Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom

Timing. It is said that timing is everything. Although timing may not be everything, it does make a great impact on so much in life The other day, I lost a precious earring that my husband had given to me as a gift. We looked and looked for the earring thinking it was gone forever, but timing (with perhaps a little help from heaven) saved my earring. At the moment that it fell out of my ear, I had a grocery bag over my right shoulder even though I normally carry bags on my left. That earring fell at the perfect moment in time to land right in that grocery bag.

Throughout my talk with today's guest, Rebecca, I thought about timing. From the time of her routine prenatal ultrasound with her son, Ethan, Rebecca and her husband knew that Ethan was not going to be a healthy baby. The option of terminating the pregnancy was offered to the family. They declined. Doctors suggested that they simply let Ethan die when he was born, but again, they declined. Rebecca and all her family and friends prayed for a miracle. They knew that little Ethan could be healed and they needed to do everything medically possible for Ethan to give him a chance to have a life here on earth.

Ethan was born and Rebecca lived with him in the NICU. She continued her earnest prayers to God, and then, after 6 weeks, Rebecca and her husband knew that it was time. It was time to let Ethan go. Ethan was ready and they were ready. Ethan died in a beautiful hospice unit free of tubes and lines on his own timing. Rebecca would not have changed one single thing.

Over the next weeks, Rebecca started listening to this podcast to help in her healing. Almost 10 months ago, Rebecca wrote to me to tell me about Ethan and that she wanted to share their story, but again, this is where timing comes back in. She was early in pregnancy with another baby, and her anxiety was very high that things would go wrong. She felt that she had to safely deliver this baby before talking to me about Ethan. So that leads us to today and the sharing of Ethan's story. The timing was not right for Rebecca last December, but now, after baby Miles' birth, the timing is just perfect.

When faced with a storm, cows and buffaloes react in quite different ways. As the storm approaches, cows gather and attempt to run away from the storm. By doing this, the cow actually ends up running with the storm, thus spending more time and misery in the storm itself. A buffalo, on the other hand, waits for the crest of the storm to arrive and then runs straight into it. Although the buffalo may actually feel the intensity of the storm more acutely, it will actually spend less time in the storm itself and be the other side far more quickly than the cow.

After Dolores' 24-year-old son, Eric, died in a car accident, she was determined to face the pain head on. As easy as it might have been to try to hide from the pain, she did not. She allowed herself to truly feel it. She read every book on grief and near-death experiences she could find. By doing so, Dolores said that she learned so much about pain and faith. She realized that before Eric's death, she had tried to put God in a tiny little box. She kept a prayer list beside her bed to pray for each night. Her faith was clean and tidy.

After Eric died, however, she says that her little 'God-box' blew up. That is not to say that she lost her faith. It actually became bigger. Dolores realized that saying prayers each night does not assure us that we will not suffer pain. We WILL suffer pain. What God can do for us is to help sustain us through that pain and suffering. God can help us be the buffalo and face the intensity of the storm of grief head on.

I'm sure that today, six years after Eric died, Dolores would not say that she is completely through the storm of grief, but she would agree that the intensity of the storm has lessened. By allowing herself to face her raw emotions head-on, they are not as sharp and stabbing now. She has her own website and has even written two books about her grief, both available on Amazon. The first, entitled Look Around: A Mother's Journey from Grief and Despair to Hope and Healing, chronicles her grief story, while the second is a book of poetry, A Bird Called Wisdom. Her hope is that others will be brave enough to run into the storm as well.

Vulnerability is defined by dictionary.com as 'willingness to show emotion or to allow one’s weaknesses to be seen or known; willingness to risk being emotionally hurt'. It is a wonder that anyone would ever allow themselves to be vulnerable. If you are a grieving person who is already in seemingly unbearable pain, why would you ever even want to put yourself in a position where you put yourself at risk for being emotionally hurt? If we believe that definition, we would likely all build a big wall of protection around ourselves trying to hide weakness and prevent further pain.

Oprah Winfrey defines vulnerability in the following way. 'Vulnerability is being willing to express the truth no matter what, the truth of who you are, the essence at your core of what you're feeling at any given moment. It's being able to open up your soul so that others can see their soul in yours'. Wow. That is a definition of vulnerability that is far more appealing.

