Fresh grief doesn’t need fixing. It needs room to breathe.

There is a moment—often right after the casseroles stop coming—when people start reaching for words they hope will help. Platitudes arrive dressed as comfort. God needed another angel. You’re young—you can have more children. You’re young—you can find someone else. These phrases may be well-intended, but in fresh grief they land like stones. They ask you to move on before your nervous system has even caught up with what happened. There’s a time to look forward to brighter days.

This is not that time.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

When my daughter Shayna passed, I was searching for anything that could help me make sense of my grief. That’s when I discovered the animated film Coco. Like many, I found comfort in its message—that our loved ones continue to “live” as long as we remember them. It was beautiful, heartwarming, and—at the time—exactly what I needed.

But now, with the spiritual understanding I’ve gained over the years, I have to take a step back and say: That’s not the whole story.

🎬 What Is Coco About?

For those unfamiliar, Coco is a Disney/Pixar film set during Día de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead, a Mexican tradition honoring those who have passed on. It follows a young boy named Miguel who accidentally crosses into the Land of the Dead. There, he meets his ancestors and learns that spirits only continue to exist as long as someone in the living world remembers them. Once they are forgotten, they experience what the movie calls the “Final Death”—a kind of second, permanent disappearance.

The film’s emotional arc hinges on the idea that remembering our loved ones keeps them “alive.” It’s a powerful message, especially for grieving hearts—but it’s also one that deserves a closer look.

🧠 A Quantum Analogy—Misapplied?

Coco's view echoes a popular interpretation in quantum physics: that the presence of an observer determines what becomes “real.” But in this case, it’s suggesting that we—the ones left behind—are the only observers that matter. That our remembering gives our loved ones form, and when that memory fades, so do they.

But let me ask you: Is that really all there is to them?

🌌 Our Loved Ones Are Not Dependent on Our Memory

The truth I’ve come to understand is this: Our loved ones are not figments of memory. They’re not just echoes or shadows living in our stories. They continue to exist—not because we remember them, but because they are real, alive in a world just as real (if not more real) than the one we live in now.

When our loved ones cross over, they don’t go into some memory-shaped dimension held together by photo frames. They go Home. A place of joy, wholeness, love, and growth. They are doing their own work, evolving, watching over us—not passively waiting in a purgatory of our minds, but thriving in a reality where they are central, just as we are here.

🙏🏽 Memory Matters—But It’s For Us

Now, don’t get me wrong—memory is important. Coco captures something profoundly human about the way we carry those we love. Remembering helps us heal. It helps us feel connected. It helps keep our relationships alive in our hearts.

And it’s natural to worry about losing that connection. Most of my clients, at some point, share a fear that their loved one will be forgotten—especially when that person was young, or had only been known for a short time.

When Shayna passed at just 15, we set up a scholarship fund in her name to help keep her memory alive. I worried she might fade from people’s lives. Her friends had only known her for a few short years. But now, a full decade later, I’m amazed by how many of them still remember her—really remember her—and keep her spirit close in their lives.

At one point, I worried Shayna would become “only a memory” to me… that she might become less real as time went on. But now I know those fears were unfounded. My grandmother passed over 40 years ago, and I can still picture her face, hear her voice, feel the touch of her hands. The connection is still there. It’s in my bones.

This fear—that our loved ones will be forgotten—is deeply human. But it’s not something that will happen. Whether or not we build memorials, create scholarships, or write books, their legacy lives on. Those things are beautiful and meaningful—yes—but if you never do any of them, your loved one’s essence, their impact, their love, will not be diminished.

They are remembered in the very fabric of your being. And beyond memory, they exist—not as a thought, but as a soul.

🏠 Earth Is Not the Center. This Is Not Home.

One of the biggest misconceptions we hold is that this life, this Earth, is the center of it all. That the real action stops when someone dies. But in reality, this is school, not Home. And when our loved ones graduate, they don’t vanish—they go back to where we all come from.

And yes, they’re still connected to us. They send signs. They visit in dreams. They whisper into our intuition. But they’re not floating in some half-existence, waiting to be remembered so they can stay alive. They are fully alive. And when it’s our time, we’ll see them again—not as distant memories, but as vibrant souls continuing their journey.

❤️ I Still Love Coco—But I No Longer Believe Its Premise

I want to be clear: Coco helped me. It opened my heart at a time when I needed it. But now, I see its central message as limited. Comforting, yes—but incomplete. And sometimes, our grief needs more than poetry. It needs truth.

The truth is, your loved one is still with you. Not because you remember them—but because you are forever connected, soul to soul. And no “Final Death” will ever change that.

