Gary Roe's Blog, page 13

Will it ever get any better? When?

“Does it ever get any better? Everyone says I should be over this or further along.” Annette said.

Annette’s daughter Kimberly was the younger of two girls. She loved pink, dogs, and horses. If she had the option, she would have lived outside. She did well in school, and then worked her way through college as a veterinary tech.

On the way home from her college graduation with some friends, a truck crossed the median and slammed into them head-on. The truck driver was the only survivor. Kimberly was 23.

“I never got to say goodbye. How do I recover from that?” Annette asked.

 

Grief has no timetable

The power and depth of losses can be staggering. We get hit on every level, every day. We discover more losses as we go. Weeks become months, and months become years. We wince. We ache. Our hearts are shattered. How long is this supposed to go on?

There is no “supposed to” when it comes to the intensity and duration of our grief. Every person, every relationship, and every loss is different. Our grief process is influenced by a variety of factors:

Who we are – our personality and internal resources
Our personal history of loss – other losses we’ve experienced and how they’ve affected us
Our personal relationship with our loved one – the depth and kind of our attachment
Our loved one themselves – personality, age, station in life, etc.
The nature of the death – illness, accident, violent death, etc.
Our physical and mental health
Our faith and spiritual condition – what we believe about life, death, the afterlife
The kind and degree of other current stressors (relational, financial, vocational, physical, etc.)

Due to all these factors, there are no exact time lines for the progression of our grief. There are no infallible standards for what we “should” be experiencing and when. There are only patterns, and these vary greatly depending on the nature and depth of the factors listed above.

No matter what our situation, as we process our grief in healthy ways, the intensity of our emotions will most likely lessen. As time goes on our loss settles in at new levels. Moments of shock and denial recede and diminish, giving way to a dull and heavy awareness of reality. As our hearts begin to adjust to this terrible loss, the grief isn’t necessarily better or easier, but different.

As we grieve, our loved ones get assimilated into our lives in new ways. We don’t move on without them or leave them behind. They become even more a part of us. We heal, but we’re not the same. We learn to live with a hole in our hearts.

On some level, we will never stop grieving. We will always miss them. We will never forget. But our grief will change. Time does not heal all wounds, but healing and recovery do take time.

Our hearts refuse to be on a grief time schedule. Grief is not a task to be performed or an item to check off a to-do list. It’s a dynamic, variable, personal, and somewhat unpredictable process. We grieve because we dared to love.

“My grief has no time limit. I’ll always grieve, but it will change over time.”

 

Adapted from the 2017 USA Best Book Awards Finalist and Amazon bestseller, Shattered: Surviving the Loss of a Child.

Question: Have you seen your grief change over time? How so?

Dealing with Toxic People

“People can be so insensitive and mean. Do they realize what they’re saying?” Janet said, wringing a napkin in her hands.

Janet’s daughter Courtney was a tough and determined survivor. Diagnosed with lymphoma in her late teens, Courtney battled through treatment regimens, kept her spirits up, and dedicated her life to serving others. One Thursday afternoon while she was having lunch with friends, she suddenly lost consciousness and stopped breathing. Courtney was 37.

“Words can cut deep,” Janet continued. “Some people mean well, but others can be cruel. I miss Courtney. I always will. How can I not grieve?”

 

Some people can be toxic

The death of a loved one will powerfully impact our relationships. Some people will step up and be helpful. Others will disappear. Still others might be hurtful or demeaning.

Many people are scared, anxious, and living on the emotional edge. Some are surly, angry, and bitter. The pain tends to spill out in what we say. Words can be sharp and cutting, even cruel.

“Are you still grieving? What’s wrong with you? Pull it together.”

“Life goes on. You should be over this by now.”

“I thought you were better and stronger than this.”

“People die. It’s part of life.”

“Isn’t she better off now? You should be happy.”

We’ve all heard similar, equally shocking examples we could add to this list. Why do people say these things? Are they afraid of pain? Has our grief triggered unresolved issues from their past? Has our loss unearthed some buried terror? Are they just mean?

It’s important to realize that what people say is mostly about them – their emotions, fears, hurts, anger, and pain. People who utter unkind, toxic statements are revealing something about themselves.

Our hearts have been shattered. The last thing we need is someone tromping into our lives and smashing the remaining pieces. We need support, compassion, and hope.

