Splinters — Day 12: One Year Later

July 3, 2025

This is actually my second “Day 12” post: I deleted the first one because out of my wounds, I may have wounded another. As I heard John Mark Comer state, “our wickedness is fueled by our wounds.” I was childish in venting my frustrations with a person to the public, and I owe that individual and anyone who read my first post an apology. This is not the time, place, or space to address something of that nature. Especially because I know that person is hurting, too.

It’s heavy. It’s burdensome. Thoughts and sentences and simple human interaction, right now, are hard for me, it’s hard for my family, and it’s hard for our entire community. We all need grace, and grace in abundance.

Most of the time, I simply feel sick. I have no appetite [but don’t worry, I am eating], I feel nauseous and out-of-it and sad. I feel grateful, I feel sad, and I feel numb. Humans are so complex, how is it that we feel so much at the same time?

——————

We have been provided for in every way from the generous people from our church: “Give us this day our daily bread,” comes alive when each meal is delivered, with each meal perfectly supplying enough for my family each day. That has been beautiful and heartwarming and uplifting. People have been the hands and feet of Jesus each day, serving us, providing for us, ministering to us, and caring for us, and it has been astonishing and incredible to experience.

I cannot over-emphasize how grateful I am for our community and how in-awe I am for how we have been treated and loved.

I’ve never felt more provided for or taken care of than I do right now. “God is near to the broken hearted and saves the crushed in spirit” Psalm 34:18. I believe that now more than ever, despite my inevitable deconstruction. I believe it’s far easier to dismiss God than to have faith and trust in him under circumstances like these — this is when faith and trust becomes real.

—————

Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning — Specifically Suicide Survivors

Saying “It doesn’t matter how they died,” is dismissive. When someone takes their own life, there is no natural cause, no illness, and no accident to blame.

Someone bereaved by suicide can only blame the person who committed the act, and his/her self. Suicide creates an arduous mental cycle. For me, it plays out something like this…

• I’m angry at my mom, she did this to me

• I’m confused. Why didn’t she reach out? Anyone would have helped her, I would have helped her

• I’m sad. She was in so much pain. What was she hopeless about? Why was she despairing?

• I’m confused and wounded. I don’t know what it’s like to have or to lose a child, but I cannot imagine she would give up life with her three living children because she was so desperate to be with her son. Her son, my brother, who also took his life.

• I’m sad, and I’m guilty. Did she know I loved her?

• I blame myself. Why didn’t I notice her? Why didn’t she want to confide in me? What did I miss?

And the cycle repeats. These are thoughts are examples of how suicide survivors think and process this type of death: grief from natural causes does not require this mental load. Thus, when one says that “it doesn’t matter how she died,” it points to their ignorance of the psychological impact and damage suicide survivors suffer.

Yes, all death is painful and comparing types of deaths certainly does not help anyone, but please try to understand the differences between a natural death and someone taking their own life.

Acknowledge the suicide survivor’s pain, and acknowledge your own pain. Vulnerability leads to life, bypassing of any type (spiritual bypassing, avoidance, denial, etc) leads to death. Take care of yourself — bypassing is not worth it.

July 3, 2026

Ah yes, Day 12. This was the first time I posted something critical about our former church. A few things sparked it: I had not been contacted, they held a women’s only suicide-specific night of healing, and the pastor did not mention her name or death to the congregation.

The lack of contact was very strange to me. My director from work, whom I barely knew (boss’s-boss’s-boss’s-boss) had reached out several times, but my pastor who I saw weekly never did. Nor did anyone from the executive staff — not until about two weeks ago, when they sent a kind card and flowers in honor of my Mom’s one year anniversary. I wonder if they mentioned her name at church that week.

The women’s only night of healing was a good idea… for women, but it completely neglected all men, as if my Mom’s life did not impact any men. I often wonder, had a man died, would they make it a night of men’s-only healing? Also… my family wasn’t invited to the event. And also… I’m her only surviving woman — the rest, the majority of her survivors, are men. Our lack of invitation hurt, then the lack of a place for the men in my life to go also hurt. It felt dismissive of male grief.

People weren’t ready for this information, though. When I first posted it, people called my family members panicking about it. That put guilt on my family members who didn’t write the post, and that wasn’t fair.

Things only got worse from here.

What I’ve observed, is that from outsider’s perspectives, it is always the griever’s responsibility to show grace. It’s the griever’s responsibility to reach out to people who hurt them. It’s the griever’s responsibility to consider the people who caused hurt’s feelings. It’s the griever’s responsibility to play the mental game of making sure no one else has hurt feelings. God forbid someone hurts the griever — that someone obviously didn’t know what to say or do… so it’s the griever’s responsibility to deal with their ignorance and excusable behavior.

