed somehow. Other people can tell us again and again and again that it is not our fault and that we do not need to feel guilty. It does not help us get over that guilt and get rid of those feelings. Unfortunately, we need to do that ourselves. We need to feel it, live through it and then let go of that guilt on our own. Certainly, therapists, support groups and friends can help us work through it, but ultimately, it takes hard work on our part.
Grief is ugly and messy, and we all hate having to feel and live with it every day. However, the more comfortable we get in the messiness of our grief, the more we can help ourselves and others work through these emotions and even let go of some of the ugliest of them. That way, we can be better able to feel the love that will forever link us to our child.
Strength and courage are two very powerful words. Those words conjure up images in my mind of a person physically strong and without fear, perhaps a member of the military, a firefighter, or someone else who shows bravery in the face of danger. Rarely, if ever, would a picture of a bereaved person come to mind. When I think of myself, a bereaved parent, I tend to think of myself as weak and in great pain, not someone with strength and courage.
In today's episode, Gwen Kapcia, from Starlight Ministries, shows me that grieving people actually are strong and courageous. That strength is demonstrated in in ways that at first glance might not seem all that strong, but it takes amazing strength just to get out of bed after you feel like your whole world has been destroyed. It takes great courage to go on living when your child no longer does.
Today, we talk about that strength and courage and how to find ways to encourage yourself and others. A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling exceptionally down, just tired of hurting and tired of missing Andy every day. I shared that frustration first just with family and then on my blog through my website, andysmom.com. Amazingly, almost as soon as I started having these thoughts and before I had even written them down, I started getting encouragement from many people, even complete strangers.
That helped me more than I could have imagined. I am actually glad now that I did have that rough day, for the blessings that I received from others far outshine the sadness was feeling at the time. I know now, more than ever, that this podcast is how I find my encouragement. This is one thing that truly helps me to have the strength and courage to get up every day and keep living. For me, helping other parents share the stories of their children and their grief journey is what encourages me in my own journey.
Over the past year, I have talked with many parents and have seen the various ways that they are encouraged to keep living each day. I have experienced the ways people offer encouragement to each other in life. My question for all of you is, "How do you find encouragement?" Really think about this today. What gives you the strength and courage to go on each day and to keep fighting through the pain of grief? Hopefully, you can find one or more answers to that question, and with those answers feel just a little more hope for the future.
When I sat down to plan my summer podcast schedule, July 2nd stood out to me right away. July 2, 2017 was the day that Stephanie's daughter Keyan died. Although I never met Keyan in life, in my mind, July 2nd is Keyan's day and it just did not feel 'right' to talk about anyone else on that day. I reached out to Keyan's mom, Stephanie, and she agreed to come on the show a second time.
I met Keyan's mom, Stephanie, 3 weeks after my son, Andy, died. I remember hearing her story when I first met her. My heart broke for her. Keyan, one of her 4 quadruplet girls, had multiple medical problems since birth. Her life was filled with medical visits and specialists, but she was surrounded by this amazing family. Her parents, older brother and three sisters all adored her. She lived a full life and was really at the center of this wonderful family. Eventually, though, at the age of 12, her body simply gave out and this family had to watch her die. I remember my husband and I talking about them that night, feeling almost 'lucky' that we had lost Andy suddenly and that we did not have to watch him experience pain.
Although Keyan's death was far different from Andy's, over the next months, I found myself constantly looking to her for guidance. On that first day when we went to the grief support group, Stephanie had already passed the one year mark. In those days, I could barely think of what the next month would look like. A full year seemed like an eternity.
When I started my podcast last September, Stephanie was the first other parent whom I chose to interview. Her episode remains one of my most popular ones even today. (If you have not listened to that episode, you may want to consider doing so now.) For almost two years now, Stephanie has been my 'guide' as to what to expect in the future. No matter where I am in the grief journey, I know that Stephanie has been through it. It became even more apparent to me after I hit the one year mark because that is when I met her. Now, when I am going through a rough time, I can think back to about one year ago and remember what Stephanie was going through at that time, and feel encouraged that I, too, will be able to get through. She has been such a strength to me.
This is why when I saw that July 2nd was a Thursday, therefore, a podcast release day, I knew that I needed to share our friendship and support for each other with all of you. Today, we talk about life at 3 years for her and almost 2 years for me. We compare what this means and talk about our growth and healing. My hope is that for all of you starting your grief journey, this conversation will give you hope for the future. For those of you who are further along than the two of us, perhaps listening will be a reminder to where you were and show you how far you have come.
On the night 7 year old Johnny was diagnosed with a brain tumor, his mom asked him if he was scared. He said that he was and went on to say that he was afraid that he would die. Johnny's mom tearfully held him close and told him that God desires to take the little and make it amazing. She then proceeded to open her Bible and tell Johnny the story of Gideon. After hearing that story, Johnny decided that whatever was happening with him and his life, he wanted to use it to 'make God famous.'
Over that next year, that is exactly what Johnny and his family proceeded to do. His story got far bigger than they ever could have imagined. The Division II college basketball team where he and his brothers were ball boys the previous season dedicated their entire season to Johnny. They went on to win the national championship. A radio announcer won an award for a story he did about Johnny. His journey was featured in the Associated Press twice. Dick Vitale wore one of Johnny's bracelets and talked about Johnny on a nationally televised Ohio State basketball game. He got more autographed basketballs than his mom can remember. He even got to meet former President Bush.
It was an exhausting year when he battled his cancer, working to make God famous, but then Johnny died, and his mom said that life changed again. As much as people might think that they can prepare for the death of their child, they can't. It is heart-wrenching and parents feel completely broken. So many of the people that surrounded them when Johnny was battling cancer were gone. They had moved halfway across the country shortly before Johnny's diagnosis so there was no family around. It was a sad a lonely time.
The people that remained beside them, however, were special, indeed. Anyone who is willing to walk beside someone during such a dark time is someone to be cherished and appreciated. Amanda found that many of those people had lost children of their own. A few others actually would go on to lose children in the future and she would walk beside them.
I have often talked about how parent support groups on grief can be so helpful, but sometimes, grieving parents just want to be around others who understand them just to socialize. Parents don't need to just work on their healing when they are together. Sometimes, they can just get together to have fun. This is Amanda's goal for now. She has started a new group, Love Never Dies of West Michigan, and hopes to host events where parents can simply have a good time. The first event, on July 11th, is at a dance studio and has the option of even having a dance lesson if parents are interested. I hope that many parents are able to attend and become involved. Please sign up on their Facebook page.
Sometimes I end an interview just feeling better - better about myself, better about God and better about life in general. Today is one of those days and one of those interviews. The first thing a noticed when I started talking to Hadley, the mother of Dobbs and Reed, via Zoom, was a wooden sign sitting on a table behind her. I could not read the entire sign, but knew in a moment that in it were the words to Psalm 46:10: Be Still and Know that I am God. She shared with me that those words can be found in every room of her house and have helped her get through these past five years.
I knew, then, that this was going to be a special interview, indeed. For those who know our family well, you would recognize this being Andy's favorite Bible verse. It is the verse that we would recite together every time he felt his anxiety creeping up. It is the verse that is on the back of his grave marker at the cemetery. I felt like from that first moment that God was telling me to listen to this woman, to listen and to learn.
I was so right. After just an hour, I learned so much about forgiveness and acceptance. Certainly, she has no happiness that her two sons were suddenly taken from her in a tragic car accident five years ago. She mourns them and misses them each and every day like all grieving parents do, but she and her husband forgave the impaired driver, not months later, but immediately and completely. I was, and am, in awe.
Where I have struggled with forgiveness and at times, even with my faith in general, she has remained solid. She says that she could feel God's sadness and sorrow beside her, but could also see how God can and continues to bring goodness through this tragedy in numerous ways. I hope and pray that listening today can help all of you 'be' just a little more 'still' than you were before listening.
Winter
Burgundy bushes
Forest green pines
Pale blue spruce
white, white snow shadows bruised from winters tussles
Oak leaves, stubbornly refusing to let go;
Clinging like a shriveled cluster of dried raisins
Green, green moss on textured trees
Branches reaching up and out, each finger clearly seen
Under all of this you lie
Quiet now in true repose
I cannot bear to think of you here…gone by now, flesh to dust
Oh.
So, I think of your dress
Sky blue periwinkle with a big, big swirly skirt
(I know you couldn’t ever twirl, but I love to imagine you so)
I made this dress
My fingers cut, sewed, nipped, and tucked
ironed wrinkles so they lay perfectly smooth around you
Life scampers all about, squirrels racing up trees
Fresh snow falling gently
like fresh linen sheets
I sit in my warm car and think of you.
You were part of me, yet never part
Always your own self, on your own quest
I suppose I long to lay claim to you, take credit for your existence
Justify my need to keep part of you alive through me…
but this cannot be.
But I have memories, and momentary hiccups
where I feel your fingers touch some unseen place
at its source
The above poem was written by today's guest, Kathleen. Although Kathleen was told her daughter, Emily, would not live past the age of two, Emily defied the odds and lived 15 wonderful years. In the years since Emily's death, Kathleen has found that writing poetry has been a way for her to work through her grief and still feel close to Emily. These beautiful poems give her a sense of peace and have helped others learn a little bit about the journey of grieving the loss of a child.