✍🏽 Join the Conversation

If this perspective resonates with you—or if Coco meant something to you during your grief—I’d love to hear your thoughts.

You’re not alone.And neither are they.

— Brian

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

I’m a solar-driven person.

All year long, we’re told that after December 22nd, “the light returns.”

It sounds dramatic. Reassuring. Almost instant.

But that’s not really how it works.

The winter solstice isn’t the sudden return of light — it’s simply the end of the descent into darkness.

The turnaround is real, but it’s subtle. At first, the change is measured in seconds, not minutes.

Sunrise still comes painfully late. The days don’t suddenly feel brighter. You have to trust the math, not your mood.

And yet… something important has shifted.

By the end of January, here in Ohio, we’ll gain roughly 40 minutes of daylight. Not all at once. Not evenly. Day by day. Small, almost imperceptible changes that quietly add up.

Grief works the same way.

When someone we love dies, we often wait for the day the light comes back — the morning we wake up and feel like ourselves again. But healing doesn’t arrive like flipping a switch. It arrives like January sunlight: slowly, inconsistently, sometimes so subtly you doubt it’s happening at all.

First, it’s a second of peace.

Then a moment where you breathe without effort.

Then a short walk that doesn’t feel as heavy.

Then one evening where the darkness doesn’t last quite as long.

You’re not failing because the light hasn’t flooded back yet.

You’re adjusting — one day, one second, one small shift at a time.

The light is returning.

It just doesn’t announce itself.

And maybe that’s the most honest kind of hope there is.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

Some conversations don’t end when the recording stops.

They linger.They echo.They rearrange something inside you.

This conversation with Angela Jean did that for me.

I’ve spent years exploring grief—my own, and the grief of others. I’ve talked with countless people about loss, trauma, and what it means to keep living when life no longer makes sense. And yet, this episode slowed me down in a different way. It didn’t just speak to the mind. It spoke to the body.

Angela didn’t offer a neat framework or a motivational soundbite. She offered something deeper, more honest, and frankly more challenging:

Healing doesn’t start with your thoughts.It starts with your nervous system.

And once you see that, it’s hard to unsee.

When Healing Doesn’t Work the Way We’re Told It Should

Many of us come to healing the same way.

We read the books.We repeat the affirmations.We try to “think differently.”

And when that doesn’t work, we assume we’re the problem.

But trauma doesn’t live in the rational part of the brain. Grief doesn’t ask for permission before it floods the body. Loss doesn’t wait until the mind is ready to process it.

That’s why so many people feel stuck.

They’re doing everything “right,” but their body is still bracing. Still guarding. Still rehearsing danger.

This is where nervous system healing after trauma becomes essential. Not as a buzzword. Not as another thing to fix. But as a compassionate explanation for why willpower alone doesn’t work.

Angela articulated something I’ve seen again and again in grief work:

The body often remembers long after the mind understands.

Angela Jean’s Story: Survival Before Language

Angela’s life story is not easy to hear.

She experienced severe physical and sexual abuse as a child. She left home at thirteen because it was safer to sleep in bushes than to stay. Survival, not metaphorically but physically, became a daily reality.

Later, she lost her father and her sister to suicide.

That kind of trauma doesn’t just leave emotional scars. It shapes the nervous system. It teaches the body to stay alert, guarded, prepared for impact.

Listening to Angela, I was struck by how clearly she could name this—not from theory, but from lived experience.

Her healing didn’t begin when she finally “thought positive enough.”

It began when she realized her body had been doing exactly what it was trained to do:keep her alive.

That reframe matters.

Once we stop seeing our responses as failures, we can start working with them rather than against them.

“The Body Remembers Before the Mind”

This may be the most important takeaway from the entire conversation.

Trauma happens fast.Grief happens fast.The nervous system reacts before language can catch up.

That’s why you can feel tightness in your chest with no clear thought attached.That’s why anxiety shows up “out of nowhere.”That’s why you can logically know you’re safe—and still feel like you’re not.

For those of us who’ve experienced sudden loss, this makes perfect sense.

Grief arrives like a shockwave. The body absorbs it before the mind can make meaning of it. And long after the funeral is over, the body may still be bracing for another blow.

Understanding this changed the way I think about healing—not just personally, but professionally.

It shifts the question from “What’s wrong with me?”to “What did my body learn, and how can I help it feel safe again?”

Rhythm, Safety, and Why the Body Needs Proof

One of the most fascinating parts of Angela’s work is her emphasis on rhythm.

Rhythm signals safety.