Being vulnerable is certainly scary, but the blessings can far outweigh the negatives. Opening ourselves up to each other and sharing our weaknesses and pain can actually bring us closer together. A group of a dozen weak grieving parents have far more strength than one strong bereaved parent living in isolation. I think this is why I never sugarcoat grief. I don't tell everyone that everything is fine and that life will be OK if we just trust there is a grand plan in place. Pretending that living this life of grief is fine just makes us feel isolated. When we admit that we are vulnerable and show our weakness, we allow ourselves to live in community and give each other strength.

On this week's podcast, Gwen and I share some of our favorite stories about being vulnerable in our grief and the blessings that have come from expressing truth no matter what. Some of the most cherished moments in my life since Andy died have come when I have allowed those around me to see my weakness. I don't want to be strong. Being strong means that I don't need other people. I want to be vulnerable. I want to allow others to see their own soul in mine as we walk this journey together.

No one wants to be a drug addict. No one would choose that for themselves. It is a really hard life. Each day is spent worrying about how you can get more drugs or get the money to get more drugs. After the addiction takes hold, it no longer feels like a choice to take the drug. It is a need. The most tragic piece is that as the addiction takes hold, the risk of death by overdose increases as well.

Today's guest, Christine, has a tragic story of two sons, Kurt and Austin. Kurt began using marijuana as a teen as a way to feel normal. Kurt told his mom that for the first time in his life by using marijuana, he felt comfortable in his own skin. Austin followed in big brother's footsteps and began using marijuana. While playing video games with a friend at the age of 17, Austin was offered a pill to crush and inhale. He did so, but was then 'forced' to do a second pill by the drug dealer who lived in the apartment. When Austin began showing signs of an overdose, the dealer threatened to kill anyone who dialed 911. By the next morning, it was too late.

This started a quest for Christine, a quest to prevent death by drug overdose. She has spent the last ten years working to decrease overdose deaths. She has been an advocate for overdose awareness and harm reduction for teens. Christine was also involved in getting the Good Samaritan Act revised in Canada to provide immunity to those who call 911 in an overdose situation. Since Austin's death, Kurt's battle with addiction became more and more severe.  He never got over his little brother's death and continued to blame himself. Kurt was a troubled soul who eventually died of an overdose himself last year. 

Now, Christine says she is just tired. She is tired of the fighting the battle against drug overdose. Both of her boys are now gone, and she is working to find a new purpose for her life. Maybe she will continue working to fight against substance abuse or maybe her life will go in a new direction, but whatever she chooses, I know that her ability to keep helping others will be an inspiration to me and so many others.

Silence is deafening. Freedom is imprisonment. These are the first words that today's guest, Suma, wrote in her journal after her 18-year-old daughter, Shrinidhi died. Although Shrinidhi was never able to walk, talk or even use her hands, the family's home was always bustling with noise and happiness. After Shrinidhi unexpectedly died in her sleep, the silence was indeed, deafening.

Since Shrinidhi's diagnosis of Rett syndrome at the age of 2, Suma's life revolved around helping her daughter live her best life. Suma was quite literally her daughter's hands, feet, and voice. When Shrinidhi decided that she wanted to become a published author, it was Suma who sat at her side as her daughter used her eyes on her communication device to write each exact word that she wanted. It might take hours for her to write a single sentence, but the two of them would sit together until it was perfect. Shrinidhi was even able to complete and actually publish her book as well as complete her high school diploma. Her accomplishments became an inspiration for girls with Rett Syndrome around the world. (To buy Shrinidhi's book, Extraordinary Wild Adventures on Amazon, click on link. 

Since Shrinidhi died several months ago, Suma has struggled to find purpose. There are not more stories to help write, no homework to make sure she completes, no therapies and no doctor's appointments. In a way, Suma, is more 'free' than she has been for 18 years, but as Suma says, that freedom feels like 'imprisonment'. Suma feels lost. Her world was already isolated before her daughter's death, with her address book primarily consisting of doctors, nurses and therapists, but now, without Shrinidhi to care for, they are simply gone. The once small life now feels microscopic. That is her current struggle, to find purpose for her life after losing Shrinidhi. Right now, part of that purpose feels like reaching out to other moms whose medically fragile children have died so that perhaps they can find a bit of purpose together.

