For almost two weeks, I sat staring at a blank screen. I knew a story was waiting to be written, but the words refused to come. One morning, while out for a walk, the fog lifted. As my feet found their rhythm, so did my thoughts. I realized I wanted to write about Father's Day, June 21, the day we chose to celebrate what would have been Kevin's 40th birthday. Looking back, I understand why it took so long. Some stories are not written by determination alone; they wait until t

For the past couple of weeks, I have felt the weight of anticipatory grief. Birthdays, especially milestones, have a way of stirring memories that seem tucked away on ordinary days. Suddenly, memories flood in, catching me off guard. A photograph, a song, or a fleeting thought transports me, making grief feel immediate and real. Sharing this helps others see how grief ebbs and flows, keeping the focus on personal experience. One minute, I was smiling as I looked at some of th

Sleepness Nights Grief is exhausting. It drains the body, clouds the mind, and settles deep in the bones. Yet even when we are utterly worn out, sleep may still refuse to come. After Kevin died, my husband and I experienced insomnia in ways we had never known before. We were tired all the time. Grief made simple tasks feel heavy. But when night fell, and the house grew quiet, sleep felt impossible. Our bodies were weary, yet our minds remained alert. The silence magnified the

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

Hope did not arrive for me as something bright or immediate. It came slowly, almost imperceptibly, shaped by loss, memory, and faith. It did not erase grief, nor did it demand that I move past it. Instead, hope learned how to live alongside sorrow, breathing gently in the spaces where pain once felt overwhelming.Hope has taught me to trust what is unfolding, even when I do not yet recognize its shape. To believe that God is at work not only in what is restored, but in what is