Here is one of the basic components for healthy grieving: Get around people who are helpful and limit exposure to those who aren’t.  We don’t have time, energy, or space for toxic people. Their voice hinders grieving, recovery, and healing. They are best avoided. If we can’t (family members or work associates, for example), we need to devise a survival strategy for when we have to be around them.

How do we respond to the toxic statements of others? One option is to not respond at all. Simply walk away. Unkind statements often don’t deserve a response. In most cases, almost anything we say will only become gasoline on a fire. Toxic people are often bitter, angry, and looking for a fight. Firing back at a toxic person usually only leads to being shot at again.

If we feel we must say something, it might be best to come up with a canned response. “Thanks for your concern.” “Yes, I’m still grieving. I always will.” “I’m working on it.”

We can’t control the words or actions of toxic people, but we can limit the access they get to our hearts.

“I’ll avoid toxic people. My heart is  too important not to.”

 

Adapted from the 2017 Best Book Awards Finalist and Amazon Bestseller, Shattered: Surviving the Loss of a Child. 

Invitation: If you have lost a child, or know someone who has, please consider checking out this special online event designed for you – Thrive After the Storm, hosted by Gold Star father David Gettings.

Question: Have you encountered critical, toxic people in your grief? What have you found helpful in dealing with them?

When We Feel Alone

The following is an excerpt from Teen Grief: Caring for the Grieving Teenage Heart. Grief loneliness hits all of us. I’ll bet you can relate. The suggestions at the end apply to all of us who want to help others who are grieving.

 

One of our greatest fears is of being utterly alone, rejected, and left behind. Few are prepared for the loneliness that often comes with a loss.

 

From the Grieving Teen’s Heart

KATIE

Nobody gets it. Life is different now.

People say such dumb things, even my friends. 

“It’s okay.”

Really?

“Smile, girl. Life goes on.”

Yeah, and it hurts.

“I’m here for you.”

Really? Then where are you?

People are disappearing. They don’t get it. Maybe they can’t. Maybe I’m the problem.

I feel alone.  

I am alone. 

 

JOSH

I’ve never thought of myself as a loner, but I feel like one now. People are different.

This sucks.

They see me, then act like they didn’t. They turn and walk the other way.

I get it. They don’t know what to say or do. Why do they feel like they have to say or do anything?

I feel pressure to hold it together and keep performing. Put on a good face. Stay tough. Don’t show weakness. Be a man. Handle it.

Where is this pressure coming from? From others? From me? Does it matter? Does anything matter?

Man, I feel so alone.

My life is gone. Hanging out, driving, studying, working – everything is different. Everything.

Nobody gets it. Fine. I can walk this road alone. No problem.

 

Grief is a lonely road

Grief is lonely. No one can fully understand what you’re experiencing. It’s your mind, your heart, and your life. It was your relationship and your loss. Your grief, like you, is unique.

The same is true for teens. Loss tends to isolate them emotionally. Their immediate reflex is to hunker down, withdraw, or even hide to protect themselves. Some people come close, while others distance themselves. All this can add up to a deep sense of loneliness.

 

You can make a difference

How can you help?

First, acknowledge the fact that grief is lonely.

Wounded, hurting hearts often feel more isolated and alone. This is natural and common.

Second, be aware that many teens struggle with loneliness, and loss can deepen their sense of isolation.

Teens are hyper-aware of potential rejection. Their life is about belonging. Loneliness can be truly terrifying.

Third, accept that it is beyond your power to make the teen feel better.

It’s not your job to convince them that they’re not alone. They must walk through their grief and pain and come to this conclusion themselves. The goal isn’t to help them feel better, but to love them where they are, as they are.

Fourth, remember that the most powerful thing you can do is to show up.

Find ways to enter their world and spend time with them there. Be available, as you can. Listen well. Try not to push. Earn their trust.

Fifth, be aware that on some level you are lonely too.

There are some fantastic relationships, but no perfect ones. We’re all human. Even those in terrific relationships feel lonely at times.

Feeling alone at times is natural and common. Seek healthy connections. Get around people who inspire and encourage you, helping you to heal and grow. Limit your exposure to those who are overly critical, abusive, or toxic.

The healthier you are, the more you can give away to the teens around you. Give them the best version of you possible.

Grief is a well-populated but lonely road. Though our losses are unique, we can still walk together.

Adapted from Teen Grief: Caring for the Grieving Teenage Heart.

