There is a quiet distance between who I once was and who I am becoming, a space shaped by love, loss, and a deeper awareness I did not carry

Grief is a universal yet deeply personal experience, and it’s crucial to recognize that it cannot be fixed or solved. In a world that often demands quick answers, this reality can feel unsettling. Consequently, many people choose silence, fearing they might say the wrong thing. However, leaning into vulnerability and fostering open conversations can create profound connections and support healing for both the grieving and those who care for them. In everyday moments, I’ve not

Boundaries help us protect our emotional energy and serve as reminders that it’s okay to prioritize ourselves during this season. They are not about shutting people out but about creating space to breathe, heal, and simply be. My time, emotions, and peace are precious. And it’s okay to protect them with care. During grief, certain areas often need boundaries, especially around privacy, time, emotions, and personal belongings. When there has been tension or conflict in any

I didn’t truly grasp the complexity of suffering until I lost my beloved son, Kevin. Before his passing, I experienced pain like many others—disappointments, heartaches, and challenging times. Yet the kind of suffering that burrows deep into your soul and reshapes your view of the world was entirely foreign to me. Suffering, in its essence, transcends mere pain. It embodies the profound emotional, mental, or spiritual distress that weighs heavily on our hearts when something

The hardest part of losing my son is living in the “after.” Suicide divided my life into before and after. I replay our final conversations. I wrestled with guilt. I questioned God. I lived in a fog of disbelief, moving through days that felt heavy and unreal. Yet what has sustained me is not trying to conquer grief, but learning to walk with it. I rediscovered faith. His death by suicide still leaves me grappling with how someone so gentle and creative could suffer so deeply

And in both, God was there — not explaining, not fixing, but holding me and whispering that He remains my refuge and strength, my ever-present help in every season. Psalm 23 comforted me then, and it comforts me still. I now offer that same comfort to my sister-in-law. When you attend a funeral, remember that you are stepping onto sacred ground. The person in the front row is not only burying someone they love; they are also burying their life. Grief is not always loud. Somet

After my son Kevin died by suicide, I learned that niceness may acknowledge loss, but true kindness stays, remembers, and walks beside those who grieve, offering presence, listening, and unwavering love. Kindness respects that love continues. It allows stories to be told again and again. It knows that remembering is not dwelling, and that speaking a loved one’s name is not reopening a wound. It is honoring a life.

It feels like everyone is tired right now. Not just physically, but soul-tired—the kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying too much for too long without a safe place to set it down. In 2026, this isn’t the exception; it’s the shared human experience. Grief, anxiety, illness, uncertainty, loneliness—these weights aren’t always visible, but they are felt deeply.