Sigh.

This day marked beginning of a very big crack, splinters forming a great divide, a desolation that time does not mend.

I forgive them, and I thank them for reaching out a couple weeks ago and for the flowers.

The funny thing about pain is that you only experience it because you care. I loved these people, and I don’t believe love ever goes away. Circumstances can just change how you express it.

Exhaustion — Day 11: One Year Later

July 2, 2025

When my eyes open in the morning, a fresh onset of “this is life now” sets in and burrows sorrow deeper and deeper into my soul. Heaviness surrounds me in the black room and my tired eyes do not search for light, they simply stare at the ceiling, wishing my Mom was still here. Deep breath. The pain accompanies me every moment, but the dark quiet incubates it. Here, it’s raw and vulnerable and sad.

I’ve never been very good about jumping out of the bed and getting ready for the day, but now getting out of bed requires much more effort than simply awakening from a sleepy stupor.

We went to the zoo today, which I suppose is good, but I have very little interest in doing much right now. Exhaustion has set in – at first I was not sleeping, now I am sleeping at night and napping during the day. No matter what time or where I sleep, persistent dreams come alive. I am so out of sorts.

Daily Tip for Communicating with a Person in Mourning

I love your daily messages. Some via text, some via instant messenger, some commenting on these posts. I have not responded much to them, but I do appreciate them. Facebook comments are the easiest [quickest, really] to read right now, but I like the instant messages / texts too. I am just a little slower at opening those. Your messages help. I like reading about your experience and it feels validating and comforting to see your support, prayers, and encouragement.

July 2, 2026

So little has changed since this post: I’m still exhausted beyond belief, and most days I have little motivation to rise.

Coffee has helped — in January 2025, I actually stopped drinking coffee most mornings. I started back up again about two weeks ago and it has been a game changer… it’s nice to have something to look forward to in the mornings. Aaaand… I have to say it, but I almost have an entirely different personality when I have caffeine. Suddenly I’m happy and full of life, haha. I can’t believe I went so long without it. It’s felt like a game-changer lately.

Caffeine does little from mental fatigue, though. It’s unbelievable how much energy grief and all its accompanying drama require.

I do find myself enjoying life a bit more than I did, though. There are deep moments of peace and gratitude that wash these wounded scars.

I have such a beautiful life. A tragic life, but a deeply beautiful life.

Dreams and Denial — Day 10: One Year Later

July 1, 2025

Day by day, more people leave, and tomorrow our last visitors will travel home. My nuclear family, all that remains, will experience one week together before some return home to North Carolina.

Then the “new normal” will really start to settle as we grasp for new routines.

My mind strives to protect me by covering me mainly in denial. Most of the time, reality feels miles away. I dream constantly of my Mother: dreams telling her why she shouldn’t leave, dreams of me finding her in witness protection, dreams that continue to deny reality. A properly-working mind knows when one has the capacity to wake up to reality, but for now my mind operates mainly from shock and denial.

I am anxious for when my mind will allow me to feel everything it must, for “pain demands to be felt,” and thus it’s only a matter of time.

Today, I am simply grateful again for everyone’s phenomenal support.

Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

The less decisions a person in mourning needs to make, the better. Mourning requires an enormous amount of mental energy, and helping make a decision alleviates a bit of mental fatigue.

July 1, 2026

My Momma was so excited about the mug pictured above. I got it for either Mother’s Day or her birthday 🩷. She eventually gave me one, too.

Gosh, I remember the intense denial. It was such a surreal feeling.

I remember the car ride down to the place that she died, moments after finding out, repeating “Scott, I can’t lose my Momma. I can’t lose my Momma too. Please God, not my Momma,” but it was too late.

I dreamed vividly, restlessly, for weeks. She was always just out of reach. My poor mind was working so hard to comprehend what happened to my Momma.

The only way that time heals, I believe, is through the new memories we make. The more memories we make without our loved one, the less our brain automatically looks for them in everything. The Grieving Brain comments that it takes an average of three years for the brain to process that someone is no longer a part of one’s life, and this is considered one of the only ways that time heals.

It softens the loss because, after about three years, the brain no longer assumes one’s loved one will be there. It takes a small piece of the mental load of grief and allows one’s mind to rest.

I do not dream everyday anymore, but I still often dream of my Momma.

My, how I miss her. I loved her so much.