 

Question: Do you feel alone in your grief? What has helped you with this so far?

When People Disappear and Disappoint

“Where did everyone go? Do we have some kind of disease? Are we contagious?” Sandra said, fire in her eyes.

Sandra’s daughter Sam was their firstborn. Sam and her little brother Stephen were quite a pair. They were together a lot and grew up close, the best of friends.

One Saturday they were heading across the street to the park in their neighborhood. A truck zoomed around the corner. As if by instinct, Sam yelled and shoved Stephen out of harm’s way. Sam died hours later in the hospital. She was eight years old.

“At first, we were inundated with support – calls, texts, and food. People were dropping by at all hours. Then, poof! Nothing,” Sandra continued.

“When we do see friends, it’s awkward. They glance at their phones or their watches. They never bring Sam up or say her name,” Sandra said, as she began to cry.

 

Loss changes friendships

When death strikes, it upends us. It upsets the equilibrium of our lives, including our relationships. Friendships are usually greatly affected.

When a loved one dies, our friendships are suddenly catapulted into unchartered territory. It’s as if we’ve been transported to some foreign country or alternate dimension. This is our life now, but our friends know nothing about this new, foreboding place.

Perhaps they visit us in this new land of loss and grief. This scares, even terrifies them. They look at their own lives and loved ones and shudder. This could happen to them too.

Our old life is gone. For the most part, our friends’ lives go on as before. The gap between us widens.

Some people we counted on disappear. Maybe they’re avoiding us. Perhaps they’re just going on with their own busy and demanding lives. The result is the same. They’re not there.

Others who were on the periphery move closer, wondering what they can do to help. Their eyes reveal compassionate hearts.

Strangers appear. Some know grief and are well-acquainted with loss. Perhaps they’ve even lost children. New friendships bud. Over time, they take root and grow.

Loss alters friendships. Some may evaporate, but others will thrive and deepen. Our hearts are shattered, but we can still feel supported, cared for, and loved.

We are not alone.

“Some friends have disappeared. The ones I need will step up. I’m not alone.”

 

A question to consider:

What do you sense you need most from your friends right now? Do they know this? Is there a way you can share this with them?

An exercise to try:

Write a letter to your friends (in general) about how they have reacted to you since the death of your loved one (a letter you will not send!). Be honest and uncensored. End the letter by describing what you hope for and need from your friends now, from here on out.

 

Adapted from the 2017 Best Book Awards Finalist and Amazon bestseller, Shattered: Surviving the Loss of a Child.

When the Heart and Soul Go Numb

“Everything good seems far away. I’m emotionally and spiritually paralyzed. I feel dead inside,” Jack shared.

Jack’s daughter Chloe was a daddy’s girl. She clung to Jack wherever he went. He adored her.

Chloe grew up in a stable and loving home. She confronted the usual, daunting challenges teens face and emerged from them fairly unscathed. She married her high school sweetheart. They had three kids, two boys and a girl.

One day Chloe was returning from grocery shopping. A thunderstorm had been raging for hours. Chloe’s car hydroplaned, and she lost control. She was killed in a multi-car pile-up. She was 34.

“Dads protect their daughters, but I couldn’t protect her,” Jack said, gazing into my eyes.

 

Deep loss can produce spiritual numbness

After the death of a loved one, many report a sort of spiritual numbness or fatigue. Trying to make sense of what appears to be senseless can be spiritually exhausting.

All of us have a faith of some kind, even if it’s not clearly defined. We all believe something about ourselves, life, the world, God, the spiritual realm, and the afterlife. In tough times, most of us either lean heavily on our faith, begin to question it, or both.

The death of someone close to us raises deep questions. We search for answers. Our emotions are varied, complicated, and frustrating. It’s easy to become spiritually frustrated too. We experience overwhelm, and spiritual fatigue sets in.

We engage in our usual spiritual activities, whatever they might be, or perhaps we distance ourselves from them. As with the rest of life, we might find ourselves going through the spiritual motions, but feeling little to nothing. What was once powerfully meaningful can now seem dull, drab, and empty.

We can become spiritually numb. This isn’t necessarily negative, but rather the natural result of having our hearts shattered and experiencing grief overload over a period of time.