Now, Kathleen has completed her book of poetry which she has titled, "Loving Emily' and is looking for a publisher. Hopefully, she can find one who will help get her beautiful poems to the public where they can help other grieving people in their healing as well. Today, we talk about Emily, their family's 15 year story and Kathleen's process of healing over the past several years. Throughout the episode, she recites many of her poems, poems of a mother's love and loss.
Haddie was a happy, bright-eyed, inquisitive baby. Her smile would light up a room. She was more quiet than her older sister, described by her mom as reserved and laid back. Even at a young age, she seemed to value relationships and enjoy one-on-one time instead of group situations. Her parents were completely devastated when they lost her at almost 10 months of age. Haddie died from an unsafe sleep situation at her daycare, so much older than the age when most people stop worrying about safe sleep.
Haddie's Mom, Sandy, and I talk about her grief journey these past 5 years and people who have helped her each and every day. Initially, Sandy said that she clung to her faith, but then she got angry with God and did something she never would have imagined that was possible; she pulled away. Even now, she struggles, trying to get back the faith that she once had. The hardest part for her - trusting God again. Those feelings resonate so well with me. It is encouraging to not be the only one struggling with trust after such deep loss.
Only a few months after Haddie's death, Sandy and her family founded Haddie's Calling: Every Child Wakes Up. The organization works to educate parents that safe sleep strategies are not only for itty bitty babies, but for older infants and toddlers as well. The American Academy of Pediatrics now recommends safe sleep strategies until 24 months of age. Haddie's Calling donates sleep sacks with a picture of Haddie and her story attached to them. They donate them to individual parents, doctors' offices and hospitals. People can buy them online or make donations to their cause through the website. The goal is that no parent has to go through what Haddie and her family experienced.
I also want to take a minute here to thank West Michigan Woman magazine for writing an article about me, our story of grief and my podcast. The issue was just released in print this week and can be read by clicking on the link above. The article is titled, "What I Wish I Knew about Grief" and is under their Wellness section. I am so happy that they reached out to help spread the message of hope after loss. I also am a guest on Megan Hillukka's Grieving Mom's Podcast this week so there are plenty of ways to learn more about me if you are interested.
What is lament and what does it mean to experience lament?
After Andy died, I would find myself on the floor in his room sobbing uncontrollably. Sometimes, I was almost afraid that I might not ever be able to stop crying. I feared that I would just stay in that room on the floor and not be able to get up again. It was scary - scary to me and I'm quite sure scary to others as well. I had just called it 'the bad cry' or 'the ugly cry' and would hope that it wouldn't happen again.
It was during a six week Starlight Ministries support group series that I eventually learned that there was a different name for these gut wrenching experiences. I was lamenting the loss of my son, and it was not something to be feared, but something to accept and to name. It was something that served a purpose in grief and healing.
Before that day, I had really only heard the word 'lament' when reading the Bible. I guess I had the stereotype in my head of ancient women of the Bible who would wail at the end of a funeral possession of a loved one demonstrating their love. I was so wrong. There is so much more to lament than wailing. It is a crying out to God and to the world. It is literally feeling like you have been ripped apart (where the word 'bereaved' actually comes from). It is a begging for help in this deep, dark time.
Interestingly, the final stage of lament was what I found the most helpful. It is the fact that after I have poured my heart out, I can experience the hope and trust that things will look better again, certainly not the same as they once were, but better than they feel right now. Crying out and releasing just a little bit of that heaviness can help me think of the 'but yets' in my life.
Life is really hard right now, 'but yet' I got up this morning. I have lost my precious son, 'but yet' I still have family and friends. I have experienced this tremendous loss, 'but yet' the compassion that I have gained toward others has been so valuable causing me to reach out to strangers in ways I could never have imagined.
Today, I have the honor to introduce my listeners to my good friend, Willow's mom. I know her as Megan, but she shared that to so many people from 2012-2018, Megan was simply known as Willow's mom. She spent her life caring for her daughter, and that was really a major part of her identity. Although Willow was non-verbal, Megan says she could speak volumes with her eyes. She had a great sense of humor and a strength that blew people away. Willow's twin sister, Rowan, always seemed to be able to know exactly what Willow was thinking. The family was close and loving and lived life to the fullest.
On August 13, 2018, two days before we lost Andy in a car accident, Megan, her husband, Jon, and their other two daughters lost Willow. Her body had finally just gotten too tired to keep going. About three weeks later, we all found ourselves in the same Starlight Ministries bereaved parent support group. We were honestly still in shock at that point. We both were wondering how this could really be happening to us.
I remember hearing their story and thinking that it was so different from ours. They had known since Willow was an infant that they would lose her. They had battled for years with many highs and lows and long hospitalizations. I felt guilty that I had a healthy boy for 14 years. I thought that our stories were so different that we wouldn't really be able to 'support' each other in the group. I could not have been more wrong. Willow and Andy may have had very little in common during their lives, but our love for them was exactly the same. We both were missing a huge part of ourselves. Our identities would never be the same.
Our friendship slowly grew over those weeks in that support group. We saw each other cry in despair and even laugh a little in the same hour. When I was around other friends, I would feel like I could not really let them see my highs or my lows. I felt like if I laughed too much, they would think I was fine and 'over it.' If I cried too much, I worried that I would drive them away. Things were different with Megan, Jon and the other couples in the support group. I felt like that was the one place where I could just be me.
Megan and Jon even hosted a 'game night' at their house where we could just relax with each other knowing that laughing and crying were both totally OK. Megan and I talk a lot today about forming authentic friendships and how difficult that can be after the death of one's child. I'm just so glad to know that I have Megan as a friend on this long journey. My hope for my listeners is that you all can find your own 'Megan' for your lives.
Recently, I feel like my grief journey has been harder rather than easier. It is difficult to know why that is the case. Is it because it has now been almost two years since Andy died? Others have warned me of that difficult milestone. Is it due to that fact that spring has arrived with its promise of trees, flowers and new life while my heart is still feeling such sadness and death? Is it the social distancing/quarantine that has now gone on for two months keeping us all isolated in our homes? Perhaps it is a combination of all of these things. It is impossible to know for certain.
Because of that, I decided that this week, I really needed to focus on hope, hope that things will get better as time goes on. This immediately led me to write Kathleen to ask her to be on the show. Kathleen lost her young daughter Anna almost 20 years ago. We have a mutual friend, and Kathleen has been closely following our story through her. She sent me a copy of her book documenting her journey with Anna several months ago. More recently, as I had blogged about the difficulties of Andy's birthday and Mother's Day, she was quick with an email offering encouragement, and ideas of how to commemorate Andy.
Those emails always brightened my spirits just a little and I knew that I had to give her the opportunity to share her wisdom with all of my listeners and not just me. It is a blessing to hear from someone who has experienced these dark times. It is nice, too, to hear how she still remembers Anna and talks about her in everyday life. Now, though, those memories bring more smiles and laughter than tears.
Today, I have the privilege to talk with Roni Lambrecht, the delightful, award-winning author of the book, Parenting at Your Best Without Regrets. She lost her only child, 15 year old Dalton, in an ATV accident 6 years ago. She talks about Dalton, the amazing relationship the two of them had, and what life has been like for her and her husband after Dalton's death.
In the months and years after the accident, Roni began to have a significant Facebook following. She found herself answering all sorts of questions online that people felt too afraid to ask other mourning parents. 'How are you really doing?' 'What are holidays like after losing your only child?' 'Can you be happy again?' Certainly, she didn't always know the answers to their questions, but she always answered then openly and honestly and people clearly appreciated this about her. Time and time again, she was encouraged to write a book with her thoughts.
Now, one might think that this would have resulted in a book about grief, but Roni and her husband really thought the most important thing that they could teach the general public is not how to mourn the death of one's child, but how to be a better parent to your living children. Roni's husband found himself suffering with so many regrets after Dalton died even though the majority of those regrets were completely unfounded. Roni's goal was, and is, to help parents appreciate every single day and every moment with their child. Don't worry about planning the perfect vacation. Instead, take time to dance in the kitchen while cooking dinner.
I know that you will love listening to Roni as much as I did. in fact, if you want to talk with us this Sunday, Mother's Day, I will be hosting a second virtual support group at 4pm Eastern Daylight Time. Send me an email at marcy@andysmom.com to get the invitation. Invite others as well. Mother's Day is so hard for grieving mothers. We all miss the child or children who are no longer here with us. Talking to others who understand help to take away a bit of that pain and help us remember that we are not alone.
Email - DoItForDalton@gmail.com
Website - www.ParentingAtYourBestWithoutRegrets.com
Facebook - www.facebook.com/ParentingAtYourBest
Upon opening Aria's mom's website, meganhillukka.com, the very first words read, 'One day, I was the mother of 3 children, then in one moment I wasn't.' Aria was 15 months old when her mother, Megan, walked into her bedroom one morning to find that she had inexplicably passed away in her sleep. Those opening words caught me the second I read them. I, too, knew that moment, the moment that changed everything forever, the moment where life as we knew it before, ended.
