The People Who Need You Don't Always See Your Pain

Grief doesn’t always look like tears. Sometimes it looks remarkably capable. On the thirty-sixth anniversary of my daughter Alisha’s accident, I was still working and caring for everyone around me, but internally, I was tired. One thoughtful gesture reminded me how powerful it is when someone sees beneath all our doing.

Finding My Way Back to Peace

My nine-year-old daughter, Alisha, is buried at Dry Creek Cemetery in Boise, Idaho, 812 miles from my home in Frederick, Colorado. After Alisha died, we visited several cemeteries in Boise, trying to choose her final resting place. Nothing about that task felt natural. Parents are not supposed to choose cemeteries for their children. Then we drove through the entrance of Dry Creek Cemetery and saw a plaque bearing these words:

Perhaps It's Just a Butterfly

I see yellow-and-black butterflies often. Sometimes one floats past while I’m outside. Other times, one appears when my thoughts have wandered to my son Jason. I always stop and watch it. Sometimes, the butterfly seems to follow me from the front to the backyard.

When Home Doesn't Feel Like Home

“When I die, I want to be buried in Boise,” Alisha told me. We live in Colorado. In a way only God works, we were in Boise when Alisha died three weeks later. Still out of state after Alisha's accident and funeral, a well-meaning neighbor attempted to clean out Alisha’s bedroom before we came home.

The Empty Chair at Every Celebration

When much of our country spent the weekend celebrating America's 250th birthday with backyard barbecues, neighborhood parades, fireworks, and family gatherings, I found myself thinking about something different. I wondered how many people made it through the holiday carrying an invisible weight. The pictures on social media showed smiling families gathered around picnic tables, children waving flags, grandparents watching fireworks, and cousins laughing together. It looked joyful, and for many families it truly was. For some of us, holidays feel like a tap on the shoulder, reminding us that someone is missing.

Grieving the Future that Never Was

Birthdays can be some of the hardest days after a loss because they remind us not only of who someone was, but of everything that never got to be. My son would be forty-eight today. He died twenty-four years ago. Naturally, I find myself wondering what he would’ve looked like, what work he might’ve been doing, whether he would’ve been married, whether he'd have children running around calling me Grandma. The calendar keeps moving, but a mother's love doesn't measure time the same way. There are still days when I miss hearing Jason's voice. I miss his bear hugs. I miss buying birthday cards and wondering what gift would make him smile. The ache has changed over the years. It’s not nearly as overwhelming as it was during the first decade, but there are still moments when the tears come without warning.

The People Who Stayed

Relationships may change or even end after loss. Whether the loss was the death of a loved one, marriage, health, career, or another deeply cherished dream, many people shared the same story. They didn’t expect friends to disappear. The responses I received after writing about this last week, reminded me how universal that experience really is. Connections changed. Invitations became fewer. Phone calls stopped. Some friendships faded gradually while others seemed to end overnight.