When I see a cardinal flying around me, I believe it is a little 'sign' of Andy. I have many stories of cardinals, including two recent ones that came just when I needed them. Friends of mine who are bereaved parents have similar stories of things that remind them of their children. Seeing hearts in nature, rainbows, and the colors orange and purple are just a few of them. Now I have another thing to add to the list - pacifiers. Yes, pacifiers.

I have spoken to a lot of dads over the past four years, but Vincent's Dad may be the proudest dad I have ever met. As a 33-year-old first time dad, Trent was ready to be a father. From the first moments of pregnancy, Vincent was treasured. Trent took hundreds of pictures of Vincent over his four months of life. Shortly before Vincent died of SIDS, Trent and Vincent played a little game together. Trent would put his pacifier in Vincent's mouth and then Vincent would quickly try to spit it out. Trent would push it back in and Vincent would start to spit it out again. On and on this little game continued much to the delight of both father and son.

The day that Vincent died was devastating for this new young family. There would be no new pictures and no more fun father-son games. Just as suddenly as the joy of fatherhood entered his life on the day Vincent was born, all of this joy was suddenly snatched away. Trent was in shock as he drove into the empty parking lot of the funeral home that would help the family care for Vincent's body. As he pulled into a spot, he spotted something in the middle of the parking space. He quickly stopped and jumped out of the truck. One word that came out of his mouth - Vincent. He bent down and picked up a pacifier. This was not just any pacifier, mind you. It was the exact type, color and size of Vincent's pacifier.

Now several months later, Trent still keeps that pacifier close by. It is a reminder of Vincent and the joy of fatherhood. It is a reminder of every precious day that Trent had with his son. Now, every time I see a pacifier, I too, will think of baby Vincent and his amazing dad.

*For more great stories and pictures, follow @grupata on Instgram

Ally's life changed in the blink of an eye just 6 months ago when her 20-year-old daughter and best friend, Cadence, was killed in a tragic car accident. Talking with Ally last month brought me back to those early days, weeks and months after losing Andy.

Outsiders may have a hard time understanding this, but after losing your child, you feel like you are living your whole life in a fog. Nothing about life makes sense anymore. Things, places and activities that brought you comfort and joy in the past suddenly don't anymore. You may even find yourself drawn to places that you used to avoid before the loss.

That's what really hit me when I was talking to Ally. She is trying to make sense of this new confusing world. She says that she initially thought after Cadence died, that she would never want to leave her hometown again. Cadence loved that small town in Colorado, and Ally thought she would want to spend every moment there. It turns out, however, that is not what Ally needs right now. In the 5 months between Cadence's death and our talk, Cadence has stayed in her own bed 10 nights. She has traveled all over, staying with friends and family, trying to figure out how to keep living. The place that she thought would give her peace, for now, just gives painful memories.

The key words in that last sentence are 'for now' because when you are grieving, things change so much. At first after Andy died, I did not want to go to our cottage up north. It was his favorite place in the world. Being there without him felt wrong and incredibly painful. Five years later, however, it is my favorite place to be. It brings me peace, and I feel him there with us as we go up as a family.  Along the same note, when I think about visiting the cemetery, there have been times where it has brought comfort and I have gone several times in a week and other times, when it increased the pain and I avoided going for weeks at a time.

That is why being patient with ourselves is so important as we grieve. We don't know how to keep living, but we do, one day and one moment at a time.

Five years later. There aren't words to describe the heaviness of this day. I got an email from my father-in-law saying that he felt like their lives ended when they received the phone call that night. I couldn't agree more. The family we are now is not the one we were 5 years ago. From the outside, we may look the same. We still go up north to the cottage, go tubing in the boat, and eat Grandpa's famous ribs, but we aren't the same. There is a hole there that people don't want to acknowledge. I often fear that Eric and I are the only ones who miss Andy, and then I get an email like that.

As I was 'preparing' for this horrible anniversary day last week, I told my therapist I was scared to invite other people to an event because I was afraid that no one would come. That very night, however, I was texted a picture proving that people outside our family miss Andy, too. The family of Andy's best friend, Joni, was at a Chelsea soccer game in Chicago, and Joni and his family were holding a huge sign which read, 'Rooting for our team, Andy.' They remembered and made a point to take Andy with them on a trip to see that team that Joni and Andy loved to cheer on together. Joni told me that they felt him there with them all night.