That moment began a very dark time for Megan, a time where she felt completely overwhelmed by her grief and PTSD. She found that she could not even trust herself to care for her remaining children. As the months went, things did not improve, and she kept searching for help. She knew that she did not want to live in the darkness and fear forever. She wanted to be a mom again. She needed to stop reliving the nightmare over and over again.
Eventually, Megan found an amazing therapist to help her recover from her PTSD, and turned to her wide support group of friends, both old friends from her past and other newly grieving moms that she met along her journey. Now, four years have passed since Aria's death. She says that she truly feels joy again. She still grieves for Aria every day, but the overwhelming emotion she feels now is love, not the fear, guilt, anger or other negative emotions that once surrounded her.
Last summer, she decided to use her experiences to help other grieving mothers. She started a podcast that she originally named The Cultivated Family Podcast. She recently changed the name to Grieving Moms Podcast since it more accurately shows her true focus. In addition to the podcast, she does one-on-one grief coaching as well as small group coaching. All of her coaching is done online or over the phone. She has loved being able to see healing and hope return to other grieving moms.
On today's episode, I have the privilege to talk with Rezarta, Leart's mom. Leart died just this past November on the 21st from complications following a kidney transplant. He was born with Schimke Immune-Osseous Dysplasia which is a type of dwarfism that also includes immune deficiency and kidney disease. Leart was almost 8 years old when he died, but certainly seemed wise beyond his years. You will hear that he was certainly an amazing kid. (Click this Link to Leart sing a his kidney song - SO cute!)
What strikes me most about Rezarta, is what a spiritual process Leart's death became to her. She describes her drive back to the hospital after she was told that his heart had stopped not as frantic and panicky, but as the most peaceful drive she had ever experienced in all of her years of driving. Upon arriving in the ICU and seeing all of the medical staff doing CPR on her child, it was Rezarta who asked them to stop. She had to ask them twice, in fact, because pediatric doctors, as I am well aware, have such a hard time 'giving up.' The second time she asked them to stop, she actually announced the time of death.
Wow. What strength that must have taken - more strength than I feel like I have in me. I don't think I could have done that, but Rezarta probably did not think that she could have done that either. I guess all of us as grieving parents do so much more than we ever thought possible.
Although Rezarta had been a practicing Muslim, she had never really considered herself a spiritual person until going through the death of her son. She experienced periods of peace mixed in with the agonizing times. Even today, 5 months later, she feels Leart with her in so many ways. She says that 'being spiritual is the only way to keep him close' to her. Although her grief is still raw and deep, there is a quiet strength there as well. Her story is an amazing one to share.
Ryan was almost 7 years old and on a typical father/son bike ride with his dad, Andy, when he was hit by a truck and killed while crossing the street during a green walk signal. Andy, a firefighter, desperately tried to save his son as his coworkers raced to the scene. They were unable to save Ryan that evening 10 months ago.
Ryan's parents, Stacie and Andy talk with me today about that night and the days and weeks that follow. They talk about the community rallying around them and the way people they didn't even know stepped up to help them at their lowest time. We also discuss how they they are working to try to prevent accidents like this from happening again through the promotion of using bike flags to increase visibility of children on the road.
Today's interview is an emotional one. Although I did not know Stacie and Andy before the accident that killed Ryan, we do have mutual friends, and the accident also occurred only a couple of blocks from my house. Because of that, and probably also a little bit because Ryan's dad's name is Andy, I felt drawn into their story from the very beginning.
I reached out to them through those friends early on in soft ways telling them about Starlight Ministries and letting them know that I would be willing to talk any time. I certainly didn't want to push too hard though. I knew that they have their own friends and family for support. I also think that I was a little afraid - afraid that in trying to help them with their grief, I would somehow be sucked further down into my own. I also feared that in reaching out, I would not help them at all. I was so broken myself. How could I in my brokenness offer help and healing to anyone?
I have learned so much in those days since Ryan's accident in June. Much of this learning has happened since starting my podcast in September. Even though I am still suffering in my own grief, I do have something hopeful to offer others. Broken people can help each other. Oftentimes, other broken people offer more help than others can.
Stacie and Andy are a testament to that. They started a foundation in their son, Ryan's honor, called Riding for Ryan. They hand out bike flags to families to put on the bikes of their small children. So far they have distributed over 3000 bike flags. They currently hope to hand out another 1800 this spring although that is difficult in the current pandemic. Visit their Facebook page or website, ridingforryan.org to donate or for information regarding how to get a free flag for a child in your life.
Tatum was 13 months old when he died early Christmas morning just over three months ago. Much of Tatum's short life was spent in the hospital due to complications of biliary atresia, a rare congenital disorder of the liver and biliary system that leads to liver failure. At 6 months of age, it was determined that Tatum would need a liver transplant to survive. The last few months of Tatum's life were spent awaiting a liver transplant that would never occur.
Liz talks about their family's long journey, and how up until the very end, everyone believed that Tatum would get a new liver. Sadly, his body could not wait any longer and by Christmas, it had given all that it could and was simply worn out. Christmas is supposed to be a day of happiness for families, but their family had to say final goodbyes instead.
These past three months have been more difficult for Liz and her husband than anyone other than a grieving parent could understand. They want to carry on his legacy through their organization, Triumph for Tatum, which was initially founded to support their family through Tatum's liver transplant. They have been in contact with the governor's office and using funds donated to try to make November 7th (Tatum's birthday) a day that Iowans dedicate to increase awareness for organ donation.
Liz and her family hope that their efforts to increase organ donation limit the number of parents who lose their child while waiting. It is hard to live while waiting for that call. My family lived that life as well, waiting for my foster son's kidney transplant. Fortunately, for us, that call did come in time. It is difficult, because as we wait as parents, we know that some other young person will die in order to let our children live.
I think about the mother of my foster son's donor in such a new way now. I always admired her, and we were allowed to anonymously write a letter letter of our deep thanks to her, but now I weep with her as well. I truly know what that pain of losing a child is like. We were only able to do tissue donation for Andy because they were not able to get his heart beating again, but even going through that consent process was difficult on a day when the world is spinning out of control. It takes amazing strength to do, and is a way that one family's worst day ever can mean a day of celebration for many others.
Hopefully, through Tatum and his memory, others will make the brave choice of organ donation for themselves or for family members. I know that for Liz and her family, knowing that Tatum's story helped save another will give her a bit of comfort in her deep pain.
After a week off due to the COVID pandemic and the stresses surrounding it, I decided to restart the podcast. I tried stuffing my grief down deep into myself, feeling like it was not important enough to give any attention to during these trying times, but that is not a successful approach. Grief does not go away when you ignore it; in fact, for me, it builds up and makes me feel even worse. I imagine that it feels that way to others as well.
Given that fact, I felt that the first episode back should be focused on the world-wide pandemic and how it affects grievers. Interestingly, almost everyone in the world is grieving something right now, whether it is a person, job, vacation, a trip to get your hair cut or simply the ability to go to the store and buy toilet paper whenever you need it. To us as grievers, some of these 'losses' that others are grieving may seem trivial, but to others, they feel very acute.
I recorded this episode less than 48 hours ago. At that time, the US had 667 COVID deaths. Now that number is far over 1000. Worldwide, known coronavirus cases are almost 500,000, and the actual number is far greater. Things are changing by the hour and that can feel very scary to people, especially people not used to facing tragedy.
I have often shared that grievers are really forced to teach others about how to help us and how to deal with grief. This joint experience of surviving a pandemic is an opportunity to expand our teaching to others. When going through personal grief, I have better learned how to see things from the perspective of others. This was really first taught to me by attending grief support groups, but has expanded into so many other areas. I hope that through grievers, others may be able to learn to look at life through the perspective of others as well.
Today on Always Andy's Mom, I talk with Shan, whose first-born son, Max, died at 15 months of age from Sudden Unexplained Death in Epilepsy. Max was a healthy, growing boy until having his first seizure at 8 months of age. Over the next few months, they adjusted medications and appeared to have his seizures under good control. Then, suddenly, Max did not wake up from his nap one day. Shan and her husband were devastated. Their perfect, newly formed little family was destroyed.
Shan's story is especially unique because, like me, Shan is a physician. In fact, Shan is a psychiatrist completing her fellowship in Child and Adolescent Psychiatry. You might think that a psychiatrist would have all the answers about grief, and would be better able to understand the grief process and what is going on more easily than the average parent. In some ways, I guess that is true. She does have more 'head knowledge' about therapy and different 'normal' thoughts than people experience with grief.
On the other hand, she was just as completely devastated as any other grieving parent. She started crying when she woke up in the morning and cried herself to sleep each night. While dealing with her own grief, however, she also had to work on finishing her psychiatric training. Shan shares with us how much she has learned in the months since Max died and how it has affected the type of psychiatrist she has become.
Music. It carries such emotion for me and so many others. I remember thinking even at a young age that Andy 'felt' music. When all three kids would be practicing the piano, I could always tell when it was Andy's turn. He certainly wasn't the best at playing all of the correct notes, but when he played, it truly sounded like 'music' and not just notes on the piano. Once, while at a Trans Siberian Orchestra concert when Andy was 5 years old, I turned to Andy and found him weeping. When I asked what was wrong, he said, "Nothing. The Music. It's just so sad."
