We spend so much of our lives worrying. Replaying what happened, what could have been, or what might still go wrong. When my son Kevin was struggling with depression, I worried myself sick trying to anticipate outcomes — as if I could somehow protect him through my thoughts alone. But worry never saved him. It only exhausted my heart. The word worry comes from the Old English wyrgan, meaning “to strangle.” And that’s precise what it does — it strangles our peace, when we fixa

When we experience a deep loss, our first question is often why? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why them, why now, why me? Those questions mark the beginning of grief. But eventually, another question emerges: Now what? That question points us toward integration—the lifelong process of learning to live with loss and allowing it to shape who we become. Integration takes time and patience. It means accepting that your grief will always be part of you, but it can coexi

Why do bad things happen to good people? It’s one of life’s most difficult and enduring questions—one that touches the heart of every person who has ever experienced loss, pain, or injustice. When tragedy strikes, we naturally ask, “Why me?” or “Why would a loving God allow this?” This blog post explores those profound questions through the lens of grief, faith, and the human experience, offering compassion and hope to anyone navigating pain.

Happiness versus joy Happiness and joy are often confused, but they have distinct meanings. Recognizing this difference enables us to enjoy life more and focus on what truly matters. In my last post, “ It’s Okay to Be Sad: Embracing Emotions,” I discussed how unpredictable and imperfect life can be, and how we often fail to take the time to understand many of our emotions. Through grief, I’ve learned to sit with these feelings and work through pain so I can rediscover my auth

In a culture that prizes constant happiness and quick fixes, sadness is often treated as something to avoid or hide. Yet, sadness is not a weakness—it’s a vital, honest part of being human. In “Embracing Our Rethinking their relationship with sadness, showing how acknowledging this tender emotion can bring healing, compassion, and deeper connection. The blog opens with a powerful reminder that embracing sadness doesn’t mean wallowing in self-pity. It’s an act of courage and a

I know this pain personally. I prayed endlessly for my son Kevin, who battled depression for years. I begged God to lift the darkness, to restore joy, and to heal him completely. I also prayed for my young niece after her cancer diagnosis, believing God would heal her. Both prayers were met with heartbreaking outcomes: Kevin died by suicide, and my niece passed away within six months of her diagnosis. In those moments, I asked what many believers have asked: Was God listening

Yearning is one of the most common and powerful emotions in grief, even more dominant than sadness or anger. Research describes it as an unsatisfied, future-oriented desire for the lost person. It often takes the shape of “what if” thoughts, imagining what life could have been had the loss not occurred. Yearning is bittersweet, stirring both love and pain, affection and frustration. It reveals itself as love refusing to end, even when presence is gone.

Overthinking The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking – Albert...

September is Suicide Prevention Month. Learn the truth about depression, stigma, and hope through research, real stories, and Kevin’s journey. Suicide does not discriminate. This Suicide Prevention Month, read Kevin’s story and discover facts, hope, and support for mental health struggles. Depression is more than sadness. In honor of Suicide Prevention Month, Kevin’s story sheds light on stigma, suicide, and the power of compassion.

My 50th Birthday Party Cherishing Memories As my birthday draws near, I find myself entangled in emotions far more layered than balloons...

In grief, it can be easy to feel as though everything good has been taken. The laughter we once knew, the steady presence of the person we loved, the ordinary moments that were anything but ordinary—all of it leaves an aching void. But nature whispers back a different message: that beauty still exists, that joy can still be found, and that healing often begins in small, quiet glimpses of wonder. Healing doesn’t come all at once. It comes like the turtles inching toward the wa

Trust after loss is often misunderstood. When my son Kevin died, I experienced not only grief but also a secondary loss—a loss of trust in the world, in myself, and others. This internal collapse of trust often goes unrecognized, even though it makes healing far more difficult. In 2004, when Kevin left for college, I encouraged him with this quote from Hamlet: “This above all: to thine own self be true to himself..." I wanted him to honor his integrity and be kind to himself.

I didn’t set out to find humility. I was just trying to survive the grief. But somewhere in the darkness, I realized that humility was the lantern I didn’t know I was holding. It helped me see Kevin more clearly, not just the pain he concealed, but also the courage he carried. It helped me see myself more honestly, not as a perfect mother, but as someone still growing and healing. And it helps me see you, anyone reading this, not as someone who needs to have it all together.

Masking our pain We all wear masks, sometimes to survive, sometimes to hide, and sometimes just to get through the day. After my son...

Healing after loss is not about “getting over it.” It’s about learning to live with the weight of sorrow while still allowing space for love, peace, and even joy to return in small, sacred ways. In this heartfelt reflection, I explore what healing looks like, not in a textbook or a timeline, but in real life, where grief becomes a companion, not a destination—raw pain triggered by unexpected memories, to finding purpose in service and compassion for others. Healing is not for

Words That Hurt vs. Words That Help in Grief: A Guide to Speaking with Compassion When someone we love is grieving—especially after the devastating loss of a child or death by suicide—we often struggle with what to say. We want to help. We want to offer comfort. But sometimes, the phrases that come to mind can unintentionally cause more harm than healing. This guide outlines the difference between what is not helpful and what is helpful to say to someone who is grieving.

Acceptance, I’ve learned, is not a final destination—it’s a daily walk. I wrestled with what it meant to “accept” something so unimaginable. At first, it felt like betrayal, like letting go. But over time, I discovered acceptance doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning to carry both love and sorrow in the same heart. Some days, I still ask, What could I have done differently? The questions don’t always go away. But I remind myself that love isn’t defined

Transformation, I’ve learned, doesn’t happen in the absence of pain. It begins in the broken places. In the quiet, raw moments where life feels upside down. Where we ask, What now? Through grief, I’ve discovered a new rhythm—one that honors both the ache of loss and the beauty of love that never ends. Support groups, friendships, and my faith have all played a role in helping me find new meaning and strength. I’ve realized that we don’t have to walk this path alone.

Five years after losing my son Kevin, I’m no longer the woman I once was. Grief has changed me-body, soul, and spirit. In this reflection, I share how loss became a river of transformation, how I’ve learned to let go of what I can’t control, and how hope still flows, even in sorrow. If you’re walking through change or grief, may these words remind you: you are not alone, and healing is possible.

We can’t control someone else’s choices—but we can choose to love, release guilt, and trust God. This heartfelt blog reflects on loss, mental illness, and the power of surrender.