Grief Digest Articles

Living life without your child is like falling, quite by accident, into a deep, dark well in the wee hours of the morning. At first your entire body is underwater. You can’t breathe. But that’s okay, because if you don’t breathe, you will die. You’re not sure you want to live anyway. After all, dying means you will be with your child. Then, without willing it, your body’s natural buoyancy brings your head above the water. It’s your body’s survival-mode kicking in. You’re able to breathe, but tr …

Several years ago after the death of a dear friend, I experienced a "broken" heart--a pain in my heart that I was sure would never heal. The pain was so intense that I truly understood what it meant to have a broken heart. I felt like I had a huge hole in my heart, and I couldn't believe how painful that hole was. In addition to my own experience of a broken heart, I have worked with several grieving clients who talked about the pain in their hearts and we connected when I not only understood …

The voice of silence is all around us—it is rooted in the pain from the loss of our son and brother, Nathan. It is the silence of sorrow in our home because one of our sons is gone, and it is the silent voice of the sudden, quiet expression that comes over a person’s face when we merely say his name. We see and feel his loss every time we participate in a celebration, a cookout, a graduation, an accomplishment by his brother or cousins reaching some milestone of their lives. We feel the los …

Dr. Susan Adams, Licensed Professional CounselorThe corona virus brings fear and death to every continent and every country. It has bound all of humanity in two common goals – finding a cure and stopping the spread! Retail stores, restaurants, businesses, educational systems, hospitals, and even worship experiences have all had their daily normal replaced by a “new normal” of isolation that is uncertain and unknown. Sarah’s home now consists of single living quarters in a senior living facili …

By Clarissa MollWhether you keep his things or give them away, there’s no one right way to grieve.
When my husband, Rob, died in a tragic hiking accident in July 2019, I came home to Boston from his burial service on the West Coast and boxed up his things. His baseball hats and clothes. The papers on his home office desk. In my shock and early grief, it was just too painful to look at them every day. Rows of boxes all labeled “Rob” in black Sharpie lined the back of my bedroom closet, a quiet te …