That's why being a head chorister for the Grand Rapids Choir of Men and Boys meant so much to him. Andy never thought that he was particularly special and tended to have quite low self esteem. In a men and boys choir though, every voice is equally important, whether it is an 80yo man or an 8yo boy. Andy gained confidence as he rose to be a leader in the choir. Scott Bosscher, the director of the choir, was and still is, a true gift to Andy and our entire family. In today's podcast, Scott and I talk about Andy, Scott's experience with death in his past and the amazing power of music in healing.
As much as Scott was a gift to Andy during his life, he may even be more of a gift to all of us after Andy's death. Little did I know, when I spoke to him in the early morning, not yet 12 hours after Andy's death, that this was not Scott's first experience with tragic, unexpected death. on July 19, 1989, Scott's older brother, Charlie, was killed when United Airlines Flight 232 crash landed in Sioux City, Iowa. He had lived great loss before and still lives with the loss of his brother every day. He had watched what Charlie's death did to his parents, and he and his wife, Jane, were there for us, standing beside us, ready to do whatever was needed.
I knew that Andy's funeral would need to feature music and Scott handled everything in that regard. The men and boys choir sang, his church choir director sang, and his elementary school music teacher sang as well. If anyone would like to listen to the music, a link to the funeral is here. The aid for Scott and Jane did not stop there, however. All of Andy's memorial money went to the Grand Rapids Choir of Men and Boys. Although we planned for the money to go to the general fund, Scott and Jane set it aside to only be used for 'Andy Projects.' The first of these projects is the Andrew Larson Memorial Concert which will take place every other year. This first concert is March 25th and will feature the St. John's Men and Boys Choir from Cambridge in the UK. Although tickets are sold out, I hope to be able to post it on my website after the concert.
This concert obviously means so much to my family and to Andy's choir family as we remember him, but it goes beyond that now. I recently spoke with a friend telling her that I wanted to make sure that the boys of the St. John's choir knew that this concert was for Andy, and different from the others on their US tour. This friend corrected me. "They are not just singing for Andy, either," she said. "They are singing for all our children who have died." I think, now that it even goes further. This concert is for all of our children, both living here on earth and in heaven above. Just as each voice in the choir is equally important, each of them and each of us are equally important as well.
To donate either to the Grand Rapids Choir of Men and Boys general fund or the Andrew Larson Memorial fund, Please visit their website - www.grcmb.org
In today's episode of Always Andy's Mom, we go international for the first time. My guest is Eddie's mum, Jennifer from the UK. Jennifer reached out to me over Twitter last month. It is her goal, as well as mine, to help change society by removing the stigma of talking about child and infant death. We, as grievers, need support from everyone around us and only by spreading the message far and wide can we hope to achieve this goal.
Imagine for just a second being new, first-time parents of a happy, growing baby. As new parents, you tried to prepare for everything. You spent hours decorating the nursery, picking the perfect name, buying cute baby clothes, deciding whether or not to find out the sex of the baby before delivery. Initially, you may watch them closely, making sure they are really still breathing, but after time, the worry fades. Your baby is happy, healthy, and growing so fast you can hardly believe it. Then, without any warning whatsoever, SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) snatches your baby, and the happy, full life that you had known is completely destroyed.
For today's guest, Jennifer, that nightmare is exactly what happened to her and her husband, Chris, when their 3 month old son, Eddie, died. They were crushed and completely devastated. Their very identity was shaken. They went from a happy family of three back to a couple again, an unhappy couple who just wanted to know how this could happen to them. Soon after Eddie's death, they even started a charity in their home country of the UK, which they called Teddy's Wish, in order to fund research in the study and prevention of SIDS deaths.
One hundred years ago, parents may have worried about their infant surviving to see their first birthday since one out of ten children did not reach this milestone, but now, that is not something that worries us. Parents may hear about SIDS, but we assure ourselves that if we take enough precautions and make sure we do 'back-to-sleep' that this will not happen to us. We can protect our babies from accidents, and modern medicine will protect them from illness. They will grow up to be healthy and happy.
Jennifer and Chris, and thousands of parents around the world, know that this is not always true. These are parents who have had babies die before birth, during birth or in the months afterward in ways that could not have been predicted or prevented. Aside from their research goal, Teddy's Wish now has another focus. It offers support for all of those devastated and hurting parents. It offers retreats and other services to bring these families together. We may not yet be able to answer the 'how' or 'why' questions, but being able to live in community with others who have experienced the same type of loss can be so comforting.
For more information about these retreats or to donate, visit teddyswish.org. Also, like their Facebook page, teddyswishuk, or follow them on Twitter or Instagram @teddys_wish.
Episode 25. It is sort of hard to believe that I have met this milestone. Overall, I know that I just started publishing episodes 5 short months ago, but what has been accomplished actually blows me away. I now have listeners and guests from across the country and even in other parts of the world. Even more important, is the impact of the show on the lives of grieving parents. Every week, people share with me how the show has helped them. People post on the andysmom.com website, write an iTunes review, follow me on social media or email me.
That being said, the biggest impact the show has made, is actually what it has done for me in my healing. When I started this late last summer, I was still home from work a year after the accident with no set plan on when I would return. Never would I have imagined that 6 months later, I would be back to seeing patients the same number of hours each week that I did before Andy's death.
Every week, every parent and child teaches me something new. This week, it is Anne Cathryn's way of living fearlessly that inspires me. So often, people, especially teens, live with anxiety, but Anne Cathryn did not. She lived a full life and cared for others deeply. Many teens struggle with being self-conscious and since Anne Cathryn carried a diagnosis of epilepsy, it would have been very understandable for her to want to stay back from social situations. This might be especially true after having a seizure in public, but that was not her way. Anne Cathryn was always out having fun with friends and never really thought of herself as different. She was looking forward to her senior year in high school and starting college.
Anne Cathryn's mom Wendy, however, did live with worry about her. Since Anne Cathryn was in elementary school, she suffered from seizures, and Wendy lived in fear as to what could happen when she was not there to protect her during a seizure. It is certainly different that having children with other long-term diagnoses that affect there lives. Anne Catherine looked to all the world to be a perfectly normal teen and 99% of the time, she was. But for a few minutes each month, she would have seizures and if those seizures happened at a moment where she was in a vulnerable situation, tragedy could (and eventually did) happen.
After Anne Cathryn's death, Wendy and her husband would think about the Bible verse from Matthew that says, 'Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?' As parents, we can get caught up in worrying about our kids, in the big things and the not so big things, but when it comes down to it, this worry does not serve any purpose. Although Wendy took every precaution that she could to protect Anne Cathryn, she couldn't control where she was when that seizure came and make sure she was in a completely safe location.
As grieving parents, learning from each other is one way that can help us grow and keep moving through this journey. Today, the lesson is really about worry. Recently, I was thinking about Dori from 'Finding Nemo' and of her constantly singing to herself to 'just keep swimming.' So often, we don't know which way to turn. We can become almost paralyzed with worry - worry that we will do the wrong thing and that we will feel this same way forever. We desperately want to move forward, but which way is that exactly? Sometimes, we can be so scared to make a mistake in our grief and healing that we stop moving altogether. It is then that we need to remember to let go of the worry and to just keep swimming. Even if we accidentally swim sideways or even backward for a while, it is better than just being stuck.
Tommy was a joyful 2 year old with a contagious belly laugh. He always raced around the house and neighborhood chasing after his two older brothers (ages 4 and 5) trying to keep up. His mom, Meredith, shared in today's episode what their family of six was like leading up to Tommy's death. They were in what she describes as 'a beautiful season in life.' They had completed their family and had just decided to dedicate their life to missions and Bible translation.
After a mild fall about 3 weeks after that decision, Tommy complained of neck pain and had an episode of vomiting. When the neck pain continued two days later, and he seemed to be off balance walking, they went to the ER where he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Although the diagnosis was devastating, the family was told that with this type of cancer, surgery was almost always curative. While waiting through the next day for surgery, though, Tommy, coded. They were able to get a heartbeat back and perform the surgery that was originally going to cure him.
Meredith and her family and friends did not give up on Tommy. She just knew that God would save him. She knew that a miracle would happen. God would not let her child die. He would show people the amazing power of prayer. They had dedicated their lives to God's service; God would not 'let them down.'
But, what happens when desperate prayers are not answered in the way that you want? What happens when you, everyone you know, and even people all around the world whom you don't know pray that your son will live, and yet, he does not? We talk about feeling the need to search for a reason for this. Why did this happen? Was God trying to teach them something?
After Tommy's death, the plans for mission work were dropped as they worked to heal as a family. They searched for answers to these questions, for some silver lining to this tragedy. After a year and a half of searching an answer though, they came to a new realization. There is not one answer to the question 'why', and there is not always one grand 'reason' for everything that results in something amazing happening here on earth.
