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Posts from the ‘teen death’ Category

Going the Distance

by Benjamin Allen

The death of Benjamin’s wife and two children through an HIV infection became the watershed experience that reshaped his life. Lydia was infected in 1982 at the birth of their first son, Matt. Three months after Bryan’s birth in 1985, the family discovered Lydia and the children’s HIV+ status. Bryan was 8 months old when he died in 1986, Lydia died in 1992 at the age of 38, and Matt was 13 when he died in 1995.

man and seaI wanted to go the distance. At the beginning, it was quite clear what that meant. When he died, distance became different, less clear, a nebulous path of a tenuous life.

Almost three years passed from Lydia’s passing to Matt’s. Bryan died four years before Lydia. From the moment we found out that they were going to die in that thirteen-year span, I wanted to go the distance.

I wanted to walk as closely to each one as I could before death parted us. I wanted to hold all of them with all of me. I wanted to emotional lean into every moment and not turn away. I wanted to place my hand on the flame and not run from the pain. I wanted to be there. Wherever they went I wanted to be there.

Matt and I were very close from the beginning to the end. When the pain of my love reached apex after apex and I wanted to run, I leaned in even further. I needed to go the distance because I knew the distance grows more distant. Read more

This Star Still Shines

by Lori Earl
This Star Won’t Go Out

Our daughter Esther was born on August 3, 1994 in Beverly, Massachusetts. She was the bridge between two older sisters, Abby and Evangeline, and two younger brothers, Graham and Abraham. In November 2006, Esther was diagnosed with metastasized papillary thyroid cancer in Marseille, France, with extensive tumors already in her lungs. Following a thyroidectomy and seven months of treatment, our family moved back to New England for her continued treatment at Boston Children’s Hospital.

My husband and I had made a commitment early on in our relationship to confront and work through conflicts and problems, and not to run away from them.  We carried this approach into how we raised our children, and into our dealing with Esther’s cancer.  We talked together about the fact that she might die too young.  We encouraged her to speed up high school and work towards her GED. We made a family trip to the cemetery, so that she could pick out her gravesite.  We refused to let the fear of death take away the days we had together.  Through it all, Esther kept on loving her friends and writing in her journals.  She made her last YouTube video just a few days before she died, on August 25, 2010, just a few short weeks after her 16th birthday. Read more

Pain In My Heart

by Paula Osipovitch
Almost Eighteen: A Mother’s Journey Through Grief
Chapter 14

Paua Osipovitch 150X 194PHYSICALLY, it is silent. Emotionally, however, the pain is overwhelming. I dare not shout out my grief, nor do I speak to others who do not have a clue about it. In my heart I cry out your name, frightened someone might hear me.

“Oh, she is still hurting?” They would ask. “After all this time, why is she not ‘over it’ yet? She is dwelling too much.”

My child, in my heart I long for you every moment, whether awake or asleep. Now when I dream of you, I am aware that you are gone and grateful for your presence. Your death has become a new life within me with feelings of being reborn. The person I was does not exist any longer. A piece of me left with you. I want to be with you, but I want to live. I want you back and that would make everything right again. Everyone expects me to get better, but I am not ill, I am just missing you.

Grieving for your child is not a sickness; it is reality, a heart-wrenching reality one must face every day for the rest of one’s life. I heard somewhere that grieving for a child is similar to losing a limb. You will forever long for that missing part, but now you must learn how to live and function without it. Of course there are replacements for a limb, but nothing can replace what or whom you had. Read more

What Do I Do Now, Ian?

by Blair Ackiss

IanGrief is like giving birth except I have no idea when the pain of grief will subside. At least with birth, there is the “baby-is-here” finale where joy and elation take over. Those endorphins are wonderful even after the epidural wears off. I find with grief that there is no shining moment where I am certain that everything will be ok. There seems to be no end to this cycle.

In the first couple of weeks of Ian’s passing, I was in a state of sensory overload. I could see the grass growing. The sounds of the early evening crickets were extremely loud and annoying. Hugs from concerned friends hurt…my skin sensitive to every touch. Everything tasted different or had no taste at all. I can remember telling my mom in the hours after his passing that I just wanted this feeling to go away. I wanted it to be over. Make it stop.

This is not happening.