Who is God? — Day 9: One Year Later

June 30, 2025

Our second church service since Mom left us filled me with encouragement once more. A healthy amount of tears dripped from my sore eyes onto my pallid cheeks as we sang of God’s good plans, his faithfulness, and his constance. All of which I believe, and I mean really believe.

However, I mentioned the dissonance between faith and desperate circumstances during Mom’s Celebration of Life, and I want to share more of what exactly that looks like. Suffering forces people to confront their inmost beliefs, and that is completely healthy and can become beautiful. My Mom loved Jesus with her entire being: the cacophony of confusion left in her wake prompts intense introspection and deconstruction.

Our Father in heaven,

your name be honored as holy.

Your kingdom come,

Your will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And do not bring us into temptation,

but deliver us from the evil one.

Matthew 6:9-13, CSB

Now, please understand, I’m not looking for answers and I do not plan to provide any at this time, but I do want to share the questions clamoring in my mind. Thoughts that, perhaps, cloud your mind as well. Maybe sharing my thoughts will help those echoing the same to feel less alone and less afraid, because two thoughts can be true at the same time: one can trust God and be utterly confused and skeptical at the same time. Thus, my questions:

• Good fathers are supposed to protect their family. Why don’t you [God] protect mine?

• If Jesus is the abundant life, how could my mom die? She loved him.

• If he [God] knew what Mom needed, why weren’t her needs met?

I’ve said this so many times — I believe that God can do all things, but I fear what he will allow to happen. This is precisely why: I have now experienced twice how despair and hopelessness kill those whom I love, and those who legitimately love Jesus.

Today, I was incredibly overwhelmed by the generosity and the care from mine and Scott’s small group. They ensured our current needs were met and provided provisions for our future needs. My family has experienced such incredible and support from people being the hands and feet of Jesus, and, because of them, right now my faith remains strong. I wrestle through these complex questions, but it is abundantly clear that we have our daily bread, that God is providing and caring for us, and that we will get through this. I cannot thank our community enough for all they have done. You have eclipsed this horribly dark and tragic time with light and love and I am amazed and humbled at all of this. Thank you.

Tips for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

Acknowledging the situation is better than avoiding the topic altogether. It may be awkward to speak up, but a simple “I see you,” goes a long way 💙

June 30, 2026

God is faithful. His faithful love endures forever.

I’ve grown through the year — not that suffering is meant for one to grow, but that God can bring the blessing of growth and new perspective despite suffering. I reject the notion that anyone “needs” suffering to glean a cosmic understanding, but I acknowledge that committing to healing and renewed life can provide a beautiful glimpse into ethereal understanding.

It is better when people dwell in unity, and I miss the moments when I perceived my mother’s church as a safe place to attend. Maybe that safety was real, maybe it was an illusion. Maybe catastrophic loss changed things for the worse or perhaps it revealed a truth that was always there.

This particular Sunday was one of the most influential in my memory because of the sweet group of friends that continued to meet my family exactly where we were at. Their profound generosity and kindness shines brightly in my otherwise darkened memory: they provided for us for months. They gave sweet notes and gift cards that lasted until I returned back to work. The profound sadness and stress of losing my Momma was/is horrific to bear, but they eased that burden by ensuring that I did not need to worry about returning to work. I did not need to worry about what we would eat or how we would make it — they met those needs in the most incredible ways.

I think some supporters can feel an element of guilt because they are not sure how to support, nor do they feel that their support is enough, but support as detailed above enables more healing than supporters can imagine. People who acknowledge the loss, empathize with a griever’s perspective, and provide physical support for things we grievers can barely think about are earnest. There is nothing to be guilty about here, in fact, it’s something a griever cannot “repay.”

To a supporter, it may seem trivial that they had one honest and empathetic conversation or provided money towards a gift card or a meal while expecting nothing in return, but to a survivor this is the bread of life. This is the kindness that kept us from sinking, this is the provision that kept us eating, this is the support that allowed our mind to focus on healing from the loss instead of focusing on how we are going to afford to survive.

Kindness, compassion, and love change the world.

Kindness, compassion, and love nurture healing.

Above all, God is love.

* * * *

A deluge of questions barraged my mind back then. What was a flood dwindled to a trickle of ever-present drops of questions, much less intense but nevertheless constant. Healing harvests new worldviews, and these are my new perspectives on those old questions:

• Good fathers are supposed to protect their family. Why don’t you [God] protect mine? God is love. Love protects, but love cannot control all outcomes. My perspective on the idea that God “allows” certain outcomes was most challenged by Thomas Jay Oord’s book God Can’t, as I have previously mentioned. I believe that God gave people free will, and that people harm one another. In this specific case, it was my Momma who harmed our family [not God]. Individuals are accountable for their actions because of their free will. God is love, and love protects. If God could protect from this harm, He would.

