Living in the After

How to Support a Community When Safety Shatters and Grief Takes Hold

These last few days have felt like years for so many of us.

For those in our WBYC community who may not know, my home community of Concord-Carlisle has suffered a devastating loss. On Monday, four Concord-Carlisle High School seniors were involved in a tragic car crash while on vacation in Florida. Three young lives were lost, and one student remains in critical condition.

This is a tremendous loss—not just for a few families, but for our entire community. The effects of these deaths will ripple through our towns for months and years to come.

As a bereaved mom, I find myself sitting with so many feelings about what is happening—and what is yet to come. I have walked this path—the abyss where these bereaved families now find themselves. I know the darkness they are facing. And I want to say, clearly: this space is awful. It is harrowing. It is lonely. It is profoundly heartbreaking.

And yet, even in this darkest place, love has a way of helping us take the first small steps toward healing. We must honor the deep sadness that surrounds us. We must hold each other up, with tenderness and vigilance, so that none of us falls too far. We must check in on our friends and neighbors—not just once, but often, and without waiting to be asked. We must be especially patient and invested in our children—the friends, classmates, and teammates of those who have died. The safe, stable world they knew just last week has been shattered. It will take time—weeks, months, maybe years—for them to find a sense of solid ground again.

I believe we are up to the enormous task ahead. I believe this because I experienced it firsthand after my son William died in 2019. The love and support our family received from our community was staggering. And six years later, that support has never left us.

I believe in the power of this incredible community to hold each other up again now. This will be a collective grief. We will all feel it. And we will carry it together—with honor, with grace, and with fierce love for the children we have lost.

As we walk this long road of restoration, please remember: our words matter. Especially for the families now living in a world without their children.

Please don't say, "there are no words." There are words. And we must find them. We must say: This is terrible. This is horrific. This is wrong. This is heartbreaking. We must name the grief. We must speak the truth.

Many people are tempted to call this kind of loss "unimaginable." But we must imagine it. We must stretch ourselves into that painful space—not to compare, not to claim it as our own—but to build empathy. Because if we can imagine it, even briefly, we can offer real, courageous compassion to those who are now living it. If we dare to imagine the pain, we can show up more fully. We can build connection. And we can help grieving families feel less isolated, less invisible, less alone.

We are in this together.Let’s walk forward with tenderness, honesty, and love. We will carry this grief together—one step, one breath, one broken-hearted act of love at a time. We don't need to have all the answers. But we do need to show up, speak truth, and hold each other through what comes next.