My journey to becoming a grief coach has, like many of yours, been beyond unexpected. When I say I have stood at the doorway of grief more times than I care to remember, it’s not just a phrase — it’s a reality I know all too well. 💔
In January of 2011, I lost my beloved husband, Nick, to a cancer relapse after 22 years together. The loss was staggering, leaving behind a void in my soul that only time, faith, and love could begin to hold. 🙏
But almost a year before Nick passed, my journey through grief began with the loss of my mother.
A little about her… 💖 My mom was the true picture of a Southern belle — full of grace, grit, and quiet strength. Always put together, never leaving the house without her hair and makeup done just right (a trait I did not inherit!). 💄👠
She built a life for herself after leaving her small country town, heading to the big city, and working hard until she retired from BellSouth. 📞
She survived a long, abusive marriage, endured the unimaginable loss of her 18-month-old daughter, Amy 👼, and overcame a devastating motorcycle accident that left her an amputee — learning to walk again with a prosthetic. Through it all, she never lost her faith or her spirit. ✝️💪
One of the things I’m most grateful for is that my mom took me to church — even if some Sundays it was with me kicking and screaming. 😅⛪
Growing up as an only child, it was just the two of us most of the time, and she loved dressing me up in frilly little dresses and taking me to a sweet, tucked-away church at the end of a long dirt road. I still remember the peace of that place — especially the little lake beside it where people would gather to be baptized. 🌊
Every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday evening — we were there. Just me and her. 👩👧
At the time, I didn’t fully understand it. But now, I see how sacred those moments were. That quiet rhythm of worship and togetherness rooted something deep in me. It anchored my heart to the love of God in ways I didn’t recognize then — but I hold onto now with such deep gratitude. 🌷
Those memories are more than nostalgia… they’re part of the foundation of who I am.
She faced every trial with courage and grace. She’ll always be one of the strongest women I’ve ever known. 💪❤️
But on March 21, 2009, that changed. In a quiet hospital room, with my then, 15-year-old son Aaron, my husband Nick, and myself by her side, my mother took her final breath. In that moment, I felt only overwhelming sorrow — the kind that crashes over you like a wave you didn’t see coming. 🌊💔
But in the months and years that followed, as I began to heal, I came to understand something profound.
What I first saw as a moment of unbearable sadness was also a sacred honor. 🌿 My mother — who gave me life — left this world with her daughter, her grandson, and her son-in-law beside her. I was there to hold her hand, to whisper love and prayers, to witness her final breath.
She brought me into this world, and I was given the holy privilege of being there when she left it. ✨
She was only 62 years old. Too young. Too soon. But her legacy of love, resilience, and quiet strength still speaks to me in moments I need it most. 🕊️
Grief doesn’t always come with clarity. Sometimes, it’s only when we look back that we see the grace hidden in our hardest moments.
That day in the hospital is now one of the most sacred memories I hold. 🫶
To those of you who are grieving — whether it’s your mother, your partner, or someone else deeply loved — I want to remind you:
💞 The presence of love doesn’t end with loss.
🌟 It lives on in the quiet moments, the memories, the legacy, and in the way we continue to show up — day by day.
Your grief is sacred.
Your love is eternal.
And your story — no matter how heavy it feels today — is still unfolding with hope. 💫