• If Jesus is the abundant life, how could my mom die? She loved him. How much we love God and/or others does not cure, manage, or heal mental illness. People who love Jesus can be suicidal. People who love Jesus can be delusional. One’s love for God and other people is simply not enough to keep him or her alive. There is no relationship between theological beliefs and mental illness — belief or love of Jesus does not fix mental illness at all. In fact, people can put their entire hope and joy in heaven and begin to loathe this beautiful life they were given. I call this idea Christian Escapism: the belief that one’s life is altogether terrible and it would be better to unite with Christ in one’s idealized imagined heaven. Life is always a gift, life is always a blessing. We were not given the gift of life simply to die.

• If he [God] knew what Mom needed, why weren’t her needs met? Mom’s needs could have been met. She was an educated white woman in America, with more friends and connections that most people have in their lifetime. She had the resources available. She had the support available. She was capable of having her needs, whatever they were, met. Mental illness creates delusions — delusions that choices are limited, that life is altogether horrible, that our pain will always be all-consuming. It isn’t God’s fault that my Mother did not pursue life and healing, and I believe that it is as tragic to God as it is to us.

I do not fear what God allows anymore. I fear what man is capable of, and what man will choose to do with his or her freedom. I fear what people will do with their brokenness and hurt. I fear what people will do with their anger and frustration. Emotions offer so much insight into who we are as individuals: they reveal what is important to us and help us experience the fullness of life in its brevity and elation. They are a gift, but a gift that requires nurturing and tending. I fear what people will do when they do not tend to their emotions and when they do not pursue healing.

Daring to Live — Day 8: One Year Later

June 29, 2025

Funeral preparations cease but a few friends and family members from out of town remain close. Reality slowly creeps in as the whispers of finding a “new normal” lingers just around the corner. In a matter of days, most of the world will return to work while we begin to reorganize our lives.

My Daddy, of course, will have the most significant adjustment for his day-to-day life. Already, he sleeps without my Mom, but he has not had to experience a “typical” day without her. They were partners, they were friends, and they were lovers. I always thought they really would be that couple from The Notebook: I never thought this could happen.

Their relationship was an anchor in my life. They endured and overcame agonizing trauma together again and again and again, and they were the best of friends. Growing up, I always wanted a marriage like theirs. Since getting married, I still wanted a relationship like theirs! My marvelous husband and I watched their love for one another with reverence and admiration. They were such an amazing team. They loved being together and they loved each other well. It’s difficult not to be really angry with my mom when I think of their truly inspirational marriage… and then it’s really, really, really sad.

As my brother Luke reminded, my siblings and I had never known a world without Mom until eight days ago.

Rehabilitation — that’s the word that keeps bustling through my mind. Learning to live without Mom feels like rehabilitating back into normal society: walking, driving, talking, biking, writing, smiling, and so much more, feels so foreign and unnatural. I feel as though I can barely hold a thought or concept in my mind.

Denial persists more than anything right now, a dull ache thumps within me at all times, but most of the time I can’t believe my Mom’s gone and I can’t believe my mom left me feels like a distant thought and not an annihilating reality. My Momma, I still mumble in shock. Moments of mayhem pierce me to the core, preparing me for when the shock wears off and when I’ll have to truly face this menacing reality.

My Mom grounded and anchored my life, creating stability and safety. What now?

Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

I have provided many things not to say — all of which from comments multiple people have made, not just one-off comments as to not single anyone out — but there are so many good things people say as well.

“I’m sorry” feels like such a weak thing to say, but it encompasses a tremendous amount of emotion and care. The short phrase empathizes with the mourners and often creates an understanding between two hurting people.

Future Ways to Help

Small tasks are incredibly helpful — doing a load of laundry, wiping down a counter, calling to set up a dental appointment. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even remember to put a pair of shoes on – it’s invaluable to notice those little things that may be neglected and to help one another out.

We’re a grieving community, and we’ve got this 💙

June 29, 2026

What happens when you lose an anchor in your life?

You simply keep living, limping, breaking every day.

My parents had a beautiful marriage, and facing the world without their partnership in it is strange and unnerving.

I’m not sure if “new normal” ever actually arrives. There is nothing normal about my life and there never will be.

Losses like this aren’t normal. They are tragic. They take people’s breath away. No, I don’t believe “new normal” ever arrives. I think I simply keep on living in the liminal spaces, mind and heart forever fixated on what is and what was.