Ultimately, what I decided to do to honor Andy Tuesday was to have a Livestream with Eric and Gwen to talk about the day and share stories about Andy. I asked others to come on and watch and share a memory, but knew that if no one came, it would not really hurt as much as having an event with no one there. After the Livestream, I announced that we would go to the cemetery, but I had low expectations that anyone would come. I felt like I just needed to end my days there with Andy, getting a few hugs from people who loved him.

I was actually shocked, but more than 25 people came to give us hugs. I likely got more than 50 hugs and my heart felt just a little less heavy. These days are incredibly hard, but surrounding yourselves with people who love you can make it just a little easier. I'm just glad that I was brave enough to ask.

Every week before I release a new podcast episode, I listen to the full episode one last time in order to get one or two take-home points that I can write about to accompany the podcast release. I know that some people will never listen to the episode and only read these paragraphs either through Facebook, Instagram, or my email list. I have been told that sometimes listening is just too painful and reading the little introduction is all that people can handle.

Today, I have a problem. I would need 30 or 40 paragraphs in order to cover the key points of this episode. Karen's insights, although she is so early in her grief after losing her daughter, Ashley to lymphoma, are simply amazing. As I listened, I kept changing my mind about what the write-up should include. Karen just kept sharing nugget after nugget of priceless wisdom.

We talked about the fact that the body is amazing at what it can endure until it suddenly can't anymore. She shared the wisdom of her rabbi who said that she could not believe in a God who would cause Ashley's death to happen, but does believe in a God who is crying with us and surrounding us with the love that we need to get through the pain of her loss. We discuss the power of words and the difference between trauma and TRAUMA. The talk about how bittersweet is a term that does not do justice to either end of the emotional spectrum. The pain of your child being missing is excruciating, not just bitter, while the event we are celebrating can be amazing and not just sweet. We discuss the fact that we will never get to the other side of the tunnel of grief while we still live. We can definitely see beauty and even some light in the tunnel, but we will never see the light at the end of the tunnel.

By now, I think you see my dilemma. There is just too much to share in a concise way. There is only one answer. This is a podcast episode that you simply must listen to from beginning to end. It actually may even be a good idea to take out a pad of paper to jot down some notes. I know you won't regret it.

"I'm gonna leave." This is such an innocent phrase. It is something that Chester's son, Corban, likely said to his parents hundreds of times over his 21 years of life. It meant that he was going somewhere - to school, to the movies, maybe just out with friends. He was going somewhere specific.

That is why it was so healing for Chester when he learned that these were the last words that Corban said to the first responders seconds before he died. Corban had been in a car accident and had been speaking with the ambulance team as they were waiting for help to get him out of the car. He calmly said, "I'm gonna leave," and then he quietly took his last breath and died. Although the ambulance workers tried to save him and get him back, he was already gone.

That phrase is what gave Chester and his wife a little bit of peace in the most horrible time of their lives. If Corban said he was 'gonna leave,' it meant that he was going somewhere. His life wasn't just over; it was just continuing somewhere else. He wasn't on earth anymore, but he seemed to know at that moment that he was going on to heaven.

Only three weeks later, Chester started scribbling words down on a napkin based on these final words. These words became lyrics and a tune started forming in Chester's head. The first lines of the chorus are as follows:

      If you say you're gonna leave, you're goin' somewhere

      But the place we wanna be is where you are

After help from musicians and eventually a producer in Nashville, the final, beautiful song was completed - a song celebrating Corban's life and remembering that someday we will all be reunited 'somewhere' together. It was released as 'Gonna Leave' by CorbansDad just in time for Father's Day this year. What a wonderful tribute from a father to his amazing son. I guarantee listening will touch your heart. To learn more, visit www.corbansdad.com. To watch the YouTube video and hear 'Gonna Leave', click here.

When someone asked Elizabeth what her grief felt like in the months after her 9-week-old baby, Delia Grace died, she described it as if her body was on fire, but that the fire was invisible to others. She says that she tried to continue functioning, but that it was impossible to do the 'normal things of life' when you felt like you were on fire. You can't think. You can't focus. You can't understand what others are saying to you. It's just too painful to function.

Since Delia Grace died 7 years ago, Elizabeth and her family started an organization to help other bereaved families grieving the loss of a child called Forever Our Angel (foreverourangel.com). They send books free of charge to grieving families. They also sell a children's book (with or without stuffed book buddies) written by Elizabeth to help grieving children. There are resources all over the website introducing grieving families to retreats and other resources nationwide.

