What If Something Happens While I'm Gone?

After losing two children, my fear of what might happen while I’m away isn’t hard to explain. In this Wednesday Letter, I’m sharing how I’m preparing for a month away while trying to stay present for the journey.

When Life Topples

Grief, funeral preparations, work, and everyday responsibilities have stacked on top of one another. Everything feels as if it has toppled, and the tears have spilled over the mess. For now, I’m doing what must be done today and trusting God with tomorrow.

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 a Good Thing

I knew the day would come. Every mother knows it will. We spend years teaching our sons to become responsible men, hoping they’ll someday find a woman who loves God, loves them well, and wants to build a life together. Then one day it happens. The wedding arrives. Everyone smiles for pictures.

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.

When Friends Disappear

One of the most painful losses after a major life event is often one nobody talks about. It's the loss of friendships. Most of us assume the people who’ve been around us for years will remain there when life falls apart. We imagine our friends will know what to say, how to help, and how to

When You’re Tired of Being Brave

I’ve been brave for so long that I don’t remember choosing it. Bravery became my default setting at a young age. I didn’t sign up for it or raise my hand and volunteer. It appeared in circumstances I didn’t choose. Loss, disappointment, unanswered prayers, and the accumulation of grief that hangs heavily on my shoulders.