And in some ways, now, I can see that I had the same thoughts when giving birth to Ian. Make the pain go away. I am scared. This hurts! And everyone kept reminding me to breathe. “Breathe, this feeling will pass and you will be ok. Here, have a sip of water. Better? See, you did it.” Same with grief. I breathe through the pain, take a sip of water and rest before the next round of contracted emotions. I’m birthing something new here.

And when Ian was a newborn, everything made me nervous, even going to the grocery store. What happens if he cries or gets hungry? What am I going to do? Where will I nurse? Will I figure out the car seat? The feelings are quite similar now. What happens if I cry in the grocery store and cannot stop? What happens if I’m trying to talk to a client and I get all weepy? What if, what if, what if?

I figured it out once (crying baby, abandon cart, and go nurse in the car) and I will be able to sort it all out now (crying lady, abandon cart, and go cry in the car). I’m sure I can get this. It will take time and I must remember to be patient with myself. It took a couple of months to get in a routine with Ian. With him gone, I just have to figure out a new routine all by myself.

I used to talk to him so much when he was a baby. There is a loneliness that comes with being a new parent and I spent so much time just telling Ian stuff because I had no other friends with kids. Babies, by the way, are great listeners.blair and ian

I do the same now except that I’m talking to a picture or the air or writing him notes in a journal or on my blog. It’s similar but not the same. There is a loneliness that comes with being a parent that has lost a child. It’s like the first night in the hospital with Ian all to myself, everyone gone, and I’m just looking at him saying, “What the heck do we do now?” Very much the same…except that I am trying to wrap my arms around every single memory I have in order to make some replica of Ian that I can hold. “What the heck do we do now, Ian?” I ask.

The silence that follows is deafening.

About the Author: Blair Ackiss is Ian’s mom. Ian passed away in June 2011 at home in his sleep. His heart skipped a beat and never reset. He was 18. At the suggestion of a very good friend, Blair started a blog, Letters to Ian, a couple of months after his passing in order to sort through feelings of grief and to have some quality “mother/son” time. She continues to write him letters and to share stories in order to keep part of him here in the present.

Blair’s journey has been supported by many friends and family as well as her bereavement counselor at Duke University Unicorn Bereavement Center and her support group of moms who have lost children. She is thankful to all. He has a younger sister referred to as Girl in Blair’s blog. She is 15.

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Almost Eighteen: A Mother’s Journey Through Grief

by Paula Osipovitch

Paula OsipovitchMy name is Paula Osipovitch and I live in Toms River, New Jersey with my husband, George, of 39 years. I have 2 children: George III and my beloved, Trisha, who is now in heaven. I have a wonderful daughter-in-law, Joann, and 3 handsome grandsons, Christopher, Brian and Joseph, who are my reason for living and who keep me focused on enjoying the future.

My goal as a bereaved parent is to one day speak in schools and youth centers to teens about the dangers of driving recklessly. I have facilitated many bereavement groups for parents who have deceased children and have published a book based on my journey through grief entitled Almost 18: A Mother’s Journey Through Grief. In the book, I have chronicled how I have dealt with the death of my daughter and the obstacles that interfered with the grieving process.

Writing has always been a passion of mine ever since I was a child although I now wish I never had the reason for writing this book. I have written because it is based on my life as I knew it then, and my life as I know it now.

I enjoy singing, and have sung for bereavement groups such as The Compassionate Friends which is a worldwide bereavement group for parents who have lost children. I have also written a song entitled My Child of Mine which will soon be available for purchase, it is available to hear on

As parents, our children are a part of us – they give new meaning to the people we once were, the people we are now, and the people we will become in the future. In a certain sense, they are an everyday reminder of the lives we have lived, the choices we have made, the fears we have fought, and the dreams we have embraced. We want nothing more than to see them grow and prosper, to build upon the lives we have given them, and to leave them with a legacy better than that which we ourselves inherited.

And yet, for some parents, those few simple wishes are painfully shattered. For some parents, the unthinkable becomes a cold, previously unimaginable reality.

I am such a parent.

My daughter, Trisha, left this world due to a reckless driver just one month short of her eighteenth birthday. Confusion, rage, anger, and denial became my new world. I felt alone, as if I were free-falling for years. But my words are a sanctuary. My desire is to bring awareness to other parents who have lost children. My message is to convey to bereaved parents that they are not alone on this journey and their feelings are not only acceptable, but also normal.

