A New Year Fully Human

“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 tradition to meet my grief?

Cognitively, I always knew their words were never meant to dismiss my sorrow. Still, they landed like an unexpected sting—brief, sharp, and hard to ignore.

This year, something shifted. The sting faded. What I had always understood intellectually began to settle into me emotionally and somatically: no one can—or should—be expected to intuit my pain or anticipate my needs. I honored my feelings including my need to pause or my heart’s turning inward. I allowed grief to become my teacher, not my bodyguard. I took responsibility for naming what needed to be named. I responded with words that felt true. And sometimes, that was simply, “You too.”

In that gentler relationship, grief showed me that joy and heartbreak can share the same breath—and that receiving love doesn’t require the day to be happy, only human. Every “Happy New Year” I received came from a sincere place, an offering of connection spoken in the only language available. And was that not a wish I could finally receive with an open heart?

Over the past five years, I’ve found that every time I choose to reach out—to be vulnerable, open, real, and raw—I am met with more kindness and compassion than I ever imagined. From family. From friends. From strangers. And in receiving it, I feel called to return it with gratitude. The exchange keeps moving, like waves meeting the shore and rolling back to sea—an endless current of connection and love.

That kindness, and those joyful wishes, have drawn me into deeper connection—with spirit, with love, and even with my son.

I spent New Year’s Day in ritual, as I have each year since Graham’s death. I returned to Blue Heron Park, the place where my son transitioned to spirit, to honor him and to hold sacred ceremony. With dozens of bouquets generously gifted by a compassionate Trader Joe’s manager, I created multiple spontaneous offerings—flowers laid with intention, love made visible.

I remembered. I journaled. I reflected on it all—the pain and the beauty. I spoke to Graham. I sang to him. I sat on his memorial bench, sat where he last sat, and traced my fingers over his name carved into the tree nearby. Ritual transformed the day. It made it sacred—and in doing so, it made space for happiness.

When I returned home, I found myself considering whether to cut away the piece of wood bearing Graham’s name. It was beginning to fade, to soften, to rot. My instinct was to preserve it, to hold on. But when I shared the thought with my eldest son, he offered this wisdom:“Why not leave it and let it age with the tree itself? It helped in his recovery from the lake. There’s beauty and honor in leaving it there.”

Immediately, I knew he was right. Allowing the carving to weather with the tree honored nature’s way—its cycles, its patience, its truth. And in that reflection, something deeper revealed itself—the need to honor grief’s way. That urge to preserve, to cling, is part of grief—the part that wants to hold on and never let go.

Some things are meant to be held forever: the love, the memory, the essence of who Graham is, and even certain objects that seem carry his spiritual energy. But some things must be allowed to age, to soften, to fade in their own divine timing. One day, that tree may rot and fall. The wood holding Graham’s name may return to the lake, absorbed into the very waters that received his body. And there is beauty in that, too.

As the New Year begins, I wish you happiness. I open-heartedly receive your wishes of happiness. And if you are called to ritual and witness as you process what you want to hold of your grief and what you want to soften, please consider joining us for 

The Sacred Journey With Grief Retreat, February 8–15, 2026. As your guides prepare, a deep sense of blessing and healing spirit is already present.

A truly special group is coming together for this journey, and we are also holding space for a scholarship recipient who could not otherwise participate. If your heart feels moved, a gift of any amount would be received with profound gratitude. The ripple of such generosity, like the tide, reaches far beyond what we can see—it is sacred in itself.

A few spots remain. Registration has been extended through January 6, 2026!

With all love and blessing, I wish you an authentic, heartfelt, and Happy New Year.

Retreat Registration ends January 6th, 2026!

Please reach out for your discount code and ➡️ discovery call.  

OR if you would like to contribute to a scholarship for those in need, please click here for more information ➡️ Sponsor a Griever

If you would like to apply for our grief scholarship please do so here ➡️ Grief Scholarship Application

Because support should never be out of reach.