Spiritual numbness can protect us. It can provide a much needed break from the intense emotional assault and the incessant search for answers. This numbness can be a valuable spiritual rest stop along the grief highway. For most, it’s a temporary state. We pause there for a while, and then re-engage when we’re ready. We all need rest – not just physical, but spiritual as well.

For some, spiritual numbness can be unnerving and frightening. In most cases, however, this is a natural part of the grief process about which we can say, “This too shall pass.”

“Losing you is spiritually exhausting. I’ll honor you by taking my heart seriously.”

An exercise to try:

Write a letter or poem (you choose to whom, knowing this is a letter you will never send) describing how you sense you are doing spiritually. Are you experiencing spiritual fatigue or numbness? What is that like?

After writing, consider talking with someone about what you wrote – a trusted friend, mentor, minister, counselor, etc. Sharing our grief is important, both for us and others.

Spiritual fatigue and numbness are common for those who have lost a loved one. Most often this is temporary. This too shall pass.

 

Adapted from the 2017 USA Best Book Awards Finalist and Amazon bestseller, Shattered: Surviving the Loss of a Child.

Question: Have you experienced some spiritual numbness or exhaustion? What was that like for you?

When grief makes life weird

“This is weird. Everything is different, but it all looks the same. It’s like living in some kind of alternate universe,” Craig shared. “But then I walk into Matthew’s room and the nightmare becomes real all over again.”

Craig’s son Matthew contracted spinal meningitis and died within a matter of days over the Christmas holidays. He was 13.

Like many losses, Matthew’s illness and death came out of nowhere. The shock was immense.

The shock waves soon hit Matthew’s friends and classmates. Practically the entire school was at the funeral. Most were stunned and silent. There was simply nothing to say that could make much of a difference.

“Surreal. I guess that’s what you would call it. Nothing seems real,” Craig concluded.

For weeks, Matthew’s family lived in the stunned silence of the surreal. Matthew’s absence was palpable. Everything felt weird, and wrong.

 

Living in an alternate universe

When our lives are struck by loss, our world changes immediately. Of course, we don’t experience all the changes at once. We experience them over the days, months, and even years that follow. This creates a “disconnect” between us and the world at large.

Our world is different. We have a new, huge hole in our hearts. So we find ourselves in this in-between place. We know our child is gone, but a part of us hasn’t accepted that yet. We don’t want to accept it, or perhaps we just can’t.

Our world has cracked wide open, but we don’t know what this fully means. We do know the whole world seems empty because our loved one is no longer in it.

“Everything is weird now. You’re not here anymore, and I don’t want that to be real.”

 

Adapted from the award-winning bestseller SHATTERED: Surviving the Loss of a Child. View the Shattered videos here: Gary , Michelle

Question: In what way have things been surreal or weird for you since your loss?

What we might say, if only others would listen

The world often fails to take grieving hearts seriously. As a result, we often feel misunderstood, judged, or even abandoned.

Sadly, we sometimes walk away thinking that we’re the problem, that our grief is misplaced, and that we should somehow be over this by now.

Yeah, right.

We must learn to take our own broken hearts seriously. Our grief matters.

What would we want to say to others, if we could? Perhaps something like the following…

 

From the Grieving Heart

I’m hurting. Something traumatic has occurred. Someone I love is gone, and they’re not coming back. 

I don’t know how to do this. It’s like I’ve been hit by a bus, and I’m lying flat in the middle of the road, watching the sky go by.

The world speeds on, oblivious to my loss. I watch but can’t seem to enter in. It’s as if someone pushed the pause button on my life. My world has suddenly changed, forever. 

I’m stunned. I’m hurting. My heart is crushed. Grief can be heavy.

And yet, I can’t fully accept it somehow. This can’t be real.  

I know this is confusing for you. It’s confusing for me also. You’re probably wondering what to say or what to do. 

You can come sit beside me, if you want. You don’t have to say much. In fact, you don’t have to say anything at all. Your presence is worth all the words in the world right now.

I probably won’t say much either. Don’t expect much out of me. I won’t be myself for a while. In fact, I may never be the same again. This is something we’ll both have to grapple with, but now isn’t the time for that.

Sometimes all I can do is lie here and breathe. I won’t be here forever, but it’s where I am today.

This is hard. It hurts.  

Please be patient with me. I’m grieving.

 

Grief hurts

Losing a loved one is painful and traumatic. We can lose them in an instant, or we can lose them over time. Some losses can wound the soul and crush the heart. Our “normal” is gone.