We as grieving parents have experienced tremendous suffering. As awful as that suffering is, however, we can and do learn from our suffering. As difficult as it is to admit, we can grow in our suffering. Suffering changes us. Not all of those changes have to be bad ones, however. Some of those changes can be good. They can make us better people.

One of my favorite lines from this week's podcast was when Elizabeth said, "We have a wealth of knowledge that but for our experience, we would not have been able to attain." Through her foundation and speaking to others, Elizabeth is doing a tremendous job teaching others to have compassion for those who grieve and suffer. Whenever Elizabeth is introduced to a newly bereaved parent, she says that her heart breaks a little inside. She doesn't want them to be here and experience this pain, but since they are, she wants them to know that she is there for them. Elizabeth says, "If you are here, you have me. You don't have to do this alone." That's what we all need, isn't it? A place to feel a little less alone in our suffering.

I first met today's guest, Destia, when I was a guest speaker for Lisa Boehm's Hope and Healing Together Community last year. I learned that Destia's son had died of Moyamoya disease, and that, in her grief, Destia was trying to educate the medical community about Moyamoya in order to help save lives. Destia decided to come on the podcast to continue this process of educating people about this rare genetic disorder as well as get to talk about her amazing son.

After recording, I often hear back from guests and continue emailing them. In fact, some of my closest friendships today started as those email exchanges. I was a little surprised to hear from Destia, however, as she told me that she was concerned that she didn't show enough emotion during the interview. She wrote, "I am really broken over my son's death two+ years ago, but I might have only shown my gratefulness that we had him as long as we did. In other words, I did not show my deep grief." 

I quickly reassured her that I thought it was lovely and that Aaron would be so proud of her, but her words did make me a little sad. They didn't make me sad because I thought the interview was anything but great. It made me sad because all of us as bereaved parents feel so much pressure to show just the right amount of sadness to the world. Over the last 4 years, I know I have occasionally had comments from listeners that they stopped listening for a while because I was not sad enough. I have had other times when I have felt like I have been too emotional during a specific episode.

I am actually quite thankful that Destia wrote that to me because it reminds me that all of us show our emotions differently on any given day. I am in a group text of bereaved moms and one of them asked today if there were certain days where we just felt like we were on the verge of tears all day. Many of us quickly responded yes to that question. There are other days, however, when we do feel a bit more 'together'. On those days, we may seem more thankful than sad. Today, I am reminded that both are perfectly fine and completely normal.

When starting this podcast almost 4 years ago now, I had a goal. I wanted to create a resource for bereaved parents, a platform for parents to tell stories of their children and their personal grief journeys. I wanted it to feel safe and encouraging, offering a little bit of hope as they traversed through the dark, lonely road of grief.

I realized while recording this special 200th episode that we have together created so much more than a resource. We have created a community. As Gwen read each child's name out loud this week, images flew through my mind - a picture of a child or family, a favorite color, a sport or sports team. Some of these images brought tears to my eyes while others a bit of a smile, but they all brought a sense of community.

During recording, I talk quite a long time about how I think of Caleb and Chrisy (Ep. 19: Caleb's Mom) whenever I see the color orange. As I sat down that afternoon to edit the episode outside on my deck, an unusual bright orange butterfly landed beside me and sat for a bit. It was gone before I had time to snap a picture, but I thought about Caleb immediately. Later, I went to therapy, and as I was leaving looked up at the calendar that hung by the exit - another orange butterfly - Caleb again.

That evening, I went to golf league and my partner was using bright orange golf balls. (Oh my word! Caleb again!) I reached into my bag and picked out 2 bright yellow Callaway Supersoft balls (my favorite brand) that Eric had recently found for me. I immediately thought of my friend Laura and her Luke (Ep. 102: Luke's Mom). If Caleb was to be represented on the golf course, then Luke was going to be as well. Luke loved yellow just as much as Caleb loved orange.

Then, things got even crazier. I am not a good golfer. The idea of me getting par is unusual, and a birdie is almost unthinkable, but on the night before Andy died, I did just that. I got a birdie in Ladies League. It had not happened since and I sort of thought it was a gift from God that would never happen again. On the third hole of the night, however, I hit a great tee shot. My second shot was even better - 140 yards right on the green rolling closer and closer to the hole until stopping a mere 15 inches from the hole. Could it be? Could I really hit another birdie on the day I recorded episode 200? As I tapped in the birdie putt with my yellow 'Luke' ball, I almost started to cry.