Two things can be true: I had a mother who loved me, and I had a mother who did the most unloving thing imaginable. She murdered. She killed. Not only herself, but her entire family unit.

My dad lost his wife. My siblings lost our mother. Our family, as we knew it, ceased to exist because she murdered it.

A year later, and most of the shock has worn off.

* * * *

It dawns on me how few people truly have compassion.

Everyone pities the griever, until he or she does something they disagree with.

Everyone claims to support, claims to be there, claims to honor, claims to befriend the griever… until the griever does something they cannot understand.

After that, other people’s feelings somehow become the griever’s fault.

It’s the griever who has to consider them.

It’s the griever who should have anticipated someone else else’s thought.

It’s the griever who should have considered everyone else before they choose to live their life.

We survivors have one responsibility: to survive. For suicide survivors, specifically, the risk of survival far outweighs the likelihood of their own suicide. In my family — with double suicides — we are more likely to kill ourselves than we are to life a full life and die a natural death.

When we choose to keep living, when we begin to find new life and try to start moving on, we are met with an anger. We are met with calloused behaviors if we aren’t moving on fast enough, and simultaneously we are met with silence and judgment when we dare to build a new life.

It’s impossible to be a griever. It’s impossible to be a supporter, too. Everyone gets it wrong. It’s such a sensitive area that both grievers and their supporters often unintentionally hurt each other and lack the grace and compassion to reach to the other side. This perpetuates immense pain and creates situations that grievers and supporters would not have seen coming.

My responsibility — and my father’s and my brother’s responsibility — is to live. My responsibility is to survive. My responsibility is to find new joy in life and to attempt to create a life that’s worth living, because the life that I was dealt by someone else’s choices isn’t worth it. The life my mother handed down to me, full of anguish and pain, isn’t worth living. It’s the life I dare to create and in wake of her decision that makes life worth living.

We are punished for grieving, and then we are punished for living.

We are punished if we do not seek healing, and then we are punished when our healing manifests in new ways that others were not ready to accept.

Supporting survivors requires more courage, more compassion, and more grace than many are even to provide. I do not fault anyone for their limits, but I do not understand when people choose to judge me or my family members for daring to live.

Life should be celebrated. Newness should be celebrated. Daring to live should be celebrated.

Shame and Stigma — Day 7: One Year Later

June 28, 2025

I’ve never appreciated the term “Celebration of Life,” but that’s exactly what we experienced today.

The sacred beauty of funerals presents itself in the friends who show up, the people who tune in, and the unique set of individuals determined to listen and observe the stories of a life once lived.

Today you found out how my mom died: you learned the news we wish we did not need to share. I hate that this is part of Mom’s story, and I hate that it is part of mine.

When I think back over the years, maybe every day we had with my mom since Patrick died was a miracle — maybe it was a miracle before even that. We’ll never know, and that’s severely painful.

I thought this past year was the best year of my life. I thought we were all having so much fun. It’s abysmally burdensome to reconcile, but I do know that multitudes of feelings may commingle — joy with sorrow, anger with relief, frustration with love.

As was said many times today, “May we never be defined by our worst moments.” My Momma was so beautiful, and she loved life, and she endured an unimaginable despair. Both were entirely true.

Thank you for my Momma’s beautiful Celebration of Life. She would have loved it 🩷

Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning — Specifically for Suicide Survivors

  1. If a cause of death is not published immediately, it is likely because it is due to a highly sensitive cause of death – such as suicide – It is rude to ask the family “What happened?” prior to the family’s announcement. Curiosity is natural, but respect the family when a cause of death is not mentioned.
  2. Do not ask someone how their loved one took their life. This is also quite rude and this information rarely helps.
  3. Do not ask if “foul play” was involved. Suicide is one of the harshest ways someone can die — a survivor of suicide wishes more than anything else that their loved one did not take their life.
  4. Do not ask if their loved one left a note.

Everyone wants to make sense of a horrible situation, but most questions of this nature are extremely insensitive to suicide survivors.

Future Ways to Help

Listen. Create a safe space for the wounded. A survivor may want to share details such as how their loved one died, this is a privilege and not a right. This sacred information should be honored with respect and reverence.

Reminder for the GoFund Me set up for my Daddy. Our family has an immense amount of trauma to rehabilitate from.

Thank you for loving my Momma 💙

June 28, 2026

I wrote in 2025 that Momma would have loved her celebration of life, but one of her alleged closest friends told us that Mom would have hated it because we evidentially chose the wrong speakers.

