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.

Celebrating a Heavenly Birthday Even in death, Kevin’s birthday is sacred. We visit his grave, lay a wreath, and eat at his favorite restaurant. His nieces sing "Happy Birthday" to their beloved uncle. I keep his red plaid shirt in my closet—his favorite color—and travel with it. It’s my way of bringing him along.

Happiness is rooted in our circumstances. It's the fun of a party, the lightness of a vacation, or the laughter during a movie night. It's momentary and spontaneous, usually surfacing when things are going well. Joy, though, is something different. Joy often comes quietly, without needing everything to be perfect. It's not loud or flashy. It's like a deep breath that unexpectedly fills your lungs. It's a bittersweet memory that brings both a smile and tears.

Stigma is more than just a bad attitude or a passing judgment. It's a set of belief.Most people associate this concept with the word "stigma." Public stigma refers to the negative stereotypes and prejudices that society holds. It includes ideas such as:People with mental illness are dangerous. is just weakness. They should just get over it. Public stigma causes discrimination, rejection, and silence. It isolates individuals and makes it more difficult for them to seek or obta

This article is written by a bereaved mother, Linda Henderson, author of The Road of Love & Hope: The Journey of Child Loss. Linda's story...

Grief casts long shadows, especially on days like today. Even when surrounded by the warmth of love from my daughter, family, and husband, there’s an unmistakable emptiness—a space reserved for the one who isn’t here. Mother’s Day amplifies that absence—perfect families in restaurants, social media glowing with tributes. I smile genuinely for the love I still have, but behind that smile is a silence I can hear—the absence of a missing laugh, a hug I can’t return, a voice I

Mental illness affects not only the individual who is going through it but also everyone around them. I understand the frustration, exhaustion, fear, and guilt that can overwhelm us. Sometimes I lie awake at night, questioning whether I said the right thing, if I did enough, or if there were choices I could have made differently in the past. I didn't openly discuss my son's battle with depression, which weighed heavily on me. I kept my son's struggles a secret.

The death of my son by suicide unleashed a profound anger within me that I never knew I possessed. This rage was so intense that it became debilitating. As David Kessler describes, anger serves as pain’s bodyguard. Our bodies struggle to cope with all the pain simultaneously, so anger provides a shield against the overwhelming sadness and hurt we experience. It helps us confront the devastating loss that has altered our lives.

There are many ways to understand the process of forgiveness, and how you come to terms with it will depend on your situation and context. Grief and forgiveness are closely connected; allowing yourself to forgive after a significant or tragic loss leads to healing and peace. Making a conscious effort to forgive someone who has hurt you can be incredibly liberating yet challenging. This process takes time; however, it allows you to stop letting others occupy space in your min

In the years following the heartbreaking loss of my son, I have encountered countless pieces of advice aimed at helping me cope with my grief. A common platitude I often hear is that "time will heal" the deep pain stemming from his death. Yet, my journey over the past five years has made me realize that time alone does not alleviate my profound sadness. Instead, I have found that it is the deliberate and conscious effort to process my grief and confront my sorrow that genuine