I shared with the women that I was golfing with the story of my last birdie and the fact that I had just recorded episode 200. We all teared up, feeling like it was a little gift from God and Andy. I then decided to share my orange stories from the day with the ladies. One of the women then said that she also loves the color orange. She had an orange wedding, showed me her orange phone and even just bought a cottage on Orange Ave. As we finished the round, she noticed an orange golf ball sitting near the cart path. She immediately picked it up to hand it to me. Before even looking, I knew it would be an orange Callaway Supersoft. It had to be - a gift to me from Caleb on my special day. As we sat down to dinner outside, our cloth napkins and centerpieces were - you guessed it - orange.

We ate dinner and then went to try some dessert. Apparently, there were amazing cupcakes that evening. Looking at the cupcake types, I thought I would cry again. Sitting on the table were three lemon cupcakes. It seems that Caleb finally gave Andy a 'turn' to give me a gift. You see, Andy's favorite type of cake is lemon. We always had lemon cake for his birthday. The last time we ate lemon cake together was that night almost 5 years ago when I had my birdie. We celebrated Valeriano's birthday with a lemon bundt cake that Andy helped me buy. Less than a week later, we would serve lemon cake at his funeral. And now, on the day I recorded episode 200, I got to eat the best lemon cupcake I have ever tasted.

There are some days when I wonder if I should keep doing the podcast or if I should give it up. Listener numbers that had been steadily increasing had become a bit more flat recently. Were people still interested or had the podcast run its course? Then I have days like this when I have my answer. It does not matter if I have thousands or dozens of downloads in a given week. The people who listen are meant to be there. They are meant to be a part of my community. These children impact my life and the lives of all who listen. Today, I got special little gifts from Caleb, Luke, and Andy. I like to think maybe they were all planning it together in heaven.

Andy's Mom. These are such sweet words for me to hear. When today's guest, Mary, wrote me a few weeks ago, and she introduced herself as Andy's Mom, we had an instant connection. She was not Andrew's Mom or Drew's Mom; she was Andy's Mom, and I immediately had tears in my eyes just reading the words. I recently had a Caleb's Mom write to me to tell me how listening to another Caleb's Mom on the podcast affected her. I have had other moms say similar things. I had experienced something close to this when I spoke with Andrew's Mom a few weeks ago, but this was even more precious. This was Andy's Mom.

I was not surprised that this story touched me uniquely. As Mary talked about 'her' Andy, I found myself thinking about 'my' Andy. I compared them. How were they alike? How were they different? As 'her' Andy died when he was 35 years old and starting his career as a dentist, I thought more specifically about what 'my' Andy may have been like had he reached his adult years. What would he have chosen for a career? Where would he have lived? Would he have found someone to share his life with? Would he be like Mary's Andy and just be started to find his stride and peak in life?

As I approach episode 200 next week, I am even more struck by the idea that stories touch us in very special ways. Sharing our stories with each other helps our children live on in the hearts and minds of others. As I write these words, tears are streaming down my face. Hearing other stories, as tragic as they are, binds us together. Now, I have the story of another Andy in my heart, this one an Andy who dies tragically a bit older and in the prime of his life. It doesn't even stop there, however. I have the stories of Caleb, Garret, Eleni, Luke, and Parker in my heart. I have the stories of Brogan, Taylor, Angelo, Dakota, and Alex. I have all these stories and dozens upon dozens more, those whose stories are on the podcast and those shared with me through email or the support group. Thank you to all of those who are willing to share to help others feel not quite so alone in their grief.

I love how timing so often works out perfectly. Tracy should have been on the podcast months ago, but due to computer issues, this episode comes out one week after our coping strategies one. Tracy's daughter, Katie, was a girl with a smile that would light up a room. She was an inspiration to many as an amazing friend, mother, and police officer. In fact, Tracy said that Katie was so kind that when she would make an arrest, by the time they got to the police station, the arrested person would be apologizing to Katie for not being nicer to her.

