Category: grief journey

My family has been impacted by the hurricanes in Florida these past days/weeks. Milton caused significant damage to our roof and home. I’ve been absent in posting due to the clean up that is needed. I’ve posted some pictures here with a beautiful sunset the next day reminding us how fortunate we are to be alive.

October 13th was the 18th year of my daughter’s passing. The year that surpassed her life here on earth. It really hit me hard. I may have cried and wept so much that my eyes were swollen this morning. Perhaps the disruption of life these past few days did not help the deep sorrow I was feeling. I wasn’t even able to put out a post as the words just couldn’t come close to describing the emotions I was feeling.

We had to quickly pack up our most treasured valuables out of the house with us as we fled to family in central Florida. That included my daughter’s ashes; my collection of her most treasured things; my mom’s little box of memories and many photo albums. I could not bear losing them. It would have been like losing my daughter and mother all over. I am not sure, as I sit here today, that I could have survived that type of loss again.

On October 9th, we hunkered down during the night of the hurricane and listened/prayed as the wind howled as if it were about to take off the roof at the farm. But it did not. We watched our “pup cam” at our house as the tree fell on the house and watched the ceiling fall with mounds of insulation all over the kitchen, dining and living room. We could do nothing. It was shocking. By morning we were safe, but were aware that we had a long road ahead.

It took two days to get to our house to access the damage. The power had been out since the storm. It was just heartbreaking to see the damage. Rain had come through and added to the already gaping hole in our roof and ceiling. All we could do was begin to clean up as best we could. We returned the next day and the power had returned and the damage was far more severe than first seen. Multiple ceiling trusses were busted crusting damage in the attic and over the kitchen, laundry room and pantry.

The clean up began. And so did my grief. It was October 12th and I was feeling the burden of grief upon my heart. Trying to keep busy with cleaning and throwing our ruined belongings out on the street. But as we know, grief will not go unheard. It will not wait even during a hurricane. On Sunday, October 13th, it all came crashing down.

I don’t think I’ve lost it that much since the early years after her death. I did not feel safe in my own home to openly grieve. I tried hard to hold it in, but eventually it came out and I cried until my eyes were swollen and my energy spent. I’m so thankful for my partner for life. While she never knew Brittany, she has been the most compassionate person in my life post Brittany. From the beginning she has made room for Brittany in our life. This grieving mamma will always be forever grateful to her for that.

Brit’s friends who still pay tribute to her life – just demonstrates how she touched so many people. She will never be forgotten by them. They continue to post each year and it touches my heart so very much.

At the end of a very stressful and gut-wrenching day, was this beautiful sunset that reminded us all that there is beauty and love in more places than we can imagine. For anyone going through a tragic time of grief, please be with them. Sit with them. Love on them. Listen to them. They need to be heard.

Until next time,

Demonstrate LOVE
Demonstrate COMPASSION
Refuse HATE
Be LIGHT

M

It’s October and that has historically been a month of reflection and sorrow after losing my only child Brittany 10-13-06. This October 13th will be 18 years since she passed away. She would have turned 18 the following month but she didn’t quite make it. Now she has been gone longer than she breathed life on this earth. That is profound for me.

The memories of her continue to fade much like memories of my mom faded after her death two months before Brittany was born. That is what is so difficult to deal with at this state of my grief – the loss of memories, the sound of their voices, the magic of their heart and soul and the impact on my life.

I have VHS (yes, for those who are too young to remember, these preceded DVDs) of her and other family members which I’ve been slowly moving to digital format. Today I have been watching video of her as a 2 yr old and it seems so odd to me as I don’t clearly remember these moments anymore. It’s like watching a stranger (me) in these videos. Only my voice sounds similar like it does today. It’s like looking into a looking glass in a world that existed in a past life.

I’m so grateful for these videos and will cherish them for the remainder of my days. It reminds me she lived. I was her mom and she was my daughter. And while that statement created a swell of tears in my eyes, I only have joy with a touch of sadness. I am proud to have created life and while she had a tumultuous life at times, she was the greatest achievement in my life.

I miss her with every fiber of my body.

Until next time,

M

I was watching the Today Show this morning and watched Hoda as she announced her departure from the Today Show in early 2025. There is something about turning 60, in my case 66, that causes you to step back and reflect all that you have achieved and coming to the understanding that it can’t get any better. That you are at the top of your game and it’s time to walk away. To focus on yourself and the hopes and dreams you’ve held so close for so many years. Giving way to focus on career and financial stability.