I had another family member tell me that it was absolutely horrible that they [who is they??] “forced” us to speak at the funeral. That family member insinuated that it was cruel to make us speak, but really all that the individual did was insult us.

To clarify, we actually did not choose any of the speakers other than my Mom’s boss at that time, but those that did speak did a beautiful job. We offered to allow anyone from Mom’s family to speak and to our food friends the Wallace’s. No one “forced” me and my siblings to speak… we wanted to honor my mom by telling the world about her.

Some have the luxury of not understanding what it’s like to survive suicide and/or traumatic loss — that’s a blessing, but it’s unfortunately a blessing that often causes people to become incredibly insensitive.

* * * *

I had no memory of which date my Mom’s funeral took place, but I suppose it must have been June 28th based on this post.

We held our breath, waiting for the world to discover that Mom took her life.

Suicide stigma prevents many families from sharing with the world the truth of their loved one’s death. When my brother Patrick died, my parents and siblings were instructed that we were not allowed to share with anyone that he committed suicide. This added an unbelievable amount of difficulty, shame, and confusion to an already awful situation.

When you do tell people the cause of death, the first question the majority ask is “Do you think it was murder?” because it’s terribly difficult to accept the betrayal, violence, and incongruity of suicide. This is an incredibly painful question because survivors, more than anything, wish their loved one died in any other way. It’s hard enough to comprehend the suicide, it’s even harder to explain to additional people that “no, it was not murder. It was suicide.”

I once heard that the book of Job was written to demonstrate that when catastrophic loss enters one’s life, a lot of people will come out of the woodwork to tell you their insensitive opinions. The idea makes me laugh, as only we survivors can understand.

* * * *

Shame and stigma is not talking about how she died.

Shame and stigma is blaming the survivors or any other organization connected to the one who died.

Shame and stigma is spreading gossip.

Shame and stigma is asking if it was murder.

Shame and stigma is saying “if [I or you] had done _____ differently, she would have lived.”

Shame and stigma is judging someone who expresses suicidal tendencies by saying he or she is “just saying that for attention.”

Shame and stigma is calling people with mental illness and/or experiencing trauma dramatic.

Shame and stigma is implying the family “should have seen the signs.”

Shame and stigma is treating the family differently because of the suicide.

Shame and stigma is comparing “normal” loss to suicide.

Shame and stigma is saying that prayer and time in God’s word will erase sadness, mental illness, and anxiety.

Shame and stigma is not acknowledging the complexity of suicide.

Shame and stigma is avoiding survivors to protect an organization’s reputation.

Shame and stigma is saying that God “allowed” or “ordained” this.

Shame and stigma is the workplace expecting survivors to return as “normal.”

Shame and stigma is sharing the police report.

Shame and stigma is community speculation about “what really happened.”

Shame and stigma is egotistical responses judging survivors for decisions made within the first days, weeks, and years of the death.

* * * *

Funerals are sacred. They require nearly as much planning as a wedding, in a fraction of the time, without true celebration: death isn’t meant to be rejoiced or celebrated. It is life that is a gift, and death that is cursed.

Funerals are sacred because they’re the closest we are to being between two realms — the realm of earth and life and all we know, and the realm of the unknown dead. Universes collide in this sacred space. A life is recognized, honored, and mourned.

May we commit to compassion towards losses we may never understand. May we forgive and show mercy to those who have harmed [intentionally or unintentionally] us.

Above all, may we love one another well.

May we fight to see another’s perspective, and may we honor how their experiences have affected them.

May we give grace upon grace upon grace, knowing that we too need grace and compassion every day.

The God who Heals — Day 6: One Year Later

June 27, 2025

This surreal week will haunt me for the rest of my life, and yet I’ll remember your kindness vividly in the days to come.

Love permeates everything and its warmth reaches my deep wounds. Tonight, I remember that the New Testament word “Salvation” is the same Greek/Hebrew word for “Healing”. Jehova-Rapha: The God who Heals, written throughout the Old Testament. The God who heals broken hearts and broken minds. The God who binds our wounds and holds us up. El Roi: The God who Sees. The God who sees me — who sees us in our pain.

I live amongst a community of mourners: I know you’re hurting too. I know you loved her, and I know it’s so hard to fathom life without her. She was such a light, such a joy, and so… “sparkly” as my Grandpa, my mom’s dad, described. I love it – she was so sparkly.

Life is so confusing right now. It still doesn’t feel real, until it hits and it hurts excruciatingly. I don’t want it to feel real, I don’t want it to be real. None of us do.

Thank you for being here, for watching, for reading. For holding my hand, playing with my hair, and hugging me. Thank you for loving my mom.

