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 quiet truths about grief is this: it doesn’t just change your circumstances—it changes you. After loss touches your life, the world begins to look different. The things that once seemed important may no longer matter in quite the same way. Conversations that used to feel easy can suddenly feel difficult. Places that once brought comfort may now carry memories that take your breath away. And slowly you begin to realize something you didn’t expect. You don’t quite fi

One of the hardest parts of grief is realizing that life has started moving forward for everyone else, while you’re still carrying the loss every single day. People go back to work. Conversations shift. Life slowly returns to normal. But for those who are grieving, nothing feels normal anymore. Even when you are surrounded by people who care about you, grief can create a quiet kind of isolation that few truly understand. In the early days after a loss, support often comes in

One of the quiet companions of grief that few people talk about is guilt. After someone we love dies, our minds often begin replaying the past like a movie we cannot turn off. We remember conversations. We revisit decisions. We replay moments over and over again, wondering if we should have said something different, done something more, or somehow changed the outcome. If only I had called one more time. If only I had been there. If only I had known. Guilt has a wa

One of the quiet heartbreaks of grief is the moment you realize something has changed. People have stopped saying their name. In the early days after a loss, our loved one is often spoken about freely. Friends bring up memories. Stories are shared. Their name is spoken with tenderness and care. But as time passes, sadly, something shifts. The world moves forward. Conversations change. People grow quiet. Not because they have forgotten, but often because they are afraid of say

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

It’s hard to believe we’ve already turned the page to December. Thanksgiving has passed, and now Christmas is quickly approaching — another holiday at our heels, another one to get through. For many, this is a season filled with excitement and joy. But for those of us who have lost someone we love; it can also bring a deep ache that seems to grow louder with each twinkling light and familiar carol.

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.

Friends, every year around this time, I’m reminded how the holidays can stir both joy and heartache. When the holidays feel heavy, all I can think about is how many of us will miss our loved ones on Thanksgiving and the empty chair facing us.

The Thanksgiving season invites us to count our blessings, to reflect on God’s goodness, and to gather with those we love. But when grief is part of our story, these traditions can feel bittersweet. How do we give thanks when our hearts are broken?

For many, this is a time of joy and connection. But for those who are grieving, the holidays can be overwhelming and feel like a season we quietly brace ourselves for.

Have you ever found yourself asking questions you never thought you’d ask? Questions that seem to echo into silence—like “Why, Lord?” or “How am I supposed to go on?” The questions grief brings has a way of opening our hearts to things we never imagined needing to ask. I’m currently reading the book, The Girl on the Bathroom Floor . It’s the heartbreaking story of the Smith family who lost their 3-year-old boy in a drowning accident. Amber Smith writes with such a profound gu

Grief has a way of narrowing our vision. In the midst of loss, it can feel as though the world has been drained of color, leaving only shades of sorrow. Ordinary moments that once brought delight may now feel hollow, and the weight of absence overshadows everything else. Yet even in the valley of sorrow, God offers us glimpses of beauty—the power of small joys in grief that whisper hope into our hurting hearts. I remember days when getting out of bed felt like an impossible t

When the loss of someone we love turns our world upside down, and when our faith feels fragile, grief has a way of shaking us at the core. We may find ourselves asking questions we never imagined we’d ask: Where are You, God? Why did this happen? How do I go on from here?

When loss first enters our lives, it can feel like the very air has been taken from our lungs. Grief has a way of pressing down so heavily that even the simple act of breathing feels like too much.