Learning from Grief

There’s been a lot of conversation lately about parenting styles—helicopter parents, snowplow parents, concierge parents. Different names, same idea: hovering, fixing, stepping in early, smoothing the path so our kids don’t have to struggle. At the same time, we’re seeing a real shift in kids’ mental health. As Jonathan Haidt outlines in The Anxious Generation, kids today are growing up with less independence in the real world and more exposure to high-pressure digital enviro

Say something. Anything. You might feel like you don’t know what to say—but silence can be more painful than imperfect words. Call, text, or write. Start with: “I’m so sorry.” or “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.” Even that is enough. ​ Share a memory of their child. When a child dies, no new memories will be made. So the ones you hold are precious. Tell them something beautiful or funny you remember—especially something they may not have known. ​ Say how special thei

From one grieving parent to the friends and family who want to help ​ When my son William died, I learned quickly that grief doesn’t care about distance. Whether you live down the street or across the country, your love still matters. And when you feel helpless, unsure of what to say or do, please know: there are ways to show up, even from afar. Here’s what I want you to know, from the heart of someone living this every day. ​ Don’t wait for perfect words—just say something.

What grieving parents wish you understood When a child dies, there is something most people don’t see. It’s not visible. It ’s not loud. But it is always there. We are carrying it. The luggage. The weight. The love and grief that now live side by side. And I want to be clear—this is not a burden we resent. We want to carry it. We are honored to carry it. Because it’s all we have left to hold. But it is heavy. After the funeral, something shifts. The casseroles stop coming. T