We do not need to, and cannot, know all the answers. The idea of a prosperity gospel where good things will happen to you if you pray hard enough or live a life for Christ is not real life. Bad things happen to good people, people who pray and pray and pray some more. We do not just experience joy-filled lives. Life is often filled with great pain. In those times of great pain, God is not simply pounding His fist at us or trying to teach us some grand lesson; He is crying beside us.
The hard lesson that Meredith and I have both learned is that running from the pain or pretending the pain is not there does not work. We need to accept that while here on earth, we live in the pain, and God can walk beside us and even hold us during these times. We should not be afraid to even walk toward that pain to be with others who suffer. This does not mean that we will not experience joy and laughter again, just that it will be in the midst of our pain. As humans, we are able to feel more than one emotion at the same time. Some days, the joy and laughter may be the dominant emotion, while other days it may be our overwhelming sadness. It is all OK.
Today's episode of Always Andy's Mom is, for me, one of the most emotional episodes I have had to date. Connor's mom, Nan, describes him in a way that reminds me of Andy. He was the middle child of three, all born two years apart with extremely close relationships with his siblings. The bond between Connor and his mother was also very similar to my relationship with Andy. My husband and I always laughed that Andy was 'my' kid in a way that the others were not. I understood Andy, his emotionality, and his energy. The other two kids are much more like my husband in their personalities. They don't wear their emotions on their sleeves like Andy did, and I still do.
Eleven years ago at the age of 12, Connor died. He had a headache one day, which then progressed to pneumonia, and then to overwhelming sepsis. Overall, the time from his first symptoms to his death was only 10 days, short in many ways, but long in so many others. Nan talks about this time and what has followed over the years, giving insights as to when certain milestones have come along her journey, how others have helped her, and how she has been able to help herself.
In addition to me getting emotional at the beginning while hearing her stories and descriptions, what 'got me' even more was just her presence and way of talking now. She has a sense of peace about her that is hard for me to even imagine having myself. Eleven years out after Connor's sudden death, she shows an amazing wisdom. As I listened to her, I could get a little bit of a glimpse as to what my life could be like in the future, and what I hope and pray my life will be like ten years down the road.
Today, I talk with Tara, Alec's mom, whose story is actually more similar to mine when compared to any of my guests so far. Alec, like Andy, was an energetic, emotional, full-of-life middle school boy who died as an 8th grader (although Andy was only 5 days from 9th grade). Alec was an extremely athletic kid who thoroughly enjoyed his one mile walk to the middle school each day. Never in a million years, did his mother think that one day while on this morning walk, Alec would be hit and killed by a mother driving her kids to school while drunk.
This nightmare that started this past fall continues every day. The legal system is painfully slow, and the woman is currently out on bail. Tara feels so much anger which many of us can understand. She is angry that her son is dead, but even more so, she is angry at the circumstances behind this death. The woman who destroyed her family's life is still in the community able to attend sporting events at school, go out to the store, and celebrate birthdays and holidays. Tara, on the other hand, feels almost paralyzed. She avoids the school and school events and now even grocery shops out of town. The fear of seeing the woman, her family members or just others who know the story is just too strong.
Although this story is a painfully horrific one, the strength that Tara shows is amazing to me. For me, when I was only a few months along after Andy's death, I couldn't even say his name without crying. Tara, on the other hand, talks about Alec and is able to share inspirational stories about him in such an admirable way.
When doing each episode, I like to have a takeaway lesson, something that I will think about differently or do differently moving forward. Today, the lesson revealed itself over halfway through the episode. We were discussing how we miss the everyday things, the busyness that we used to experience. Alec and his dad had a little ritual that they would do most days in the car while going to or from practices. They would ask each other, 'What made you smile today?' and then answer the question.
What an amazing little thing! I'm sure that neither of them thought at the time how much that question could help their family or others. Even in the midst of the tremendous pain of grief, we can, and should ask and answer this question daily. Some days, it might be difficult to even come up with an answer, but on other days, an answer will come quickly. My prayer for all of us grieving parents, is that some day there will be so many answers that it will be hard to pick just one and that at least some of those answers will involve thinking of a memory of our late children.
Today on Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom, I have the pleasure to speak with Dustan's Dad, Jason Colyer. Dustan was a very special young man who accomplished much during his short life of 23 years. He and a few of his high school friends started an organization called DC Strong, a charitable organization that works to help kids who are battling childhood cancer. They provide care packages for pediatric cancer patients that 'fit their unique personalities.' Dustan's dream was that this would become an organization with a full time staff that would be able to help children all across the country. Today, that dream has become a reality. They are continuing to grow, and each year, they are able to help more kids in more locations.
Dustan's story begins when he was diagnosed with a very advanced Wilm's tumor at the age of six. At that time, the family was told that Dustan would likely live less that 6 months. Dustan beat the odds then, and many other times, over the next 17 years when the cancer would come back again and again. He was, for many people, a living miracle for a very long time. Unfortunately, the cancer came back even more aggressively one last time and eventually took his life. As you will learn, however, Dustan fit a lot of life in his 23 years. He continues to help children today even after his death.
In addition to learning about Dustan and DC Strong in this episode, Jason talks about his life as a public safety officer and how this affected his grief, and perhaps even more so, how his grief affected his job. He told me that he felt drawn to our story last fall when he saw a story on a local TV newscast introducing my podcast. First of all, he, like my husband, had experienced being the dad trying to save his son by suctioning him, giving him oxygen, and putting in IVs. He said that for 17 years, he felt like he was in a fight to save his son just like Eric had to on the side of the road that August evening.
Secondly, he says that more times than he can remember,he has been the one trying to save someone's child who had died or had to be the one to tell a family like mine, "Despite our best efforts, we were unable to save your son." After Dustan's death, things have changed for him. Although he always felt that he had compassion in these situations, it is greater now. The bond he feels with these families is stronger, and, at times, he feels equipped to even be able to offer some advice. I think that many of us can completely relate to that feeling. I know I can.
'I think I'm going crazy. I'm going crazy. I am definitely going crazy!'
These are the thoughts that would go through my head starting several weeks after Andy's death and peaking about 6 months afterward. Now, thankfully, these weren't actual voices that I was hearing, but that voice in my head, the one that used to motivate me to try something hard, was now always negative. I think that I used to start almost every conversation with my therapist along these lines.
"I am going crazy."
Her response: "You are not going crazy. I promise. This is completely normal."
Sometimes, I probably believed her, but other times, I would then think, 'But you don't know what is going on in my head. It may be normal to feel like you are going crazy, but I really am.'
I didn't feel like myself. I didn't act like myself. I felt like I no longer recognized myself. That must mean that I had completely lost it. I wondered if I would ever recover or if I would keep spiraling downward.
The good news is that the spiraling did stop, I did start to improve and actually began to realize that what I was truly feeling was a bombardment of emotions all at the same time. Initially, I had overwhelming sadness mixed with anger and then, numbness. Everything was too intense so my mind stopped trying to handle it all and replaced it with numbness. I would have moments where I would almost forget what had happened. That was my body's way of protecting me from what I could not handle.
Over time, though, I guess my brain thought I was stronger and that I could deal with more. That's when my mind started to feel all of those emotions, seemingly hundreds of emotions at the same time. I thought that this could not possibly be normal. As time was going on, I was feeling more, not fewer emotions, and, overall, worse, not better. Now, I realize this makes complete sense, but at the time, I did not. I actually was getting stronger. The emotions had been present all along, just tucked away, hidden until I could deal with them. My body just protected me until I could handle them better.
This topic is what Gwen and I discuss in today's episode, those emotions and the way they make us feel. These feelings are a normal part of the grieving process. This is why it is so helpful for grievers to be in community with each other. Hearing that others have similar struggles can help normalize them. Joining a support group or reaching out to people on social media can give that sense of community. Hopefully, I can help do that by allowing people to follow Always Andy's Mom on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.
Just because experiencing these multitude of emotions are a normal part of grieving, however, does not mean that we should not get professional help. Remember my therapist above? I needed her to be able to reassure me every week, and to really ask those tough questions. I needed (and still need) someone from the outside who would tell me when she thought I should start or increase medication, to make sure I was getting enough sleep, and to tell me if/when I needed psychiatric help. It can, and does, help, and certainly, as grieving parents, we need all the help we can get.
Today, as I publish this episode, Crissy's beloved son, Caleb, has been gone for 150 days, having died by suicide last year on August 12th. Undoubtedly, these has been the longest, worst days of Crissy's life, of her whole family's life. I didn't even know whether to ask her to share when her grief was still fresh and raw, but she really wanted to tell her story for two reasons. First of all, she wanted to share when she was still early because most people on my show and in books, etc, are much further on in their journey and have a different perspective. Secondly, she hopes that sharing Caleb's story will prevent this tragedy from happening to others.
When one thinks of someone dying by suicide, one thinks of a person with a long history of depression or other mental illness. Crissy wants everyone to know that this is not always the case. Sometimes, there is no history. Sometimes, it seems to come out of the blue. Sometimes, they do have hopes and dreams for the future. Sometimes, the teenage brain causes teens to make rash, spontaneous, stupid choices. Most of the time, these kids get to grow up to regret these decisions. Unfortunately, sometimes they do not.
