Unexpected Loss

06/23/2026

The last couple of days have been really heavy. Grief has a way of sneaking up on me, even when I think I’ve found some footing. It’s been almost eight months since I lost my son, James, and some moments still feel as raw as the first day. I miss his voice, his laughter, his incredible smile, and most of all, his hugs—the kind that melted away every worry and made the world feel safe again.

There’s an emptiness in the quiet spaces where he should be. I find myself reaching for him in my thoughts, remembering every little detail and wishing I could hold onto him just a little longer. It’s hard not to feel swallowed by the weight of this loss, to struggle through the days when his absence is all I can feel.

I don’t have all the answers to moving forward, but I know love doesn’t fade. James lives in my heart, and I carry him with me, even in the hardest moments.

06/22/2026

People ask me why I write so extensively about grief. The answer is straightforward. Because grief doesn’t dissipate when people cease discussing it. It accompanies you into birthdays, holidays, grocery stores, songs, and random Tuesday afternoons. It resides in ordinary moments. And so do I. Writing is how I remind myself that someone else, somewhere, understands this kind of pain. Maybe you’ve never commented, maybe you’ve never shared one of my posts. But maybe you’ve quietly read them through tears because they articulated what you couldn’t. If that’s you, thank you for allowing me to be honest. Thank you for reminding me that vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s proof that even broken hearts are still capable of reaching one another. If my words have ever made you feel less alone, then every piece of my own heart that I’ve poured into them has been worth it.

06/20/2026

06/17/2026

There are different kinds of grief.

The grief that screams.

The grief that whispers.

The grief that turns into anger because sadness became too heavy to carry.

The grief that convinces you to isolate because nobody understands what it feels like to lose part of your soul.

The grief that steals your memory.

The grief that steals your sleep.

The grief that makes you terrified to love again because now you know everything beautiful can disappear.

Then there’s the grief nobody notices…

The one where you look completely fine.

You’re showered.
You’re smiling.
You’re answering texts.

But inside, you’re standing in the exact same room where your world ended.

People call it healing because you’re functioning.

They don’t realize you’re surviving.

There’s a difference.

Some days healing looks like therapy.

Some days healing looks like making your bed.

Some days healing looks like simply deciding to stay alive until tomorrow.

And on the days you can’t pull yourself out of the darkness…

I hope you remember this:

Surviving is still movement.

Even if no one else can see it.

06/09/2026

People say he did not get enough time.
And maybe they are right.
Because no amount of time
would have ever felt like enough
for someone so deeply loved.
But in the years he had,
my son loved people completely.
He showed up with kindness.
With laughter.
With a presence
that made ordinary moments feel lighter.
He changed people.
He changed me.
And I think that matters.
Because a life is not measured
only by its length.
It is measured by the love it leaves behind.
The people it touches.
The ache it leaves in the hearts
that were lucky enough to know it.
And my son left love everywhere.
So no,
that was never a small life.
That was a meaningful one.
A beautiful one.
A life I will spend the rest of mine
missing with everything I have.

06/08/2026

Be patient with your heart . It’s carrying more than most people can see.

06/06/2026

People confuse surviving with healing.

A grieving parent can go back to work, answer messages, laugh occasionally, and still carry unbearable pain every single day.

We learned how to function.
That’s different than being okay.

06/05/2026

I’ve found myself taking a step back and looking at things from the outside in.
If I was not the one who lost someone so special what would I say , what could I do ?
And the answer is just as simple as the question . Just listen , allow the other person to grieve in their own way. Don’t push or rush them. Don’t try to explain that things will get better in time because that’s not what we want to hear . We need and want to hear our loved one’s name spoken, we want to hear about memories that will last a lifetime . We need to hear these things so that we know that our loved one will never be forgotten. Lend an ear and don’t complain that we “ dwell” on the loss, because it’s not dwelling it’s called grieving , .