After losing everything when my daughter died; I sit here in this moment grateful for the ability to rebuild, to have the privilege to retire. It wasn’t easy. I went back to school to finish my bachelors and then on to obtaining my master’s degree in nursing leadership and management. All during the most difficult time in my life. Grief intruptted the journey many times. But I worked hard. Long hours. Sometimes at the expense of my social growth. I dedicated myself to the job at hand. All with the goal that I could have time to retire early enough to work on my dreams of travel and writing while still healthy.

In August, I stepped away from the best job and being a nurse to focus on myself for the first time in what may seem like my entire life. I know it wasn’t an easy decision for Hoda as it wasn’t for me either. But when you have such supportive friends and family – it made it much easier to believe that I could. Kaci has been my rock and always supported me through all of it. Now it’s my turn to support her journey.

Here’s to the future for anyone who makes this decision to focus on their own health, dreams and live the best possible life – just differently. Here’s to more travel, writing more books, volunteering and whatever comes my way. What I know for sure is I will always give it my all.

Until Next Time,

Mal

Fall is coming and it is the time of year where my grief becomes more visible to others. While some might not understand that is grief, they will detect a quietness of my soul. I begin to internalize my sadness. It is somewhat of a protective thing I do thinking it will make me feel better – when it really does not. I also think it isn’t something someone wants to hear about. I mean it’s coming up on 18 years. Longer than she walked this earth.

That is the very reason it hits hard this year. The distance between that life and this life is growing each year. The memories harder to recall quickly. If it were not for photos and videos, I’d not recall her voice. Her laughter.

So if you are around me this Fall, and you don’t see that normal spark, it is the season – the season of grief like a veil that covers me until January. Yes, I’ll still laugh. I’ll still find joy. But there will be moments of grief that washes over me and takes my breath away. This is the life I have now and it’s ok. I understand how it works. It’s taken me a long time to get to this moment of understanding and acceptance. But I don’t have to be happy about it. I just find purpose in it.

I know many of you understand this too. You are not alone. We will see the other side of the sadness as it lifts and a new season begins.

Until next time,

Mal

Photo: taken 8/31/13 in West Jefferson, NC

As many of you know who’ve followed my journey for a while now, September – December is what I call my “season of grief”. My mom died in September; my daughter died in October and then her birth month is November. Mix in the holidays, which I continue to struggle with and my season of grief ends with the start of a new year.

For the past few weeks I’ve noticed that when something comes up about an event or someone’s interview that occurred before the year of Brittany’s death, I think to myself “Brittany was still alive then”. Have you ever done that? I’m not sure why that is happening other than it’s just that season I’m in.

Validation of a loved one’s walk on this earth happens when memories spark a thought or conversation. We talk about our loved ones to keep their memories alive, not only for us, but for others. Talking about them is essential to our continued healing. I know I don’t have to tell you that memories begin to fade. It has been 36 years since my mother passed away from breast cancer. I can barely remember her now. I have memory moments, like holiday dinners; or things she’d say to me that comes back to me when a similar situation presents itself. But it pains me beyond measure that I cannot remember her voice. I have no recording of her voice. The pictures I have are beginning to fade.

That scares me as I think about Brittany. That I could forget things about her. Thankfully I have video of her voice and her laugh which brings me joy and pain at the same time. I’m so grateful for the ability to go back in time and see and hear her laugh; her singing and the just pure joy she exuded even up to the last months of her life.

I don’t talk as much about my mom as I do Brittany, but I’ll never forget the letter she wrote me telling me I could achieve anything I put my mind to. I was in my 20’s when she wrote that and every time I felt the struggle of life’s decisions or situations, I’d get that letter out and reread it. Still do today.

Grief moments will happen the rest of my life, and I will always continue to say their name. To share their life because they did live. I owe them that. I owe myself that.

Bathe in those grief moments and reflect on the joy and gratitude of having them in your life albeit for a short time.

Until next time,

Mal

No matter the circumstance, saying goodbye to a child is the worst possible thing a parent can do. Saying goodbye can mean many things. Some children are buried, some cremated, and in some cases, unfortunately never found.

We visit their grave, their memorial or a special place in our home where we display pictures, trinkets, ashes as a way to pay respect; to pause to remember; to say “I miss you”.

We say their name to keep them alive in our hearts and minds. The pain of loss is so great, but it is far greater to forget because they are not with us in the present.

We say their name to validate their existence to those who never knew them. To remind us that we had a life before now where our child lived and walked this earth with us. That we had a part in their creation and birth. Our lives forever changed in their birth and in their death.

We go through their things to “feel” their presence. What they wore, what they drew or wrote. Their personal belongings. What they read or created for school. Photos and videos to remember they did exist. Not just in our memories, but they truly lived with us on this earth.

We say their name because silence is death itself, over and over again.

Say their name.

Brittany.