I hope to provide a forum in which those who suffer as I have can compare their feelings along with mine, can share in the same emotions I have, as we try to learn the best way to continue moving along in a world that for us can never be the same. In truth, there is no formula; there is no step-by-step guide, for each person’s pain is different and unique. What we have in common, however, is the knowledge of how our tragedies have transformed us.

I have tried to offer my take on what I have endured and hope that the stories I recount and the strategies I suggest can offer inspiration to those who find themselves struggling over the same questions as I. Indeed, I’d like to be able to play a part in helping us all discover a smoother road upon which to travel. Thus, this is a compilation of the thoughts, emotions, feelings, and questions that I have taken with me over these past seventeen years. Some are chronicled in the refuge I have sought in journal entries. Others are simply a retelling of a story as I remember it, while others are suggested strategies that have worked for me that I’d like to pass on to others.

Trisha Collage_1

The word “easy” never comes to mind in this scenario. I have endeavored to provide a reference also for those whom have not lost a child, to explain how bereaved parents feel so they, too, are aware of our new personalities. No matter what we have been through, every parent can appreciate the fact that we want to protect our children. That’s what we do! We want to place that band-aid where it hurts, kiss the pain away and make everything better.

Sometimes, it is just “out of our hands” and our backs are against the wall, leaving us to accept that we are not in control and cannot fix what is broken. Here, questions of complicated grief come into play. It is a shock, and torments the lives of parents. A parent never expects to hear the words “She didn’t make it,” or “He’s gone.” You hear these stories on the news, but for some of us it’s a reality: children falling to their deaths, murder, overdoses, suicide, car accidents – as in the case of my beloved daughter, Trisha, who, like many teens, innocently took a ride one day and was tragically killed. I’ve heard stories of parents taking their child to the emergency room with a high fever to be told it is the flu, only to return a day or two later to find their child has passed on. It’s almost impossible to escape the feeling of guilt, the feeling that you didn’t do enough.

It doesn’t matter how old your child was or how they passed. Some were grown, with families and children of their own. Some don’t even reach their first birthday. For some bereaved parents, they must face the loss of their child while mustering the strength to become surrogate parents to their grandchildren. No matter the age and no matter the circumstances, if the tragic event occurs and we are here to bury our child or hold on to his or her ashes, we all cry the same. We all grieve as one. We have gone through the same experience of losing someone we have brought into the world and who we have loved and nurtured.

My husband, George, has written a chapter based on his journey, Grown Men Don’t Cry…or So They Say:book cover A Father’s Perspective.

Men tend to hold their feelings in because that’s what they were told at a young age by their fathers: “Be strong, not weak. Only babies cry.” His chapter is a retelling of a story from childhood. He writes about how he was forced to overcome challenges, trying to be functional in work and obligations to his family after the tragic loss of his beloved daughter.

I have written to express my inner most feelings after my beloved daughter was killed. I have written because it is a misery that no one should bear, but it is a pain that can touch anyone. The emotions I’ve faced for the past eighteen years are expressed story after story. While words can never suffice, my words are my therapy; feeling comfort in the stories I have written about my Princess. The journey on this coaster ride is the toughest road you will ever be on. This is the road no one dares to think about or travel, but are forced to in order to survive.

I pray this book in some way will help other bereaved parents. I pray this book in some way will be an eye opener for others who have NOT lost a child as I explain how a bereaved parent feels. I pray … and that’s what I do!

Paula’s book, Almost 18: A Mother’s Journey Through Grief, is available through, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other on-line sources.

Read Paula’s latest article in the April issue of the Bereaved Parents Newsletter

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Through Tragedy and Despair I Somehow Found Forgiveness

by Nicola Simpson

Abigail and Nicola300My daughter Abigail died on October 6th 2007. Abigail was fifteen years old when she got into her friend Scott’s car for a lift to a party in Castletown, Scotland; she was doing what thousands of other teenagers do every weekend. Little did she or I know that it was the last journey of her life.

Scott passed his driving test just three days earlier, young, foolish and showing off he overloaded his car, one passenger travelled in the trunk. Scott drove along the rural road towards Castletown, he saw his friend and overtook him, moments later his friend then overtook Scott. As they approached the thirty miles per hour speed limit coming into Castletown his friend slowed down, Scott overtook once more, the music loud, the kids enjoying themselves, Abigail was on the phone to her friend. But as Scott approached the corner he lost control. He hit the pillar at the end of the wall and Abigail took full impact, she was killed instantly. My life as good as ended that day too.