Be well tonight and get some rest 💙 Live loved.

June 27, 2026

The mind works restlessly to comprehend catastrophic loss. In early days and weeks — perhaps even months — after Mom died, I vividly dreamed of her but could not reach her. I knew she was dead during each dream, then I would wake up after a fitful hour or two of sleep and blankly stare into the darkness

Those memories haunt.

We became a community of mourners that day, ever changed by a choice we were powerless control.

Kindness powerfully redeems and heals wounded hearts and minds, but individuals must take ownership of their healing.

Admitting sadness isn’t enough. Admitting depression and anxiety isn’t enough. Admitting isolation isn’t enough. It’s a massive step in the right direction, as many [like my Momma] refuse to admit or acknowledge it to begin with, but saying it aloud isn’t enough to heal someone.

Coming to terms with the reality of one’s own mental fragility can be incredibly painful, vulnerable, dark, and frightening. Yet it is in this darkness that seeds of healing begin to grow when watered with kindness and compassion.

I have been amazed at people’s kindness and cruelty amidst this horror, but I believe that there have been far more kind actions than actions meant to harm. It’s unfortunate that the cruel actions cause such rippling dramas, but it is the compassion that acts as a raft to carry us through.

He is the God who heals and the God who sees, and this healing and seeing often comes from people who peer into our lives to offer compassion.

Thank you for joining me on this lonely and isolating journey, and making me feel less alone 💙

God Can’t — Day 5: One Year Later

June 26, 2025

I’m 27 years old: I thought my family was supposed to be growing at this point in my life, not shrinking, but I’ve lost a brother, a mother, and we can’t get pregnant. We’ve been “trying” for two years now, for all you well-intended people that keep telling us we need to have kids. I don’t like to talk about it, it’s deeply personal. But today? It’s just another wound in a long list of hurts.

It’s hard to trust God in times like these — life can be so cruel, and this feels devastatingly horrific. I see the support of God in the provision for my family, in the food at our table, in our ability to have my remaining living family here, in the friends that hold us, clean for us, and provide for us. The support is palpable, but it’s still hard to trust God. I so often say “I know God can do anything, but I am also vividly aware of what he will allow.” Here we are again, harrowing in what God will allow.

Our table felt so small after Patrick died. Our immediate family of six became a family of five, and now our family of five becomes a family of four. Oh but wait! “They’re always with you!” No, there’re not in the empty chair. It’s still just as painful without them in it. When I was a child, I used to think families of four were so little. Family of four? We had four kids in ours! And it was loud. Now, it’s so quiet. So somber. So mournful. It should be — we loved our Mommy.

It’s so tense and so stressful and so sad. A myriad of emotions waiting to burst from our eyes or escape from our lips.

Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

Just… be so gracious. As you can read, I’m a little snippy today. I need a lot of grace. Don’t be surprised if someone deep in mourning gets a little snippy with you. It’s not you, it’s all we’ve got going on.

I know many of you reading this are likewise deep in mourning — be gracious with yourself and with your family. I’m sorry if those around you haven’t experienced much grief — it’s incredibly hard to fathom a grieving mind if you haven’t experienced a deep personal loss.

Future Ways to Help

Lawncare: My parents’ have a beautiful lawn, with gorgeous trees and plants. A lawncare service would be very helpful. Beyond a lawncare service, weeds grow so fast here — if you drop by, maybe scan the lawn before coming inside and pick some weeds if you are willing and able to.

Gift cards: Right now we have plenty of food, but in a few months, making dinner every night will feel overwhelming.

Any little act of service helps. All those small little normal tasks feel like such monstrous feats when your heart is hurting.

If you can’t physically help but still want to do something, please consider the GoFund Me: https://gofund.me/6617c101

Thank you, immensely, for everyone who has shown up to help, who has given, and who has prayed. Every little bit helps 💙

June 26, 2026

I’ve pretty much given up hope that our family will grow.

I think many people dream of a family to heal the wounds they inherited from their family of origin. I dream of being a mother who watches her children grow old with my husband, and a mother whose children grow up and live full lives — my dream is the bare minimum — I just want everyone to live. But thus far, it isn’t possible for me to create life, let alone sustain it.

* * * *

My mindset about what God “allows” significantly shifted after reading Thomas Jay Oord’s God Can’t. Christians often acknowledge God’s limits (ie: he cannot sin, lie, manipulate, etc), but seldom do many apply this to what God can and cannot allow. Man cannot have free choice if all his actions are predetermined by an outside source.