Until next time,

Mal

From my book Grief Blessings*:

On a short business flight a few years ago, I had the pleasure of sitting next to a young man in uniform. I noticed that as we reached cruising altitude, tears began to fall from his eyes, and he quietly began weeping.

Gently, I asked, “Solider, are you ok?”

He wiped his face and replied that he was flying home to bury his mother, who had just passed away unexpectedly. I offered my condolences, and we talked for a few more minutes. I told him that I had lost my mother, too, and that I understood, on some level, how he must be feeling. I encouraged him to write about her and all the great memories he had of her. We sat in silence the rest of the short flight.

While waiting to deplane, I thanked him for his service to our country and told him he would be in my prayers. He kindly thanked me, as a solider might, and walked off the plane. I often wonder about him, and when I speak of him even today, tears well up in my eyes because I felt his pain. It was so very palpable. I’d been there years before with a broken heart and an overwhelming sense of grief.

This story reminded me of the many opportunities we have to observe, listen and provide comfort to those who are just beginning this unfortunate journey.

Until Next Time,

M

*This material is protected by copyright.

Hello Friends and Readers,

I wanted to reconnect you with my book “Grief Blessings – A story of unimaginable grief and unexpected blessings.

Please visit my publisher’s page for information about the book and how to order.

https://store.bookbaby.com/book/grief-blessings

I’m grateful to each and every one of you. Especially those of you who have been with me for many years.

Mal

I’m sure many of you who have been on this grief journey for more than 20+ years have old videos, pictures and maybe perhaps audio of your loved ones. As I sat shuffling through old VHS tapes it dawned on me that time is of the essence to get them moved to digital.

I have tried in the past to do it myself. Even bought a VHS to DVD recorder, but those DVD’s won’t play on anything else but the same recorder. Frustrated, I left it be for years. I do mean years. But now I find myself determined to get this done. To find away to move these to a USB myself.

I don’t trust sending these precious memories off to a 3rd party to process. I fear the worst would happen and they’d be lost forever. Returning grief to a fresh and painful presence. So off to Google I went looking for a solution, which I found and it worked swimmingly. I have a lot to convert and I can’t wait to see how the rest turn out.

But all of this got me thinking how fortunate people are today vs how we managed 20+ years ago. Smartphones were not yet available, at least to me, nor my daughter. We both had flip phones which were archaic, if one admits. Technology has advanced so much and fortunately we are the beneficiaries of such. The memories we can have at our fingertips is a blessing for sure.

Social media sites like Facebook and Instagram are full of family memories. While, I feel fortunate to have videos and pictures of my daughter to look back on; but the quality isn’t as good as today. I have no videos or recordings of my mom. Her voice sorely missed from my life. All I have is a letter she wrote to me telling me how proud she was of me. When I truly need an uplift – her letter is where I go.

I can’t help but think how fortunate we are today to have such wonderful tools to document our life; our families and their lives. Such a treasure to have for a lifetime to share with others. We are fortunate these days indeed. Treasure that.

Until next time,

M

Over the years I have been in the middle of many storms. Storms of emotion from the loss of my daughter 18 years ago. I know some might say you seem so happy and well in a way I am. But not having my daughter in my life will always have a deep impact on me. Regardless of the time of year, whom I’m with or what is going on in my life. My life will always have a level of emptiness to it. It is what it is.

I will never pretend it away. Not for the benefit of anyone. Nor should I, nor should you. My storms will inevitably impact others in my life. I make sure everyone knows what they are in store for. I can’t make it any more clear – I will always have bad days. I will always see pictures of those who have their children and allow a tear to drop from my eyes and it’s ok. It’s normal. Don’t hide from me.

I have come to expect the quiet storms. They are a part of the journey. Ask anyone one who has lost a child, and they’ll tell you that. They don’t want you to walk away. They want you to walk along side them. Quiet storms are going on all the time. ALL the time. Don’t ever think for any minute that they do not. We walk often in silence. Quietly observing, wishing, longingly wanting to hug their child. It’s an emptiness that I can not, after all these years, define. It is vast and it is dark. It can’t be any other way.

Quiet storms are a normal part of life. Even having lost my mother so long ago, I still find myself wanting my mom. Yet she is not there. How do people go on? They do. It’s life. It’s hard. It’s rough. And mostly it’s lonely. This is the reality of a mourning mom, daughter, sibling. It is our cross to bear.

I’m thankful for my faith as it has carried me thus far. My friends and family are my rock. My partner is without a doubt the best thing for me. She teaches me about living life after loss, not because she knows it, but she loves me. Love is a gift to a mourning parent or child that can help mend the scar of loss. I’m grateful every day for my partner and my close friends and family. I can open the door of life with a smile, and I can also open my heart when it hurts, and they will not run. They wrap me with their love, and I cannot be anything but grateful.

Until next time,

M