This is devastating. Somehow, we must learn to be kind to ourselves. Patience, both with ourselves and others, has become a necessary survival skill. Our wounded hearts can heal, but we will never be the same.

We must take our own grieving hearts seriously.

Adapted from the award-winning bestseller, Please Be Patient, I’m Grieving: How to Care For and Support the Grieving Heart.

Question: Did any part of the “From the Grieving Heart” resonate with you? How so?

Merry Christmas, from me to you

Christmas is upon us.

For those who are grieving, our losses swim before our eyes. The memories assault us. Perhaps we manage a smile, but our hearts are broken.

Yes, I could talk about 8 tips for handling grief and the holidays or 5 tips for dealing with holiday loneliness. As important and helpful as such things can be, when we encounter Christmas Eve and Day without our loved one, everything seems a bit like trying to cover a large, open wound with a tiny band-aid.

There are no words for this.

There is no magic pill or substance that can drive the grief and pain away.

There is no fix for this, and there is no going back.

We feel their absence.

We love, and so we mourn.

Different, yet traveling together

Some of us may have answers. Some of us may have none. Some of us aren’t satisfied with our answers or those given to us. Some of us have some closure, while others do not.

Some around us will not understand. We may be judged, criticized, or belittled. The loneliness and sadness can be intense.

Thankfully, there are those who “get it.” The valley of grief is well populated.

Though our losses are all unique, we travel this valley together. The path is rough, uneven, and unpredictable. We stumble, then steady one another. We fall, then pick each other up. We encourage, comfort, and speak truth. We offer listening ears and open hearts. Along the way, we help each other find hope.

Finding hope through kindness

I believe there’s always hope, even if all the circumstances argue against it. Maybe I’m too optimistic. I don’t know.

I do know this: we can all express kindness and compassion to those around us, perhaps even to a few we don’t know. We can reach out, touch someone, and give, even in our pain.

We can put our grief to work and make more of a difference than we realize. The ripple effects of small acts of kindness can be extraordinary.

We can be a blessing, even as we travel through the valley of grief. Our world desperately needs people who will be kind, no matter what.

Thank you for your kindness to me. So many of you bring me such encouragement with your comments and emails. I’m honored to be able to journey with you. Thank you for giving me that privilege. I’m glad we’re in this together.

So, from me and my family to you, Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays.

 

Can’t We Skip the Holidays?

“Christmas? Thanksgiving was an emotional nightmare. Can’t we just skip it this year? Where’s the Grinch when you need him?” Glenn asked.

“I’m planning on hiding. I know it won’t work, but I don’t know what else to do,” Connie added.

Glenn and Connie’s daughter Skylar grew up into a beautiful and rugged young lady. Her two brothers proudly took credit for the rugged part. Together they loved hunting, fishing, and the outdoors.

One summer vacation, the family camped at a gorgeous spot next to a river. Early one morning, during a tubing excursion down the river, Skylar’s younger brother fell in and went under. Without hesitation, she went after him. As she tugged him to safety, Skylar was knocked unconscious. She slipped away quickly, as her brothers watched in horror. She was 15.

“She’s our hero. How do we do Christmas, or any holiday for that matter, without her?” Glenn asked.

 

Holidays can be tough

Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Year’s. Valentines. Memorial Day. July 4. Labor Day. These are the times when families gather to enjoy one another and celebrate. For those of us enduring loss, these days are often devoured by the absence of our loved one.

Holidays are tough. They surface our losses in ways nothing else can. Reminders are everywhere. We bump into a memory with every step.

What do we do with this? Some of us opt for hiding. We emotionally, and sometimes physically, lock ourselves in, hunker down, and wait for the present storm to pass. The sheer dread of the assault of memories can be paralyzing.

Yet, the holiday comes. Is it possible to meet it and somehow use it to honor our loved one and express our grief in a healthy way?

Here are some examples:

Have everyone bring a card that reminds them of your loved one. Pass around the cards and read them out loud. Invite people to share memories.
Light a candle in remembrance.
Enlarge a picture of your them. Provide markers and have family members or friends write messages on the picture. Display it during the holiday.
Prepare one of their favorite dishes and include it in the holiday meal.
Do something completely new, like take a trip somewhere you’ve never been, and honor them in some way during your time together as a family.