Feeling suicidal, I’ve wanted my own life to end a thousand times over. Wishing I could end this nightmare. But no, I still live on and at times I have wondered why? The pain inside, living without Abigail cuts so deep, it’s unimaginable. This is every parent’s worst nightmare and it’s now my life. I’ve often thought my husband Paul and our younger daughter Hannah are better off without me, I want to swim out to sea and not have the strength to come back. Take me, take my life, let me die. But no, I’m still here.

Phenomena began. Abigail could come home to me, her mum. I could hear her, sense her. Strange things were going on, was I going mad? I went to see a clairvoyant to understand what was happening, the things I was feeling and sensing. Abigail told me the events of that night. She was out having fun; Scott clipped the kerb, hit the wall and that was it. It was over.

The court case was harrowing, sitting with the driver in front of me, listening for days to the events that lead to the end of my daughter’s life. Watching an animation of the last journey she ever took, right to her last breath cut so deep within me, my chest felt tight, I couldn’t breathe, the feeling of pain and despair. Scott was found guilty of “Death by Dangerous Driving” and was sentenced to prison.

Slowly through crystal healing and meditation I started to heal. I discovered yoga and have never looked back, it helps me to find that inner peace within me. Glimpses of my own life began to return. Maybe I don’t want to die after all. Maybe I’m here for a reason, perhaps to show others that life does go on. I get up every day and put one foot in front of the other, no matter how tough it is. I want to live, I want to survive and we all can.

I moved to Cyprus in the Mediterranean with my husband and our daughter Hannah. A year later Paul and I separated, our lives have slowly grown apart. I’m pleased we are still good friends. He has been my rock and I couldn’t have got through so much of this without him. Hannah is now fifteen herself and living without her sister, the other half of her. Life must seem unbearable at times, but Hannah is like her dad; quiet and keeps her emotions locked inside. This journey isn’t easy for any of us.

But with the help of friends, family, amazing encounters and my own inner strength I eventually foughtfrontcover through depression and despair and confronted Scott four years later.

‘I don’t know if I’m brave or stupid’ is what I said as Scott’s father opened his front door. Moments later I sat in his living room, with Scott, the young man who killed my baby just across from me. No anger or hate left inside. I listened to him tell me what happened that night.

He cried ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.’ I felt his remorse. Months later, through writing my book I discovered something amazing, incredible in fact.
I found forgiveness.

My purpose for writing “Abigail’s Rainbow” and what’s driven me to continue at times when I felt I couldn’t relive anymore pain, was that I hope to show people who whatever they’re going through is normal. The suicidal thoughts, the anger we feel inside and that our heart wants to break, are thoughts that others have too. It’s alright to laugh and smile once more, we don’t have to feel guilty. This is the normal process of grieving and you’re not alone; I can feel all these emotions in one day.

For further information on my story, please visit Abigail’s Rainbow where you can read the first chapter of my book which is available to purchase through

Nicola_1Sending Love and Support around the World, Nicola Simpson xx

About the Author: I’m 39 and a grieving mum originally from Essex in the United Kingdom and now live in Cyprus. I come from a business background with no writing experience but decided after moving abroad to write my story to help others.

Sometimes I still feel like I struggle through each day but others I feel so alive and fantastic. I treasure my daughter Hannah but I don’t keep her under lock and key. We enjoy what we can and treasure the time we have together.

Just as Death is Most Personal, So is Grief (teen twin accident)

by Caroline Flohr

The journey is ours alone, but not ours to walk alone. I’d like to tell you a little about my journey.

Like most women my age with five children, my life was busy. Three children from a first marriage and two from a second, I was focused on family and living a quiet life on Bainbridge Island, just a 35-minute ferry ride from downtown Seattle. Nothing could have prepared me for the early morning knock at our front door in August 2004. That morning, our lives changed. Unbeknownst to us, eight teens had packed into an SUV and took a midnight joyride on our dark island roads. My 16-year-old twin daughter, Sarah, was dead. No details were given. The coroner called 4 hours later. No one was asked to identify her body.