We see this everywhere in nature. In breathing. In heartbeats. In music. In walking. In rocking a baby to sleep.

Angela discovered that rhythmic thought patterns—combined with gentle movement—can interrupt the nervous system’s survival loops. Not by force. But by reassurance.

Safety isn’t an idea.It’s a sensation.

And for many trauma survivors, the body doesn’t believe words alone. It needs proof.

This reframed something important for me. I’ve often encouraged mindfulness, meditation, and reflection. Those tools matter. But they don’t always meet people where they are.

Sometimes the body needs to feel soothed before the mind can settle.

Trauma Imprints: When Love and Pain Get Entangled

One of the most heartbreaking moments in the conversation was when Angela described realizing that love had been imprinted as pain.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

As a child, she learned—at a cellular level—that closeness came with danger. That love hurt. That safety was conditional.

This isn’t uncommon. I’ve seen it repeatedly in grief and trauma work.

People don’t consciously choose harmful relationships.They follow familiar patterns that feel normal to their nervous system.

Angela’s insight was simple and profound:

If you don’t interrupt the imprint, you’ll keep rehearsing it.

That applies not only to relationships, but to how we treat ourselves. How we overextend. How we self-abandon. How we tolerate what hurts because it feels known.

Healing begins when we catch the pattern in the body, not just in hindsight.

Anger, Depression, and Listening Instead of Suppressing

I appreciated Angela’s clarity around anger and depression—two emotions that often show up in grief.

Anger is expansive.Depression is collapsing.

They are different energies. And they need different responses.

We’re often told to calm anger and push through sadness. But Angela suggests something more nuanced: meet the energy where it is.

Sometimes anger needs movement.Sometimes depression needs expansion.Sometimes the body needs permission to release instead of being managed.

This aligns deeply with what I’ve seen in grief. Suppressed emotions don’t disappear. They wait.

Listening doesn’t mean indulging every impulse. It means respecting the intelligence of the body.

“You Are Who You Train to Be”

This line landed hard for me.

Because it’s honest.

We are always training something—whether we mean to or not. Our nervous system rehearses what it knows. Our thoughts follow familiar grooves. Our reactions become habits.

Healing, then, isn’t a single breakthrough.It’s a practice.

Angela talks about micro-resets. Small, consistent interruptions. Catching the moment of tightening. Pausing before collapse. Choosing safety again and again.

This resonates deeply with my own journey.

Grief doesn’t end.But our relationship with it can change.

And that change happens through repetition, not revelation.

From Personal Healing to Collective Healing

One of the things I admire most about Angela is her sense of responsibility.

Not obligation—but stewardship.

She believes that those who heal carry something forward for others. That healing isn’t just personal—it’s relational.

I believe this too.

Grief 2 Growth exists because I know pain doesn’t have to be wasted. When we tend to our own nervous systems, we show up differently. We listen better. We react less. We offer steadier presence.

And in a world that feels increasingly dysregulated, that matters.

An Invitation, Not a Conclusion

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself—your body, your patterns, your exhaustion—I want you to hear this clearly:

You’re not broken.You’re not failing at healing.Your nervous system may simply be doing what it learned to do.

And that can change.

Not overnight.Not perfectly.But gently. Repeatedly. Compassionately.

A reflection for you:

Where might your body still be rehearsing survival—and what would safety feel like instead?

Continue the Conversation

If this resonated with you, I invite you to listen to the full episode with Angela Jean. Her voice, her presence, and her clarity offer something that words alone can’t capture.

And if you want to go deeper, subscribe.

I’d love to hear:

* What stood out to you

* Where you feel this in your body

* What questions this stirred up

Comment. Share. Join the chat. Subscribe.

Healing doesn’t happen alone—and none of us were meant to carry this by ourselves.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

Grief can break us open in deep ways. Sometimes it reveals truths we never expected. Other times it shows us parts of ourselves we never knew were missing. When Rich Boerner lost his mother, he expected sadness. He expected longing. He expected the familiar ache that comes when a loved one dies.

But he did not expect a discovery that would completely rewrite his identity.

In this article, we explore how family secrets and identity shaped Rich’s journey. His story invites us to examine our own stories, especially the parts shaped by silence or confusion. You will also see how healing can arrive through connection, curiosity, and compassion.

This article is based on my conversation with Rich on the Grief 2 Growth podcast. His insights remind us that even painful truths can become doorways to understanding.

Growing Up “Different” — The Unspoken Stories We Carry

Rich grew up in New York during the 1970s. His mother was a single parent, and his father was never part of his life. He learned early that some families operated with quiet gaps. Those gaps shaped beliefs. They shaped identity. They shaped how he saw himself in relation to others.