The key is being creative and proactive. We need a plan – even a simple one. In fact, simple is probably best.

Many are concerned activities like these will be too emotional and infuse the holidays with sadness. The truth is, things are already emotional. When families get together, everyone is hyper-aware of who’s missing. Having a plan to honor our loved one gives families an opportunity to share and grieve together in a healthy way.

Yes, it will be emotional, but that’s doesn’t mean it can’t be good.

The holiday will come. Be proactive. Be creative. Make a plan. Keep it simple.

We don’t have to let the holidays crush us. Rather, with a little proactive decision-making we can use this time to express our grief in a healthy manner, honor our loved one, and love those around us.

“Holidays come throughout the year. I will meet them head-on, and use them to honor you.”

Adapted from the Amazon bestseller and 2017 USA Best Book Award Finalist, Shattered: Surviving the Loss of a Child. 

Question: Do you have a simple plan for honoring your loved one this holiday? Would you be willing to share it briefly? 

When Grief and Holidays Collide…

When grief and the holidays meet, the results are often not pretty.

I had my first auto accident when I was 16. It was raining, and I took a curve too fast. I spun out of control, popped up the curb, and slammed head-on into a tree. The impact whipped me around, smashing the rear of the vehicle into another tree. I remember a hissing sound and steam pouring out of from under the hood.  My door jammed, so I managed to slither out a half-open window. As I stood up, I discovered I was shaking. My 1966 Chevy Nova resembled a gnarled, red metal accordion. I felt dizzy. I took a deep breath, blinked, and slid to the ground. I had no idea how lucky I was.

Hitting an immovable object at any speed is not a pleasant experience. Some collisions are minor. Other are devastating.

A collision is coming

The calendar is littered with immovable objects – dates that get our attention, such as anniversaries and birthdays. Thanksgiving and Christmas sit there in big, bold letters. The season looms before us like a forest of Sequoias, and we’re getting closer every day. There’s going to be a collision.

I work as a chaplain and grief specialist for Hospice Brazos Valley in central Texas. As part of my grief ministry, I write resources for those who are hurting and trying to make some sense of their wounds and losses. On Sundays, I pastor a small, rural church about 20 minutes from my home. Just over a week ago, at another rural church 140 miles away (which is practically down the street when you live in Texas), a gunman clad in tactical gear walked in and shot almost everyone present, killing over two dozen, taking special pains to eliminate the children.

Shocking. Heinous. Unthinkable. Devastating. There are simply no words for such a thing.

The holidays are coming to Sutherland Springs, Texas, as they are to all of us. The collision between grief and these immovable spaces on the calendar will be significant.

How will Sutherland Springs survive this? How will we?

Can we do better than merely survive? How do we grieve well, and somehow not let our grief define us? Can we brace for this collision? How?

Dealing with the collision

One thing to remember is that the collision has essentially already taken place. The loss has already occurred. Our loved ones are gone. Our Chevy Nova is totaled. We sit on the ground, shaking, feeling the repercussions. We’re stunned. When our minds return, we wonder what’s next, and how in the world we will handle it. What will life be like now? Who will we be in this new world we find ourselves in?

“Happy Holidays?” Sounds ridiculous, like some emotional oxymoron. “Happy?” What is that?

The great collision has occurred. Our hearts have been hit. Our worlds have cracked. Our futures have been altered, perhaps forcibly. Thanksgiving and Christmas? How do we do this?

We love. That’s what we do.

We loved, therefore we grieve. We love, therefore we continue to grieve. As we mourn, we remember.

We speak their names, as often as possible. We tell their stories to anyone who will listen. We live their legacies. We seek to honor their memory in our thoughts, words, and actions.

We love them, and so we remember. We will not, and cannot, forget. And as we remember, we give thanks for them. We love them, so we celebrate – not so much with lights, window dressing, and holiday hoopla, but with wounded, appreciative hearts.

Our grief is deeply personal. Our loss is unique because our loved ones were one-of-a-kind. Our relationships were special. Others can relate and perhaps empathize, but our hearts and our grief are our own – ours alone.

Special. Lonely. A contradiction of love.

This season, we live the contradiction. We grieve because we love. Love endures. It always will.

We speak their names. We tell their stories. We live their legacies. We remember and honor them.

We will live, and be difference-makers that they would be proud of.

We will give thanks.

Question: As you think about your loved one, is there something you are particularly thankful for?