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The days of this past week have felt sacred to me. Each day marked a five-year anniversary, leading up to the day when we located and retrieved Graham’s body from the frozen lake through which he’d fallen on New Year’s Day. We could finally say goodbye. The presence of those anniversaries—all thirty-eight days of them-- has been palpable. Each year, it has felt as though my body knew before my mind did—carrying the memory somatically, long before I named it. The body truly ke

We often associate grief with the profound emotions that follow the death of someone  we love. While this is certainly one of the most obvious forms of grief, grief is far more expansive. It can live quietly within us through countless other moments and losses or scream for attention at the most unexpected times. One loss may awaken the emotions of another that has been lying dormant for years. The Conscious Grieving™ model identifies five specific forms of grief, each of w

This is a poignant time for me. For thirty-eight days, from January 1-- the day my son Graham went missing, and we later learned, the day he fell through the frozen lake-- until February 7, when we ultimately located and retrieved his body, I mark each 5-year anniversary with ritual and remembrance. January 20 was the day my friend Heather prayed with me for Graham to be found. I had nearly canceled, but something—or someone—told me I needed to be there. It feels like mystery

Countless times over the past five years, I’ve asked myself,  Where is my light?  Yes, I’ve been grieving. Yes, everything shifted after my son Graham died. But wasn’t I still the same person? Didn’t I still possess that lightheartedness, that humor, that instinct to savor—or create—moments worth savoring, just as my beloved dad had taught me? I noticed the zip was missing. Joy no longer arrived as easily. There were still moments of beauty and gladness, but the texture of ev

Many of us enter the new year with resolutions — promises to do more of this or less of that. But what if, instead, we welcomed the year with the intention of  being  more fully? Of inhabiting our lives more completely — showing up as our fullest, truest selves, present with both our joy and our heartbreak. What if we allowed grief to be a teacher, a sacred and wise guide, rather than something to escape or quickly replace? Setting the intention to  be  fully shifts the energ

“Happy New Year” — words I’ve struggled to receive for the past four years.  Happy?  This date marks the saddest day of my life. It is the day my son died. What the world celebrates as a beginning is, for me, a day forever shaped by loss. For the last five years, those well-intended wishes landed painfully. I carried unwelcome resentment—even toward innocent strangers offering kindness--but how could they know? And even if they did, how could they possibly rewrite an age-old

This New Year’s Day marks the five-year anniversary of my son Graham’s death. Though I feel I have worked through this loss cognitively, emotionally, and spiritually, it continues to reside in my body. Grief, I’m increasingly realizing, is not only something we understand and process—it is something we carry. The recent windstorms in Boulder County made this especially clear. In an already tender season, the intensity of the winds heightened emotions and stirred anxiety, acti

As the holidays rush in, busyness can often overshadow our grief. In that distraction, we may assume we are better—and at times, we may be. But what does  better  really mean? If our grief is merely quieted, rather than honored and attended to, it often resurfaces in unexpected ways—leaving us shattered and questioning whether the joy we felt was truly joy at all. When grief is honored in all its depth and capacity, joy can coexist with it. Joy does not bury our grief; it su

What is it about the holidays that sets in motion a force so determined to unearth our grief? Even when we believe we’re prepared—when we’ve done what we can to be with it, tend to it, honor it—we still hope, on some level, that we’ve contained it. Wrapped it up neatly. Tucked it away like the other packages under the tree. And then something as simple and well-intended as “Happy Holidays” can tear that ribbon clean off. In an instant, you’re knocked off center. Emotions surg

One holiday down, and more still ahead.  “Thank goodness Thanksgiving is over,”  some of us say. For many who are grieving, this season becomes something to endure rather than enjoy. The bright celebrations around us can make our sorrow feel even heavier, intensifying the ache of gratitude we’re “supposed” to feel. And the quick leap into the Christmas spirit—the lights, the cheer, the insistence on joy—can feel impossibly out of reach. Grief heightens everything—old wounds,

This week, from miles away, I joined via Facebook Live in the funeral service for Meshack Yahani Eliah—a man I’d only met a handful of times. I cried along with his family and friends, mourning as I joined in prayerful songs sung in a language I do not speak or understand. I met Meshack perhaps five times over about fifteen years of visits to Chaa Creek in Belize. It’s fair to say we didn’t know each other well. He was a nature guide there, and if I was lucky, I might have jo

Honoring Grief's Sacred Rhythm.   As winter comes and daylight dims, the call inward grows strong. Yet, as the holidays approach, our culture beckons us outward. For those of us who have lost a loved one, this time of year can bring a heightened alertness. Our nervous systems begin preparing for what we know will amplify our pain. These alerts can show up in countless ways—sometimes subtle, sometimes overwhelming, and often without our full awareness. I recently came upon wor

I’ve never been a big fan of Halloween. The monsters, skeletons, and witches scare me, and I dislike seeing our children bombarded with candy and sugar. But that’s the commercialism. I was missing the deeper point.   Lisa, who is guiding our upcoming Sacred Journey With Grief Retreat (February 8-15, 2026) with Jess and me, has helped me to see this season differently. Her words below have inspired a more meaningful perspective.   The change in seasons is palpable. The harvest

In some ways the more time passes after the death of a loved one, the harder things become. The rituals begin to fade. People’s expectations shift. And even if we believe our loved ones are “well” in spirit, the newness of that understanding begins to fade. As time moves on, friends and family often feel they shouldn’t bring it up . But  it  is always up for those left behind.   I remembered one family gathering over a holiday break sometime after my son Graham’s death. Thou

"Enlightenment is ineffable. The closest we can come to that state of being is  when we are living in truth and living in love." Sasha B.  One of my favorite yoga teachers recently spoke the above words that landed deeply. It had never occurred to me until that moment that deep, real, raw grief is enlightenment. When we live in raw grief, we live in truth. When we grieve deeply, we are living in love. It is only because of the depth of that love that we grieve at all. Authent

"Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation." ~ Rumi. Grief needs witness. Grief needs ritual. Grief needs outlets—again and again, in many forms, across time. In Western culture, a Celebration of Life or funeral service can bring deep comfort. Yet for many, those moments arrive while we are still in shock, utterly depleted from planning and decision-making. And too often, that is w

In February of 2025, just four years following my son Graham’s transition to the other side, I was led by my friend Heather to watch the documentary “Life with Ghosts.” Heather was, not so coincidentally, the same friend who led me to psychic-medium Kelle Sutliff, after weeks of “not knowing,” when Graham went missing on New Year’s Day in 2021. Kelle was the psychic through whom Graham worked to lead us to find his body 38 days after his death on New Year’s Day. His communica