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My husband and I are still learning how to walk through the world as parents of three children — one of whom is not alive. We are still hashing out how to understand each other in this new identity. How to carry our grief. When to disclose it. Whether to present it immediately to the stranger across from us at a dinner party… or hold it quietly in our own chest. I lean toward disclosure. Almost immediately. If I’m in a new conversation and someone asks about my kids, I want t

or, how to make a quilt from grief There is a new fabric that gets woven into a mother the day her child dies. But if I’m honest, it was being woven long before that. From the very beginning, our children are not separate from us. Science tells us that fetal cells cross the placenta and remain in a mother’s body for decades. Decades. Pieces of our children live inside our bloodstream, our organs, our bones. We carry them in ways we cannot see. And then there is the carrying w

If you are a parent who has lost a child, you learn quickly that the internet can be cruel. And not just the internet. Sometimes it’s acquaintances. Sometimes extended family. Sometimes people who believe they are being “helpful.” “You shouldn’t have let him ski.” “You should have been right behind him.” “You should have seen the signs.” “You should have known.” “You should have done something differently.” The “shoulds” come fast. And they cut deep. I have yet to meet a bere

We often talk about grief as if it happens in a single moment. The moment your person stops breathing. The moment everything changes. And yes, there is that moment. But grief does not end there. Sometimes grief begins long before death, when someone is sick and you watch them slowly fade. You grieve while they are still alive, quietly and privately, while still hoping and loving at the same time. Then there is the immediate aftermath. The days when people show up with food an