Children often fill in missing pieces with imagination. Sometimes they assume blame. Sometimes they assume they are not worthy of answers. Rich carried those questions for years. Yet he also carried deep love and admiration for his mother. She worked hard. She protected him. She built a world where he felt safe.

But silence can create its own gravity. It can pull us toward stories that may not be true. Those unspoken stories begin shaping our adult lives long before we notice.

This tension between love and silence lives at the center of many conversations about family secrets and identity. Rich’s experience shows how these forces can guide us without our awareness.

The Day Everything Changed — Losing His Mother

Rich’s mother survived ovarian cancer. Her strength inspired him. Her resilience became a defining part of his life. When someone fights that hard, you begin to see them as unbreakable.

But life can shift in a single moment.

His mother fell. She suffered a head injury. Her death came quickly. Rich had no time to prepare. He moved from relief to shock in an instant.

Losing a parent often feels like losing the anchor that holds your story in place. For Rich, her death created an emotional void. But it also cleared space for truths that could no longer stay hidden.

Grief sometimes removes the barriers that protect secrets. When life changes that fast, we search for something steady. Rich searched for that steadiness as he cleaned out her small apartment. Instead, he found something else.

He found clues.

Discovering the Secret — Letters, Clues, and a New Identity

While sorting through drawers, boxes, and old papers, Rich discovered letters that did not make sense. He found documents that hinted at something hidden. The man he believed was his father had not been his father at all.

This realization shook him. It twisted grief into confusion. It changed sadness into betrayal. Identity sits on quiet foundations. We build our lives on the stories we believe. When those stories collapse, we feel unsteady.

Rich learned that his mother had loved him fiercely. But she had also held back a truth. She may have done this to protect him. She may have done it to protect herself. Secrets often arise from pain, not malice.

Still, he now had to face the intersection of family secrets and identity. Who was he? Why had the truth been hidden? Was he allowed to feel angry at someone he loved so deeply?

These questions marked the start of his next chapter.

Anger, Betrayal, and the First Steps Toward Forgiveness

Anger can feel like a shield. It can protect us when we feel hurt. Rich felt anger. He felt betrayal. He wondered what life might have looked like if he had known the truth sooner.

But grief has layers. When the anger softened, he began asking new questions. What pain had his mother carried? What fear had shaped her silence? How many choices do parents make because they believe they are protecting their children?

Forgiveness rarely arrives quickly. It arrives slowly, like soft rain. It changes us one drop at a time.

Rich began to understand that secrets often come from fear, not deceit. They come from wounds. They come from the need to survive. This awareness opened the door to compassion. Compassion opened the door to healing.

As he walked this path, something unexpected happened.

He found family he never knew existed.

Meeting His Half-Sister — Connection That Heals

Through research and DNA tests, Rich discovered he had a half-sister. Their first connection felt surreal. She was a stranger who shared his history. She carried stories he never knew. She carried pieces of his identity he had missed.

Their meeting changed everything. Her presence softened the pain. Her life offered context. She helped him see his parents as complex people, not puzzles.

Their relationship became proof that healing often happens through connection. When we feel seen, we feel grounded. When someone understands us, identity feels less fragile.

This part of Rich’s story offers a powerful lesson. New relationships can heal old wounds. When we open the door to truth, we often find love waiting behind it.

Redefining Identity as an Adult

Rebuilding identity as an adult is hard. It requires patience and honesty. It requires sitting with questions that feel uncomfortable.

Rich leaned on humor. He leaned on curiosity. He leaned on the desire to grow, not collapse. He described this journey with honesty and lightness. He said one line that stayed with me:

“Identity is not a fixed thing. It grows with us, just like grief grows with us.”

He is right. Identity expands. It shifts with experience. It moves when truth arrives. Many listeners reached out after the episode to say they had lived similar journeys. Many had discovered their own family secrets later in life.

Secrets shape identity, but they do not define it. What defines us is how we respond.

Rich responded with grace.

Why He Wrote The Not So Only Child

Writing the book was not an act of revenge. It was an act of love. It was a tribute to his mother. It was a way to understand her choices. It was a way to help his children understand their own story.

Rich wanted to help people feel less alone. Family secrets can isolate us. They can make us wonder if anyone else has lived this confusion. His book reminds us that we are not alone. Many families carry hidden truths. Many children grow up with unanswered questions.

Writing helped him heal. Sharing helped others heal. Storytelling becomes a bridge when secrets have built walls.

