Those hours before I planted one last kiss on my son’s forehead, I held his hand.   I nodded at the people filing past to pay their respects with my arm tucked behind me, desperate to cling to my child. And I’m still clinging.   I will not let him go.   I don’t care how many days or months or years march on taking me further from the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand or the brightness of his smile-I refuse to release my grasp.

I’m learning to stand up and speak my truth even when others don’t understand it. None of us chose to be bereaved parents.

when my son died suddenly in an accident and a deputy came to my door,  it changed me.  It modified who I am and who I will be.

It is neither helpful nor healthy to pretend that sorrow and sadness don’t follow loss.  

Joy and sorrow both dwell in my soul and I cannot reveal one and hide the other.  I may laugh and cry in the same moment.

Change is hard on everyone. But it's harder if you don't have important conversations.

Here are seven practical ways to minister to your grieving friends this Christmas.

It's normal that Dominic is less and less a part of his friends lives over time. But it still hurts...

I don't have to meet a timetable or get anyone's approval. It's my journey and baby steps count!

Child loss is hard. Child loss is not "curable" or "solvable" and it's not helpful to pretend it is.

Grief means there is already a low-level hum of background stress every. single. day.

If you can’t do it all, do something. And celebrate.