I believe that God gave life, life in abundance, and life in fullness. What some have done with life is heartbreaking, but I do not blame God for that anymore — I blame people.

People, in need of desperate grace. People, in need of radical compassion. People, in need of healing.

Details of Death — Day 4: One Year Later

June 25, 2025

My mind is… occupied. Lots of people coming into town, lots of arrangements to be made, lots of logistics to coordinate, lots of thoughts to think.

I started to get snippy today and short-tempered. I don’t like that, but thankfully I have a lot of wonderfully gracious people to talk things out with.

There are so many details in death. I feel so much older than I am.

Be in the youngest in my family, I will likely be involved in the funeral planning of the majority of my family, so I guess I am really learning how to do this by myself one day. I just hope it’s not anytime soon.

Anxiety starts to mature within me. Who’s next? I ponder as I look around our table. It’s scary.

I’ve been here before — it provides a nice kind of structure of what I think the mourning process will be like over the next few months, but it also brings a sickening dread — How much will it all hurt when everyone leaves and life goes back to “normal”?

I miss my mom. Sometimes it’s a searing pain, sometimes it’s a dull ache. It will be like that forever.

Thank you to everyone who has reached out — I have an abundance of messages I cannot keep up with, but I do enjoy reading them and appreciate your encouragement and support. I read them in small doses when I want a distraction.

Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

Saying “Your mom is always with you,” is not helpful. Perhaps it will be in the future, but in the first few days it’s more of a reminder of the chasm between my life and my mom’s death.

June 25, 2026

I’ve mostly accepted the fact that my youth died ages ago. I don’t ever remember feeling young, but these deaths make me feel half a century older than I am.

I remember watching Patrick [high] in a hospital bed, crying alone and thinking how much that had aged me. I felt much closer to fifty than to twenty-one.

Then Mom died, and I feel older and older and older.

I’ve never been “young and full of energy.”

It feels like I never experienced youth, and now I’m starting to age out of it anyway.

My sweet friend Lauren left me this basked on June 25 last year. She flew into town immediately, and she and our friends Gabi and Laura Kate provided the gifts.

There is no sweeter gift than showing up for one’s friend, physically or emotionally, during crisis and suffering. These little things imprint on one’s heart and ease the endless ache.

June 2026

“I’m Sorry to Pry” — Day 3: One Year Later

June 23, 2026

Tired. So tired.

It’s a liminal space where days flow together and nights seem endless due to the lack of sleep. I fall asleep, I wake up, I cry, I fall back asleep, I wake up, I cry… and the cycle repeats.

Thankfully, I began counseling/therapy at the beginning of the year to handle past trauma I felt safe enough to revisit, including the suicide of my oldest sibling. Ironically, I told my therapist a few weeks ago that I thought I was ready to “graduate” from therapy – she agreed. And then… this.

She scheduled me immediately for a session this morning and we cried as I detailed her the reality and my experience. It was freeing to lay it all out in the open, but the void my mother left will always be there — my life has changed forever.

My entire [living] immediate family is together, and together feels good. It brings drops of happiness where an ocean of sorrow surrounds us.

We sifted through hundreds of photos, both digital and encased in beautiful photo albums my mom made. We crafted an obituary. We played in the pool. We cried. We talked. We mourned.

I can’t thank you enough, reader, supporter, friend. We have had such phenomenal support. Close friends and family have gone above and beyond. I can’t thank my husband enough, though he too is deep in mourning, he is so attentive, kind, and sensitive to whatever I need.

For those asking how to support us, Carrie created a GoFund Me for my Daddy: https://gofund.me/350f5f59

I am grateful a lot, I am hurting a lot.

Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

If you have to start a sentence with “I’m sorry to ask you this,” or “I’m sorry to pry, but…” do us both a favor and don’t ask that question. That’s your conscious telling you that, yes, it is an inappropriate question to ask.

June 23, 2026

Ugh. Exhaustion remains daily now, no matter how much sleep I get.

In the first few months, it felt like I would never get a solid night of sleep again. The mind races and races and races until pure exhaustion… and then dreams of the departed haunt what little sleep prevails. Tears occasionally greet me when I lay down or when I wake up, but not like they did back then.

Experiencing therapy amidst grief revolutionizes the experience. I have been able to do miraculous work towards healing, acceptance, and loving despite the abandonment I’ve faced.

Many people asked insensitive questions back there, and many people shared sensitive information. I’ve written copiously of the damage that inflicted/continues to inflict. We naturally curious beings sometimes cannot discern when our curiosity harms another.

Being together was the one ray of sunshine back then. I’m grateful for the times we have been able to be together since then, too.