After Katie was killed in the line of duty, Tracy felt incredibly alone. Tracy shared that her feelings of grief and loneliness led her to turn to alcohol to numb the pain. Using a combination of alcohol and prescription anti-anxiety medication, Tracy tried to push away all of the feelings thinking that this strategy would help her grief. Over time, however, Tracy realized how wrong she was. 

What really struck me is the way that Tracy got out of this self-destructive cycle. It is like she took Jami's three keys from last week on how to cope when grieving and put them into action. This is, of course, not the case. Tracy turned her journey around many months ago now and I actually had that conversation with Jami several weeks after this interview. When listening to Tracy again though, I see just how true Jami's words were.

Tracy showed all three points perfectly. First, Tracy was gentle with herself. She didn't stop drinking all at once. She slowly started drinking less and replaced the drinking with positive coping strategies. Second - Tracy found a community to support her. She joined an AA group of grievers and became especially close with other grieving moms. Third - She started moving her body. Tracy had a good friend and a fellow grieving mom invite her to start walking, and they began to faithfully walk each day. It was only after this that the alcohol and drug use was able to totally go away. 

I know that Katie is smiling down from heaven, proud that her mom is now an inspiration to others as well.

This week's episode was an emotional one for me as will be quite obvious to anyone listening. As I was listening one last time before releasing it, I think I realized why this week's guest impacted me so intensely. I felt like I was talking to myself 20 years from now. There were so many similarities between our boys and our lives, but Linda is almost 26 years into her grief journey while I am just about to hit the 5-year mark.

The first similarity that I noticed was that Linda's son, Adam, was a pilot and my Andy dreamed of becoming one. Both of our sons were killed in tragic accidents in the month of August, Adam in a plane crash and Andy in a car accident, Even the town where Adam crashed his plane was significant. Adam's plane went down on a street in New Richmond, Wisconsin, the town where I lived and went to school from 2nd to 6th grade. We even both set up scholarships in our boys' names after their deaths. Every part of Linda's story seemed to speak to me directly.

What seemed to hit me more than anything though was when Linda talked about living 26 years without Adam. She said that at the time of Adam's death, she couldn't imagine living 26 years without Adam. Honestly, I have a hard time believing I have almost gone 5 years now. I still can't wrap my head around 26 years. How will I be then? What will I be doing? How will the grief feel then? Will it be less intense? Is it OK if it is less intense? Will I feel more joy than I do now? Is it OK to feel more joy?

As all of these questions ran through my head, it seems that Linda had many of the answers. Some time back, her husband sent Linda's journal to a professional writer along with some of his own writings to get some advice. Her journal was almost added as an afterthought, but as soon as she read it, this author knew that Linda had a story that needed to be told. She had so much to share with grieving parents, so many answers to questions. Now, Linda's amazing book, Healing Reflections for a Grieving Mom's Heart, is available on Amazon. This book will help so many grieving hearts - mine included.

Each week, I usually find one main takeaway point from the podcast episode. After talking with Chris though, I learned two key things. As much as I tried to get it down to one point, I couldn't leave one out. They were both equally important.

The first lesson Chris learned many years before she even had Becca, she was in the Pediatric ICU with one of the cardiac children that her family fostered from Korea. While there, Chris witnessed a family with a perfectly healthy child who went in for what was supposed to be a very simple medical procedure that resulted in many complications eventually leading to severe, irreversible brain damage. As Chris sat witnessing this horror, she found herself asking the question, 'Why?" As she pondered, Chris realized that she would never be able to answer that question and that it was not worth her time to even ask it. This was tremendously helpful to Chris later in life when raising many children with congenital heart disease, and even more so, after she lost her sweet daughter, Becca.

The second lesson that Chris learned was much further into her grief journey. Chris found that in these last few years without Becca, she was becoming tired of her grief, and maybe even a little angry with grief. She felt like grief was her enemy, affecting her life negatively. She then had a profound thought. She had heard many people say over the years that grief is love. This definitely felt like a true statement. Certainly, the reason that she grieved her daughter so much was because of her overwhelming love for Becca. Chris thought, 'If grief is a manifestation of this love, then maybe grief misses Becca, too. Maybe grief shouldn't be my enemy. Maybe grief can be my friend.' 

What a life-changing realization. Now, the challenges that I am giving to myself are to: 
1.) Stop asking 'why' all of this has happened to Andy and my family, and
2.) Think of my grief as a 'friend' to keep beside me, not an enemy to hold at bay.