Our epic period of trauma began. Read more

Can There Really Be Life After Loss? (teen accident)

by Maureen Hunter

The Harbingers of Bad News
It’s happened to me three times. It’s been three times too many. Each time it was unexpected and unwanted and I don’t want it ever to happen again. They are the harbingers of bad news, those messengers whose job is to tell of the unbidden tragedies – the police.

The first time they came I was 16 years old and my parents were near dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. The second time they came knocking at my door my 2 and 4-year-old children were sleeping and my third baby was a blip in my womb. My husband’s car was near on unrecognizable and so was he. But it’s the third time I want to share with you and what was indeed the worst of all of them.

Every time I heard of a family who had lost a child, my hand shot up to my heart automatically as I thought of how horrendous, how awful that would be and how I couldn’t possibly do what they were doing – living without their child. Little did I know it was going to happen to me.

The Pain of Grief
In 2006, as I lay sleeping, my 18-year-old son lay crumpled and torn in the wreck of his car. When the police came I was stunned and shaking and couldn’t believe what they were telling me. I couldn’t believe it 5 days later when he died in the hospital. I couldn’t believe it in the days, weeks and months after. In those days when somehow my heart was still beating and my lungs were taking in air but my spirit was crushed and broken.

I cried everywhere and often but my most frequented place was in front of the fridge laden with photos. There I sobbed into his picture and my heart fell out of me in a bloody trail, the pain was so great. All I could do initially was let the pain do with me what it would. It ravaged me and ripped me to shreds as I succumbed to it and let it shove me into the dirt and trample me to pieces.

The Survival of My Broken Self
I didn’t think I could survive and didn’t know how I would. At times, I didn’t much want to either. All I wanted was to be where my son was, the longing and missing was crippling. The dark shroud of grief near suffocated me, engulfing me, engulfing my life, engulfing my love. Nothing was immune from the darkness that pervaded everything. And so came the moment when I’d had enough. As another bout of intense pain flooded through me, I uttered the words that were to change my life. I said “No!”
“No, I will not live like this for the rest of my life.”
“No, I will not let pain be all that I know.”
“No, I will not become a victim of my circumstance. I don’t know how but I will…somehow get through this.”

That was to become a pivotal moment that cemented itself into my psyche and paved the way for me to see a little clearer. It enabled me to make decisions in my life based on that commitment to myself and to the memory of my son. I refused to let his legacy be pain and pain alone.

Although I was doing many things that in hindsight I realised were paramount to my healing and which I’ll share with you shortly, I was also beginning to think about my what now and my where to from here? It’s a difficult thing to feel grateful or lucky in any way when tragedy strikes. Yet I did. I felt very lucky that I had money and few responsibilities. It was freeing and I could focus on my needs, my survival and my future.

I took time away for me, for the restoration of my heart and soul and came back to my old life anew. I made many changes. I moved to a new town, a new job and made a new home for myself. In the process I met a wonderful man who companions me through this life without my son, who is there to support me and love me and I feel very blessed for that. I made a commitment to live beyond my pain but it doesn’t mean the pain is never there. It is. There are moments where it visits me and sits astride me in its powerful way that it has, and I let it, for a while till I can be more powerful than it once again. The see saw of grief remains always. The impact of loss is forever but it doesn’t have to be devastating forever. Life can have colour and bloom in new and different ways.

My Healing Helpers
Grief is unique and individual. Many things I did intuitively, some ideas were given to me but in the end it is my journey, as it is yours. It’s for you to find your way; unfortunately no one else can do it for you. Here’s what helped me the most and which I did regularly:

1. I got my feelings and emotions out of my body where they were near crippling me. I screamed them out (in my car), I wrote them out (in my journal) and I talked them out (to the people I felt safe with). I still do including the anger!

2. I actively sought out support. Grief was too big for me alone. I decided I needed all the help I could get. I went online and offline, though then there was no Facebook. I joined The Compassionate Friends (TCF)  and now volunteer for them. People who understood and who were walking a little ahead of me were my lifeline.

3. I kept my relationship with my son strong. It wasn’t the relationship I wanted yet it was there, beyond the physical, a connection, a bond that I was going to nurture and grow as best I could. I talked to him, wrote to him, connected with him in many different ways. He is around me in my home, in the jewellery I wear and is part of my life in so many different ways. The essence of him and what he brought to my life is mine always to keep and to hold.

