No Timetable for Moving Forward

After my dad’s wife died, he didn’t change much of anything. Her things stayed where they’d been. The house remained much as she’d left it. For him, there wasn’t any sudden cleaning out of closets, redecorating rooms, or getting rid of reminders of the life they’d shared. Other people respond completely differently. I’ve known widows who’ve begun cleaning out their husband’s belongings...

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.

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.