I am planning my wedding without you. And, it’s so many exciting things. So many exciting things that so many have done before us: planning our bridal parties, buying rings, writing vows, dress shopping, choosing who we want to be there on our big day, thinking about our future, thinking about family and how it is when we’re all together. It’s also full of grief, and missing you and thinking about the relationship we had and could’ve and would’ve had, as adults, today.

As the call ended, my stepmom desperately repeated, “Are you going to come? Are you going to come?” I had just learned that my dad died from a cardiac event. In my utter disbelief and heartache, I began to form a list of tasks, one being getting a flight to Houston. I was going to come, and without really realizing it, I was also going to bury myself in tasks.       

On December 16, 2025, I had the opportunity to speak on behalf of HeartLight at our annual Holiday Love and Light Remembrance Event, held in partnership with Daniels Family Funerals–Carlisle Chapel, and to share the following remarks. I wanted to offer these words to you as you navigate your own journey, wherever you may be.

So many “first times” and each one touching me so deeply. How many more similar experiences await me as I travel this path of grief after your loss? Although I know that “first times” are only “first” once, I fear that the second or third or tenth times may be just as unsettling.

Death is a scary word to many whom have never experienced it before and until it occurs in your family or even community we tend to disconnect from the idea. I found myself in shambles when death impacted my family, unable to pick up the pieces of my mind as I was in shock and unable to picture what my future would look like without my father in it. It is funny how a singular person’s presence missing can alter your brain chemistry so rapidly. It almost feels as if your body and mind separate and you disconnect from reality.

How I’m coping with what would have been our 50th anniversary and the first year of his passing: I did my own ritual starting with wearing his crucifix, taking deep breaths, reading this quote out loud…

This experience made me realize that comedy can evoke a surprising mix of emotions. There were moments when he focused on his family, using his wife and children to illustrate his long-suffering trials and frustrations to get a laugh. While his observations on family life were funny, having just lost my husband—the love of my life for almost 50 years—I could not help but think that I would have given anything to have him back by my side, even for a fleeting moment. We could have been laughing together, enjoying the show, regardless of our personal foibles and his serious medical challenges over the years. This experience showed me that comedy, especially when it touches on the everyday details of life, can bring bittersweet reminders of a love that is now gone.

Four years. Nearly four years. The calendar pages fly by in a blur. Am I awake? Asleep? – Expressive writing such as poetry can help to identify, express, place and hold feelings and experiences related to grief, read more of Jessica’s poem.

Because I know this loss very intimately, professionally and personally, I deeply appreciate how much it means to have a time to connect, remember, and share with others who have been on a similar journey. The upcoming Summer Remembrance for Alzheimer’s and Dementia is a space to remember and honor your person. Whatever your journey and your person’s journey looked like, you are invited to attend the space to memorialize them.

A story was shared with us that felt too kind not to pass along.

The eight-year-old niece of Genna Reeves, our community liaison in New Mexico, created step-by-step drawing instructions for sea creatures. Her simple hope was to give them to anyone who is grieving, to help them feel “less sad”—especially for those quiet, sleepless hours.

It is a small gift from a pure heart. A quiet reminder that you are thought of with great kindness. We invite you to give these instructions a try and create a sea creature of your very own.

Grief during adolescence somehow becomes an adult of its own. Experiencing loss at a young age has had a profound impact on who I have become today. As a teenager, you are just trying to discover who you are, and after experiencing loss I never thought I would grow to be anything more than mournful. My Daddio died in May 2014.

Shortly after my dear, sweet husband died suddenly last year, I resurrected the following rhyming poem I had written to kickstart me on the second half of my life (as long as medical science cooperates until I reach the ripe old age of 148 years). Hopefully, it will be just as jam-packed as our marriage was, with all kinds of new and thrilling adventures, similar to the life that we shared for almost 50 years together…a true remembrance of my husband’s spirit.

First step alone, letting go, embracing the unknown: each action requiring conscious effort when grief, sadness or mourning create the texture of your life for such a long time. So often a day without persistent sadness seems to be followed by two or more days with pain and hold no moments of contentment or relief.

Facilitating a support group provides me with the chance to witness incredible courage and strength in those who are grieving. When I consider the fact that here are survivors of one of the most, if not the most, tragic event in their lives, coming together with people they probably have never met and sharing their deepest grief, is truly amazing. Whether their loss was one month, one year, or ten years ago, they are showing tremendous courage in opening their hearts to others.

November is Hospice Appreciation Month. I have reflected on what that really means, to me, as a former hospice professional. It was an honor to work with families. It was a privilege to enter sacred space when someone was in their final weeks, days, hours and moments of life. I didn’t feel like I needed appreciation for holding sacred space and being a guest in each space I entered.

We are now friends, fyi. We’re in a club that no one wants to be part of. But I’m glad to call you a friend, for what it’s worth. Thanks for being here (even though neither of us want to be). Imagine I’m giving you a hug right now… because I know I need one, and can only imagine that you do too.

Dear Sue, Where and how do I begin to tell you what lives in my heart? I have let the music play right now as it did for the last year as we would sit together reading while you napped. I knew the rest was good for you and could never waken you before your eyes would open and smile at me. After the stem cell transplant, you never regained your weight, you never regained your energy, you never lost your bright smile or spirit to live. You endured so much to let me have all of the days possible with you.

My mom and I were best friends; best friends that fought and handled our emotions very differently but still…best friends. I will never forget the day she died. The phone call, the rush home, not making it in time, and the haze of the following weeks, and months. Death is so sudden, one minute she was here on this earthly plane with me and the next she wasn’t. She was gone and I was left to piece together a world without her. A world I still can’t figure out.

Researchers describe this process as “Growing Around Grief,” suggesting that grief evolves rather than diminishes over time. This model shows that grief becomes a part of our lives, integrating into our being as we develop new skills and relationships. This model emphasizes that grief doesn’t fade but becomes part of our broader life journey, allowing for joy, creativity, and new memories while honoring our loss.

While it is different to meet via Zoom – there aren’t the same social openings before a group or the “parking lot conversations” after a group like in an in-person setting – but there is still deep connection and support that can be established in the online space. It is an honor to be of support to others in this way, and I can’t help but marvel at how we can reach each other despite great distances during times when support is needed most.