I know as adults, we can probably all think of times, especially as teenagers when we made a quick decision that we later regretted, maybe landing us in the principal's office, a hospital, police station or grounded at home. Crissy hopes that in sharing Caleb's story, especially to other teens, she can make them pause for just a few seconds and think. She feels like thinking for a just few seconds would have changed everything for Caleb. He would have realized that picking up that gun that evening was a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that there were many other options available. He was loved by his family and community that day and still is today, 150 days later.
'Happy New Year' is a phrase that has been said a lot over the past day and a half all over the world. I used to throw that phrase around, too, along with 'Happy Holidays' and 'Merry Christmas.' Nowadays, I don't say those phrases nearly as often. In fact, I think that only time I wished anyone a happy new year was when I said it almost in jest to Eric when recording this podcast. I am so thankful for this holiday season to be over and for it to be January 2nd. I am so relieved to have people stop wishing me a 'happy' or 'merry' anything. Today, it feels like a weight has been lifted.
Most of the time, I record my episodes at least several days before their release. Often, it is a week or more ahead of the scheduled release. This time though, it was not the case. I knew that last week would be bad so I had already decided not to release an episode on December 26th, but I had planned to do a sort of year in review episode with Eric for the new year. Days went by though, and I just didn't feel like recording. I asked if he wanted to do it New Years Eve, but this time it was Eric who wanted to wait. Finally, it was 10pm last night, January 1st. We realized it was a sort of 'now or never.'
I sat there, taking deep breaths, not sure if I even wanted to start, what we would say. Eric said it would be OK to skip a week, but I told him I had already skipped last week and really did not want to get off schedule. So we began to record, and I started to cry. They were tears from a whole holiday season of frustration, tears that had been building up for the past couple of weeks. With those tears came more feelings of release and of peace. I don't normally want to cry during an interview, but these tears really were healing to me. I cannot tell you how much better I felt after that hour of talking with Eric, with him interviewing me more than me interviewing him.
Although, it is still difficult for me to wish us all a 'happy' new year. I certainly can wish for everyone a 'happier' new year filled with a little less pain than the last one. Hopefully, we all can feel a little less heavy in 2020.
To be honest, last Tuesday when I was scheduled to meet with other grieving mothers to record this episode, I was not feeling very hopeful at all. As I share in the episode, the days prior to this had been filled with many tears. Although I had tried to do my best to prepare for the holiday season, I felt like I was failing. I had been doing my best to follow Gwen's recommendations that she discussed in our Surviving the Holidays episode. It didn't seem like enough.
My whole family sat down the day after Thanksgiving at our cottage up north to make a list of what we would be doing in preparation for Christmas, and where we thought we should be that day to best get through our second Christmas without Andy. Last year, we had really just skipped everything. This year, I felt like we would be able to do more. As I talked with the kids, they seemed to indicate that they wanted to do almost all of our Christmas traditions. They wanted to decorate the house, put up our Christmas village, put up outside Christmas lights, and even bake and decorate Christmas cookies (my grandmother's recipe). The only thing that they decided against was a Christmas tree because they thought seeing all of Andy's ornaments would be too hard. (Peter actually asked if we could go get a fresh tree and put it up without decorating it. I told Peter that for me, an undecorated tree would be even more sad, so we decided to rule that out completely.)
Eric actually did not have too much to add except to say that he did not feel up to writing his annual Christmas letter. For any of you who knew us before the accident, you know that Eric always wrote a very funny Christmas letter summing up our family happenings for the year. He always took a unique perspective and the letter was loved by all. One year when we had a particularly harsh winter, he actually wrote the letter as if it was written by our snowblower! I was so relieved that he did not want to write a letter yet, because I was not at all ready to take a family Christmas picture without Andy in it.
We also decided that we would spend Christmas Eve and Day at the cottage just so we would not have to be at home with all of those old Christmas memories. I got up then, and got out the roughly half dozen Christmas decorations that we had up there. I also dug out the artificial tree that we got on clearance about 3 years ago and Peter and I put it up. There were no personalized ornaments there so that seemed better. I felt pretty good about this and thought I would be able to continue after we got back home.
Unfortunately, that was not the case. Days passed and the decorations did not come out. The outside Christmas lights did not go up. The village buildings all stayed in their boxes in the basement. Cookies were not made. I kept waiting for a day when I would feel strong enough to do it myself or one of the kids would ask me about it. That day never came. Then the concert season started. Tears began to come more and more frequently. Shopping trips became more and more painful. I would have to send Eric to the store for milk because I couldn't face holiday shoppers. The strength that I felt the day after Thanksgiving was gone.
That was my mindset the day that I started recording, anything but hopeful. Gwen said something to me that day that you will hear her share in the episode. She said that if you weren't able to feel hope yourself, you could borrow hope from someone else. That's what listening to these stories and seeing those pictures did for me. They allowed me to feel a little bit of someone else's hope when I felt like I didn't have any myself. That experience seemed to give me a little bit of my strength back. I am still crying every day, but not the big sobs that never seemed to end. I have also forgiven myself for not being able to do all of the Christmas traditions requested by my kids. I certainly have already done more than last year. I have been purchasing gifts (all online), and I did decorate up north. Kathryn and I made plans to make the Christmas cookies together tomorrow. I also think that later today, I will put up my nativity scene. As for everything else, it will have to wait for another year.
Until a few weeks ago, I had never heard of the term, reiki. I noticed that I was being followed by a woman on Twitter, @GriefReiki. I began following her back and noticed that she and I would often post things that were very similar. She would retweet something and I would as well. As this continued to occur, I thought that maybe I should look into her a bit more and try to find out what 'reiki' is.
First of all, I looked up the definition of Reiki online and found the following: 'a healing technique based on the principle that the therapist can channel energy into the patient by means of touch, to activate the natural healing processes of the patient's body and restore physical and emotional well-being.' Being a trained physician, I was somewhat skeptical after reading this, but went on to look at her website. At the top of the website are the words 'Recovery-Healing-Compassion." That sparked my interest. Compassionate healing on this long road of grief; that's what we all need. I certainly don't expect to ever really 'recover' from the death of Andy, but I do want to experience healing.
Looking even further on the website, I found myself more and more drawn to this method as having possible benefits. I decided to reach out and see if she would like to be on the show. She graciously accepted and what follows is our great conversation. Interestingly, she only founded the company 5 short years ago. She is an engineer by training and worked in cybersecurity for many years. Honestly, this was not what I had expected. She said that she did not go looking for reiki at all - it found her.
We also discuss the idea of opening up the conversation to talk about death, dying and grief. These are not subjects that should be considered taboo. Death is a part of life, and grief is due to having great love for a person. She certainly does not say that the Japanese healing method of reiki can completely solve one's grief or other physical problems. She instead says that reiki is a tool to be kept in your toolbox along with many others. Using these tools together can help people with healing and well-being, and hopefully make life a little less painful.
Facebook - Grief Reiki
Instagram and Twitter - @GriefReiki
Website - grief-reiki.com
On today's episode of Losing a Chid: Always Andy's Mom, I talk with Alexander's Mom, Nancy. She is one amazing lady with an amazing sense of humor. I have to apologize right away for the length of the episode. I usually try to keep episodes just under an hour, but this one goes fifteen minutes past my normal limit! As much as I tried to edit it down further, I just couldn't do it. Believe it of not, I already took off 20 minutes of awesome conversation, hoping that Nancy will forgive me.
By far, I laugh more in this episode than I have in any other episode so far. As Nancy said, 'sometimes if you don't laugh, you just want to cry.' She chose to laugh and shared so many of those stories. Her son, Alexander, at 8 months old, was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a more common type of childhood cancer. Although his prognosis was relatively good, he died at the age of 21 months. She spends quite a bit of time talking about this journey so parents of children living with cancer or other chronic illness will also find this episode helpful.
Although Alexander was her firstborn, she went to to have two other children, two daughters. The second daughter has Down Syndrome and required surgery shortly after birth. I'm sure many listeners will wonder how a woman who had to experience so many difficulties in her life could keep her amazing sense of humor, but she certainly has done just that.
Since Alexander's death, she has also worked to do little things for parents of kids who are in the hospital. She didn't make a big foundation and spend lots of money. She did little things that really any of us could do. She started buying small $5 gift cards to places like Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks. She only buys cards for things that they won't really need, just special little presents that they might not otherwise buy for themselves. She says that kids get to pick a prize from a treasure chest after procedures and during hospitalizations, but parents never do. Honestly, she has inspired me to do the same for my own children's hospital.
I hope you will enjoy the episode as you listen even if it is a bit longer. I guarantee this time you will laugh more than you cry.
Today is Thanksgiving Day here in the United States, a day in which we are supposed to feel grateful and thankful for all that we have. For a grieving parent, feeling thankful seems like a foreign concept, a distant memory. After Andy's death, those grateful feelings are slower to come. They can still be there, but they are buried under the heaviness of grief. Although everyone thinks about being thankful on Thanksgiving, there is another half to this word. The giving half is often overlooked. Even though feeling thankful is difficult, for me, giving is easier.