4. I read avidly. I needed answers, facts, hope, inspiration and to know I hadn’t lost my mind totally. I needed someone to normalise all that I was experiencing and books did that for me.

5. I structured a routine and regularity into my life, especially in the early days. I tried to do something each and every day that got me out of bed and got me up. My animals were a big help to me, they were my motivators that gave me something to think about other than myself when I was all consumed by me, me and me.

6. I got outside every day. I listened to birds, held out my hands to the fury of the wind and sat on the veranda and felt the rain come in. Nature connected me to life, to renewal and to simple pleasures again. I also looked for signs. I saw messages in clouds, picked up butterflies with a smile and rejoiced when I saw an eagle soaring, taking strength from something greater than myself.

7. I started rituals for my son, for remembering, for connecting. Regular things like lighting candles on certain days. Planting out a new garden in his memory. Always buying a bunch of white roses on his anniversary day. When I started my website, the name I choose was part of his name. I brought him into my life always. He is a part of me now and forever.

8. I did something nice for myself often. A special soap. A soothing bath. My favourite coffee at my local café. I planned a day out somewhere different. Really simple things but they gave me a forward focus, a focus that was more than pain alone.

9. I gave back to others and still do. Grief can soften our hearts and bring compassion into our lives in incredible ways. I mentioned I started volunteering for TCF. They had helped me immeasurably and I wanted to do what I could to help them, to help others. For similar reasons that is why Esdeer, my website, and Stepping through Grief on Facebook came about. In some small way, if what I had experienced and how I had got through would give hope and comfort to others then that would be a very special way to make something meaningful come from such a devastating loss.

10. I was grateful. I was thankful each and every day for my children that were still here. For my grandchildren. For the smell of flowers. For my dog that licked and loved me. For friends who dragged me out of bed when all I wanted to do was curl up and die. For the sun that warmed my dead bones. For being able to walk every day by the ocean and smell the sea. Later, I could even see the gifts in my grief. What Stuart’s death had taught me, what he had given me and how I had changed in a good way through it all.

11. I realised I couldn’t change the past. It was very hard to accept. I so desperately wanted everything to be as it once was, for it to be a nightmare I could wake up from. I couldn’t. No matter how much I suffered or how much pain I was in I couldn’t change the fact that Stuart had died. I remind myself of that often, I can’t change what’s happened I can only change me.

You will find your own ways through your grief, but know that your loved one will be with you always in your heart. They will live on in you and touch your life forever more.

About the Author: Maureen Hunter is an inspirational writer and grief steps mentor giving comfort and hope to many. She is passionate about helping people to step through grief and build a new and different life after loss, one in which their loved one is always a part of. You can find more of Maureen’s articles and resources on her Website, Esdeer, and on her Facebook Page Stepping Through Grief.

Surviving a Loss, Rediscovering Joy

by Lois Goldrich

Rabbi’s book chronicles a parent’s journey from sorrow to renewal

Shoshana Grossman died at age 17, leaving her parents immeasurably saddened and shaken — if not in their faith, then in the belief that they would ever be joyful again.

Shoshana’s father Rabbi Rafael Grossman, Senior Rabbi Emeritus of Baron Hirsch Congregation in Memphis, Tennessee, and author of My Shoshana: A Father’s Journey Through Loss (Eshel Publishing), says that now, some 40 years later, he and his wife Shirley have learned to rejoice in life’s goodness.

Read more

Learning to Dance in the Rain (child ATV accident)

by Jennifer Scalise

Brooke Scalise
August 4, 1996 – July 12, 2009

The loss of a child is beyond comprehension for those who have not experienced it; no words can adequately describe the pain and agony that tears through your body. Most parents consider the possible death of their child as worst fate imaginable; however, unless they are faced with the unfortunate circumstances personally, it is impossible to fully understand. Outside of those who have experienced it, many have no idea how common loss of a child actually is. Before losing my daughter, I was completely unaware of the vast number of bereaved parents all around me—from my own backyard to the opposite side of the world—each one searching for the strength and inspiration to cope.

I recall over thirty years ago when my aunt and uncle were expecting their first baby. Our entire family was delighted. Sadly, in the third trimester, my aunt miscarried—I was devastated. It made me sad to envision their home filled with shower gifts for a baby that would never be. They went on to have another child shortly thereafter, but tragedy struck again when he was born prematurely and lived to be only one day old. Once again, our entire family grieved. Read more