There comes a moment in many grief journeys that catches us completely off guard. We laugh at something funny. We enjoy a meal with friends. We find ourselves fully engaged in a conversation. For a brief moment, we feel... okay. And then the guilt rushes in. How can I be smiling when they are gone? How can I enjoy this moment when my heart still misses them so deeply? Many grieving people carry an unspoken belief that if they begin to experience joy again, they are

One of the hardest parts of the grief journey is learning to trust your own heart. In the early days after loss, many people surround us with love and support. But as time passes, the world slowly begins to move forward. Conversations shift, routines return, and before long we may begin to feel an unspoken pressure to “be okay.” Others may wonder why certain days still feel heavy. They may not understand why a song, a memory, or a simple moment can suddenly bring tears. But g

Some days on the calendar carry more weight than others. Long before the date actually arrives, your heart already knows it’s coming. You may notice it weeks in advance—a quiet heaviness settling in, memories becoming more vivid, emotions rising unexpectedly. It’s as though your heart and body are gently preparing you for what lies ahead. Grievers often describe this as reliving those final days all over again. Conversations replay in our minds. Memories resurface with

When someone we love dies, we expect to grieve their absence. What we don’t expect are the many other losses that quietly follow. Grief rarely arrives alone. It has a ripple effect, touching areas of our lives we never anticipated. If you’ve ever thrown a pebble into a pond, you’ve seen how the ripples move outward in widening circles. Loss works much the same way. The first ripple is the loss of the person we love. But the ripples don’t stop there. Sometimes friend

One of the surprising truths about grief is this: it’s often the smallest, most ordinary moments that we miss the most. In the beginning, we tend to focus on the big things—the birthdays, the holidays, the milestones that will never look the same again. But as time passes, it’s the quiet, everyday moments that begin to echo the loudest. The casual conversations.The shared meals.The laughter that filled the room for no particular reason. The ordinary rhythm of life we once too

One of the strangest discoveries along the grief journey is realizing that your heart can hold both joy and sorrow at the very same time. In the early days of loss, it can feel impossible to imagine ever experiencing happiness again. The pain is so heavy that it seems to fill every corner of your life. But slowly, something unexpected begins to happen. You might find yourself laughing at something a friend says. You may notice a moment of peace during a quiet walk. You might

One of the hardest parts of losing someone you love is realizing that all the love you still carry suddenly has nowhere to go. The routines that once held that love—the phone calls, the hugs, the everyday conversations—are gone. Yet the love itself remains, just as strong as ever. For a parent who has lost a child, that love does not fade simply because their child is no longer here. If anything, it feels even more present. You still want to check in on them. You still want t

Mother’s Day can be beautiful for some and painfully complicated for others. For some, it is a day of celebration. For others, it is a reminder of who is missing. Some are grieving mothers now in Heaven. Some are carrying the heartbreak of a child they can no longer hold. Some are longing to become mothers. Some are mothering children while quietly grieving another. And some are simply trying to make it through the day without their hearts unraveling. If this day feels heavy

One of the hardest parts of grief is this: just when you think you're doing okay… a wave comes. A song. A scent. A memory. A date on the calendar. Suddenly the grief you thought had softened comes rushing back, and you find yourself wondering, Why does it still hurt this much? If this has happened to you, please know something important: this is not a setback. This is how grief works. It's part of the journey. One of the most confusing things about grief is that it rarely mov

To the one who thought you’d be stronger by now — this is for you. This past week held both tender tears and quiet celebration. The tender tears came as I walked through another anniversary of the day my sweet Melanie ran ahead to Heaven. And while time has moved forward, love has not diminished. Grief still whispers her name in the ordinary moments. And scars still speak. But the week was also marked in quiet celebration of the release of my new book, When Scars Become Sto

Six years ago today, my world changed in ways I never could have imagined. It was the day my sweet Melanie ran ahead to Heaven. And even now, six years later, I miss her as much today as I did the first moment I realized she no longer breathed the air on this earth. Time has not softened that truth. Love does not diminish simply because days turn into years. There are still moments when I long to hear her voice, to see her smile, to watch her move through the world in the w

Feeling left behind after loss is one of the quiet pains many grievers don’t expect. In the early days, support often surrounds us—texts arrive, meals are delivered, and our sorrow is acknowledged. But as time passes, life resumes for others. Conversations shift. Invitations slow. And while the world seems to move forward, we may find ourselves standing still, wondering why our hearts haven’t caught up. You may notice fewer check-ins or sense that people assume you're “doing

Have you found yourself asking, Who am I after loss? When grief changes everything it’s a question many of us find ourselves asking when we thought we knew about ourselves. Loss has a way of quietly rewriting our identity, leaving us wondering whether the person we once were still exists beneath the weight of sorrow.

A few years ago, I realized something that surprised me: the anticipation of the anniversary is often harder than the actual day itself. If you’ve noticed this too, you’re not imagining it—and you’re not failing at grief.

When we think of grief, the first emotion that often comes to mind is sadness. And while sadness is certainly part of the journey, it is far from the whole picture. Grief is not a single note—it is a symphony of emotions, layered and complex, rising and falling in ways that can take us by surprise.

I’ve often thought that grief can feel like a heavy shadow that refuses to lift. In the early days of loss, it may seem impossible to imagine a future where happiness could exist again. Every breath feels weighted, every step exhausting. Yet even in the deepest valleys, God plants something that has the power to keep us moving forward: hope.

A new year can feel like an unspoken expectation—to be stronger, to do better, to move on. But grief does not follow the calendar.

The holiday season comes clothed in glittering lights, familiar hymns, and cherished traditions. It is often spoken of as a season of joy and celebration, rich with togetherness and expectation. Yet for those walking through grief, this sacred season meets a tender heart, and the holidays can feel heavy, quiet, and anything but joyful. Grief has a way of amplifying everything, and during the holidays, it speaks louder. Every ornament pulled from a box carries a memory. Every

The Christmas season has a way of magnifying what and who is missing. Everywhere we turn, people are celebrating “the most wonderful time of the year,” yet for those grieving, it can feel like the heaviest. The lights may sparkle, but our hearts don’t always shine the same way they once did. And the tension between what the world expects and what our souls can carry becomes especially real. One of the hardest parts of the holidays is figuring out how to handle invitations, ga

In just a couple of days, families will gather around tables filled with food, laughter, and stories. Yet for many, this week feels different. There’s an empty place where a loved one once sat — a silence that speaks louder than any words.