Today's guest, Derek's mom, is a very special woman indeed. Her son, Derek, battled addiction for almost 18 years before dying at the age of 32 from a drug overdose. We talk a lot about those years of struggle and the ups and downs of their relationship. She had days when she never wanted to speak to him or others when she never wanted to let him go. She ached for him to stay clean, and continued to have hope that one day, he would. Unfortunately, that never came to be. On January 8, 2018, Derek died of hypothermia and drug overdose after being found in a park.
After Derek's death, Theresa says she turned inward, isolating herself from others. She went to work, but rarely went out otherwise, preferring to stay home in her grief. Then, something truly amazing happened to Theresa. She got a little bit of her hope back and started thinking about giving back to other addicts. She visited The Recovery Cafe located in Seattle, Washington and felt inspired by what she saw there. It was a place that offered hope to people like her dear son. It was then the idea for Derek's Place, A Recovery Cafe was born.
The motto of Derek's Place:
On January 8, 2018 my Son, Derek, lost his 17 year battle with addiction. Derek felt hopeless and he was full of shame and guilt because of his addiction. Derek’s Place is a safe place for people, like him, to come and receive understanding, compassion and hope.
Even though they have not officially opened their doors, they are already providing hope and healing to to the homeless by giving out free meals. She already has stories of people she has helped. I am truly excited to see her vision come to fruition, and the doors open. On this Thanksgiving Day, I think of her giving heart and of the thankful people that this organization will be able to help. I am thankful also, for The Recovery Cafe in Seattle and other similar organizations throughout the country that focus on giving hope to the hopeless.
For more information, visit Derek's Place on Facebook.
Derek's Place, A Recovery Cafe, Inc
Website is still under construction, but Theresa can be emailed at dereksplace1818@gmail.com.
Donations can also be mailed to:
Derek's Place
PO Box 888802
Grand Rapids, MI 49558
All donations are tax deductible
On today's episode of Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom, I talk to Camilo's dad, Doug Van Doren. Since recording the first episode with my husband Eric, I have only spoken with women, so it was nice to get another dad's perspective. We discuss the societal differences in how men and women are expected to grieve. Although all parents experience feelings of helplessness after the death of their child, Doug thinks that these feelings are especially difficult for a man. Men are expected to be 'doers' and 'fixers'. After a death of a child, we are all helpless to be able to 'do' anything. For many men, this is so difficult to accept.
In addition to being a grieving father, Doug was a pastor of a church. We talk about the challenges of caring for others and yourself at the same time. We also delve into a little bit of theology which may be a bit more controversial. Doug says that he personally cannot think of Camilo's death being part of God's Plan. Bad things happen in this broken world, and God is there to offer comfort and compassion when these horrible tragedies occur. There is a big difference between God knowing that something will happen and God causing something to happen.
I know for me personally, when someone has said to me that Andy's death is all part of God's Plan, I tend to feel defensive and think, 'Well, I hate God's Plan then.' This is not a comfort at all for me, although for many, I know that it is. Some people get comfort when they think of God being in control of everything. It is all in God's Hands, so there is nothing they could have done to prevent or change anything.
I definitely see both sides of the issue, and I know that on this side of heaven, I will not have answers as to why things happen. For me though, especially in those first days after Andy's death, I needed to think that God was present weeping beside me, not that He ignored my desperate prayers by the side of the road. I know that God can make good come from all things, but in my deepest, darkest pain, I just need Him to hold me.
On today's episode, Gwen and I discuss the struggles of getting through the holidays with a heart that is grieving and broken. Grieving is hard work with days that are good and other days that are terrible. Triggers come. Sometimes the triggers are out of the blue and sometimes they are expected. Family gatherings and holiday traditions are so difficult after the death of a loved one in your family.
I know that last year after Andy died, I felt completely lost. I really had no idea what to do. I kept hearing from others that there was no right or wrong way to deal with the holiday season and that I could do whatever I wanted to do. The problem was that I had no idea what I wanted to do. I actually longed for a little bit of guidance from others who had walked this road before me. I did not know if would want to do exactly what they had done, but at least I would get some options and ideas.
This is what Gwen and I try to do here. We discuss what I did last year, what I may or may not do this year, and many things that others have done in the past. Gwen talks about the importance of having a plan and making decisions, but also giving yourself the flexibility to change those plans in any given moment.
People were right when they said that there is no right or wrong way to handle the holidays. Just as people grieve differently, they handle these hard days differently. When everything seems so overwhelming, we can start to prioritize and divide things into categories: what we feel like we need to do, what we might need help doing, and what we absolutely do not want to do. Hopefully, this gives people a place to start.
Visit the Starlight Ministries website - starlightmin.org
On today's episode, I talk with Michele Shedd, Nathan's mom. Michele knew from her 20 week ultrasound that her infant son had a condition that would not allow him to live more than a few hours at most. Despite this fact, she and her husband made the difficult decision to continue on with the pregnancy even though there was an increased risk to her health. She said that she felt her mothering instinct kick in, and she was determined to protect little Nathan for as long as she could.
A second thing that is unique about Michele is that fact that Nathan's death took place 23 years ago. She has had a long time to live with this loss and has insights that I knew would be great for me (as well as others) to hear. Michele has such a peace about her, one that was clearly not always there, especially as she struggled through those first few years. She really does see Nathan's presence all around her now. She simply exudes both hope and grace.
She is so willing to share her experiences and words of comfort to others. In her parting words to me, she said that if anyone reached out who had experienced something like she had and wanted to talk with someone who would understand, I should give them her contact information. She also brought me a gift, a rock with the word 'grace' written on it within a cross. She had written on the rock back in September and hadn't found the right place to put it. After listening to last week's podcast episode, she knew that the rock was meant to be in my house with me. I will certainly cherish it forever for this is what I long for, the ability to show grace and peace to everyone around me.
On this the last day of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, I have a guest who understands this loss in ways that most people never will. Jessica Tosh lost her infant son, James, after just 2 months of life. Young James was never able to leave the hospital, but Jessica has been working to use her tremendous love for James in ways that spread that love to others.
At Jessica's 20 week ultrasound, she and her husband learned that one of James' legs was far larger than the other. The doctors felt, that although this might give him struggles in life, it would certainly not be life-threatening. They also felt blessed to learn that Seattle Children's Hospital had experts in these sort of disorders, so they were confident that after James was born and went home, they would be able to make that roughly 3 hour drive from Portland, Oregon, for treatment as an outpatient.
Unfortunately, this was not the case. Very soon after James was born, they realized that his condition was far more serious. There was an internal malformation that began to grow quickly and threatened his life. After only one week in Portland, he had to be flown to Seattle where doctors initially tried to treat his condition, and eventually, changed to comfort measures only. The medical team of doctors and nurses at Seattle Children's did a tremendous job caring for this family both physically and emotionally.
In the three years since James died, Jessica has done the very intentional work of grieving. Her focus in life changed in ways other grieving parents can easily understand. We all struggle to find ways to remember our children and make sure others remember them as well. She started a blog, Rainbows in the Darkness and also a Facebook page, James' Love Project.
Jessica feels that a major goal of her life is to try to break the stigma of child loss. The deaths of our children should not be something that is tucked away and not discussed publicly. We need others to learn that we want to talk about our children's lives, and about the joy they gave and still give us as parents and others who they didn't even know in life. I know you will enjoy hearing her stories of love.
On this episode of Losing A Child: Always Andy's Mom, I talk with Brooke's mom, Judy Breen. Unlike most of my previous guests, Judy's daughter, Brooke, died as an adult in her 30's. She was married with three children of her own. I admit that initially I felt jealous of Judy and other parents who lost their children when they were grown and out of the house, but I now realize that this comes with its own set of problems that I will never face.
Although I will never have Andy's children to be able to love and see him through, I will also never have the fear of losing them. I will not be afraid that at some point in time, they could be taken by their living parent and never see me again. That is a very real fear for many people. Although Judy does still get to see her grandchildren, I can certainly feel that fear in her and in many others who are in worse circumstances.
Watching one's son or daughter-in-law start dating again and perhaps even re-marrying brings another set of emotions. Although most bereaved parents want them to find happiness again, it is so difficult to see a situation where your precious child is almost replaced by another person. Even more difficult is if the grandchildren now call this person mom or dad. It is a delicate balance between wanting the children to lead a normal life, and wanting them to remember the parent who has died.
One thing that I admire so much about Judy is her ability to communicate what she needs to others. I know that I personally have found that difficult, but for her it seems more natural. She asks for specific help when she needs it and is there to offer advice to others as well.
After Andy died last year, one of my very good friends, Sara, went to Judy and asked her what she could do for me. Judy's advice was to just be present for me and to never stop saying his name. Sara took that advice and has been one of only a few people who will always say his name out loud to me without any fear or apprehension. She also does caring little gestures like leaving me a small plant or a tiny birthday cake at my door. Those mean so much to me.
Until I met Judy a few months ago, I did not know how she had actually been able to impact my life in that way. This is yet another goal of this podcast. Those caring sentences from Judy to Sara 14 months ago, made a big impact on my life and healing. If others can glean a few words of wisdom from each of my guests, imagine how much healing can follow!
Kim Harm's 19 year old son, Eric, looked like he had everything going for him. He was a smart, talented jazz pianist who had just finished his first semester at Columbia University. He had been elected to the student council, was getting excellent grades and had a girlfriend he adored. Two weeks into the second semester, his girlfriend broke up with him, and 45 minutes later, he died by suicide.
Kim and her family, as well as so many friends, were devastated. For Kim, this was the third suicide in her family. Her depression worsened as well as she struggled in her grief. She had now lost her mother, nephew and son to suicide. The guilt and second-guessing were overwhelming.
Now, 11 years later, she has been able to put those thoughts to rest, and replace them with a desire to help others. She is working to educate as many people as possible about depression, mental illness and suffering. After working a career as a dentist, she saw the effects of mental illness in the dental office, and felt that she could make a difference.
Through her work as an ADA spokesperson and consumer advisor, she has been featured on The Today Show, CNN, Fox News, NPR and other network affiliates. She has been quoted in The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, USA Today, Chicago Tribune as well as many others. Some of her published articles will be attached below.
Dr. Harms writes and speaks nationally to dentists who have a much higher rate of suicide than the general population. Many dentist and other professionals struggle to seek help for mental illness for fear of what colleagues or patients might think. She attacks those ideas head on. Kim also discusses how to help staff members and patients who are suffering as well. Grieving, suffering people will come in as patients every day. Kim works to help offices understand how to work with those who suffer to make them feel as comfortable as possible in an environment that can cause anxiety.
For more information, visit her website, thedentalmediator.com. She can also be emailed at drkim@pinelakelawfirm.com.
On today's episode, I speak with my dear friend, Michele Thorson. Michele and I became friends shortly after I moved to Grand Rapids, 15 years ago. Michele's mother had recently died and my mother had died about 10 years prior to that so I was able to offer some comfort to her in her grief, and she was able to offer friendship in a place where I knew no one.
Fairly quickly into our friendship, we learned that we had even more in common than we initially knew. Cancer was unfortunately a big part of both of our lives. Three of my four grandparents, an aunt, uncle and both of my parents had suffered from various types of cancer, many of them during my childhood. Michele lost both of her sisters and mother to cancer. Her younger sister died when Michele was 15 while her older sister was battling the same disease.
Michele talks about losing her sisters, one when she was a child and the other as an adult. She discusses how she made it through and who she was able to turn to when her family was in turmoil. She discusses feeling like a bit of an outsider at school where she was the only healthy sister. She also talks about never wanting to cause much trouble at home because she knew her parents were going through so much already.
Related Post - The Closet
Follow up to conversation with Michele when I did clean out the boys' closets
Although I had planned for the to be the entire episode, this conversation naturally morphed into how she felt these life experiences allowed her to be such a good friend to me after the death of my son, Andy. Although she had not lost a child herself, she was the part of a family that had gone through several losses. She understood grief and the fact that I really was unable to do much of anything. She offered so much practical help in those early days, making decisions when I could not.
Related Post
In today's episode, I speak with Jack's mom, Anna Whiston-Donaldson. Jack died in 2011 at the age of 12 in a freak flash flood while playing at a neighbor's house. Anna had (and still has) a very popular blog post at the time entitled An Inch of Gray. After Jack's death, the family's whole world was turned up-side-down. As we all know, each family member had to find different ways to try to cope with their grief. For Anna, this meant continuing to write her blog. She said that 'her readers kept showing up so she kept writing.'
Her writings about her grief were raw and full of emotion which led to her being discovered by an agent and then a publisher who asked her to write a book. The resulting book, Rare Bird, is a painful, honest and real book about grief. Reading it helped normalize my personal feelings and those of many others. Anna now speaks all over the country to groups about parental grief. This has become her passion, as it has become mine. We both strive to help people who walk this path with us, and perhaps even more importantly, help those who will walk the path after us.
Today, we talk about our personal journeys as well as struggles that we have heard from others. We discuss the impact on surviving siblings as well and how sometimes, they can feel isolated and out of place. Anna's new book, A Hug from Heaven, is a book for grieving children. Being there for each other as a community of grievers is important; helping our surviving children not feel forgotten is vital.
Ways to Connect With Anna
Learn more about Anna by visiting her website: annawhistondonaldson.com
Follow her blog: aninchofgray.blogspot.com
Follow her on Facebook and Twitter @aninchofgray
Follow her on Instagram @annawhistondonaldson
Purchase her books by clicking below:
For Rare Bird: andysmom.com/rarebird
For A Hug From Heaven (children's book): andysmom.com/hug
Today's episode is the first of several where Gwen and I discuss specific topics related to grief. We decided to start at the beginning, those horrible first few days after the death of a child or another loved one. Originally, I planned for this to be Episode 7 of Always Andy's Mom. As I began to listen to it again, I knew that it could not wait. This is such an important topic, and so many people can benefit from hearing Gwen's insights.
Experiencing the death of a close loved one and having to go on living without that person is unbelievably difficult. This is true if that person is one's child, spouse, sibling, parent or another loved one. The physical and emotional toll related to that grief is difficult to comprehend. Even menial tasks seem too almost impossible to attempt. Getting out of bed can be a major accomplishment.
We discuss that fact that one's life is never the same after 'that' day. For me 'that' day was August 15, 2018, my worst day ever. Each and every day is 'that' day for someone new. Perhaps it is someone we know, but chances are, it is someone whom we do not yet know. I had not thought about it before, but for so many in this country, 'that' day was September 11, 2001.
Living through this past year and this experience of having to survive without my son gave me a completely new perspective. Before August 2018, I thought of the impact of 9/11 on a large scale, but now, it is so much more intimate. I think now about the fact that each of those precious individuals who died had families, and for each family member, that was their worst day ever. Helping people survive those worst days is what we need to do for each other.
Resources
Connecting with others who are grieving can be so valuable. Finding a local support group is a great first step. A grieving parent can also speak openly with a close friend, pastor or therapist. If that is too difficult, finding support online through a group or individuals can be helpful.
Gwen gives some ideas for ways that people can resources in their own communities. Please see below.
National Alliance of Grieving Children - childrengrieve.org
Local Hospice - Look under Bereavement
Ask at local Funeral Homes
Visit GriefShare.org
Also, if you haven't already done so, be sure to listen to andysmom.com/2
In this Episode of Always Andy's Mom, I talk with Jolynn Van Wienen and hear the story of her son, Seth. Seth was killed in 2007 when he was 10 years old. He was struck by a car while he was running across the street following a soccer game.
Jolynn's journey through her grief has been long and hard, but she again is able to feel true joy in her life. For Jolynn, it is her strong faith in God that has been able to get her through each day. She talks about the day of Seth's death being the day that he was able to see the face of Jesus. This is certainly not the outlook that I or many other parents have right now, but listening to her can help us see that maybe, someday, we will.
Seth's death led Jolynn and her husband, Greg, to try to find support services for her other children at home. They sent their children to a one day 'grief camp' where there children could talk to other hurting kids. The camp was so helpful to their kids, but it was only for one day.
They began to look for an ongoing faith-based program and found none in the Grand Rapids area. Over the next weeks and months, they felt called to found a program on their own. Starlight Ministries is a Christian organization, originally founded to help children who were grieving the death of a parent or sibling. Very quickly the ministry expanded to include adults as well. Today it is successful, growing and even expanding to a second location.
For more information on Starlight Ministries and their programming, please visit starlightmin.org
For insights from Starlight's amazing program director, listen to Gwen Kapcia on Episode 2 of Always Andy's Mom
In this episode, I talk with Stephanie Hogan, whose 12 year old daughter died two years ago. Stephanie's daughter, Keyan, was born as a premature quadruplet and although her three sisters were all relatively healthy, Keyan had medical complications from birth. Keyan was unable to eat and required IV nutrition for many years, which caused additional complications and pain.
Stephanie discussed Keyan's death, and how she and her family have coped over the past year. Grief is work, hard work, and although she thought her family was 'prepared', she quickly learned that was not the case. Even when a parent knows her child is dying, it cannot seem real until it happens.
We discuss these past two years and how her second year differed from the first. We talk about things that others do to help that may not always be helpful. She also talks about how her three remaining quadruplet daughters miss their fourth.
Stephanie and I met at a support group at Starlight Ministries a year ago. They offer support groups for both children and adults who have had family members die. I interviewed the program director Gwen Kapcia, in Episode 2. They offer retreats and camps in addition to their support groups.
Gwen Kapcia, a social worker and certified thanatologist (study of death and dying), will be a regular contributor to the Always Andy's Mom podcast. She has been working with grieving families for years and has so much to teach others. In today's episode, we start with an overview of the grieving process and the unique issues facing parents who suffer the death of their child.
In this first episode of Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom, Marcy interviews her husband Eric, and they discuss the death of their son, Andy, who died tragically in a car accident in August 2018. They discuss how they have been working to cope with their grief and help their family start the long journey back from devastating loss. They share their experiences while on this emotional rollercoaster. Eric and Marcy also offer feedback to others about what loved ones can do to support mourning families, and what things they should avoid.
Eric is the host of the Paradocs Podcast where he interviews another doctor to talk about the US medical system. They discuss problems in medicine and the ways physicians work to solve them.