What Rich’s Story Teaches Us About Healing

Rich’s journey reflects many truths about grief. It shows how love and anger can live in the same heart. It shows how silence can damage identity, even when silence feels safe. It shows how connection can repair what was broken.

Here are key lessons for anyone dealing with family secrets and identity:

* Secrets often hide pain, not malice.

* Clarity can feel painful, but confusion lasts longer.

* Forgiveness does not erase the past. It softens it.

* New relationships can bring healing.

* Identity is never final. It grows with us.

* Grief invites transformation if we stay open.

These lessons can guide anyone navigating complex family histories.

Turning Grief Into Growth

Rich’s story highlights a core truth. Grief is not the end of the story. It is the opening chapter of transformation. Grief pushes us inward. It forces us to examine beliefs and identity. It invites us to ask deep questions.

His journey reminds us that the truth, even when painful, brings freedom. It brings clarity. It opens new paths. It reveals new family. It deepens understanding.

When we face truth with courage, growth becomes possible.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

Introduction: When Grief Takes Everything

There is a kind of loss that breaks the world in half.If you are reading this, you may know that kind of loss—where life divides into a before and an after, and nothing in the “after” looks familiar.

I know this kind of loss because I lost my daughter, Shayna. Her death shattered me, and it reshaped every belief I once held about myself, life, and God.

But when I met Michael Reed, I encountered someone who had lived through a storm even larger than the one I thought would drown me.

Michael lost his wife, Constance, and their daughters, Chloe and Lily, in the 2016 Gatlinburg fires. His story is one of those that makes people whisper, “I don’t know how he survived.” Yet here he is—living, speaking, writing, loving, and continuing on a path that nobody should ever have to walk.

As we talked, I realized something important:Michael is a living example of what healing after unimaginable loss can look like—not perfect, not complete, but possible.

And that possibility matters. It matters to me. It matters to anyone living in the after.

Michael Reed’s Story: A Life Split in Two

Every grieving parent knows the moment their world split. Michael’s moment was the night the fires swept through Gatlinburg. One instant, life was whole. The next, everything he loved most had been taken.

Michael speaks of his wife and daughters with a warmth that fills the room. You can feel them when he talks—Constance’s strength, Chloe’s spark, Lily’s light. They are still present in him, woven into every sentence and every silence.

He told me, “My life didn’t end that night, but the life I knew did.”

I felt those words deep in my body.

Loss like this doesn’t just break you. It empties you. It leaves you standing in a place you never imagined, looking at a future you never asked to face.

And yet, somehow, Michael continues to walk forward.

When His Loss Reflected My Own

When two grieving parents talk, there is no need to explain the invisible things. You don’t have to justify why a certain song ruins your day. You don’t have to explain why holidays feel like emotional landmines. You don’t have to defend why you still talk about your child.

Michael and I understood each other immediately.

He experienced multiple losses at once, while I lost one beloved daughter. And yet the grief connected us without comparison or hierarchy.

Grief doesn’t measure itself.Pain doesn’t need a scale.

What struck me most was not how much he had endured, but how much of him remains. How he still carries love. How he still held hope. How he still speaks with tenderness about what matters most.

His story doesn’t make our grief smallerIt makes our possibilities larger. We can endure much more than we think we can.

He showed me that even when grief swallows everything, something in us still looks for the light.

Why “The Five Stages of Grief” Don’t Describe Real Life

Both Michael and I have been told we’re grieving “wrong.”

People want grief to be tidy. They want steps. They want an ending. They want a checklist that reassures them that pain can be organized and completed like a home project.

But Michael said something I’ve felt for years.

“There aren’t five stages. There are a million.”

His book title reflects this truth.

Grief doesn’t march forward in predictable lines.It spirals, pauses, surges, quiets, and blindsides.It’s messy. It’s human. It’s alive.

When you’ve suffered a loss like ours—when healing after unimaginable loss becomes your daily work—you stop looking for stages. You start learning to breathe again. You start learning to feel again. You start rebuilding your relationship with yourself, one fragile moment at a time.

The Moment Michael Chose Life

Michael shared the moment he almost didn’t continue. The weight became too heavy. The silence too loud. The memories too sharp. Many parents who have lost children reach a point where life itself feels impossible.

I’ve stood near that same place.

But something in him refused to let go.A quiet voice.A thread of connection.A sense that his story wasn’t finished.

Healing after unimaginable loss doesn’t come from a single choice. It comes from choosing again and again—not to give up, not to fade away, not to surrender the parts of yourself that grief didn’t take.

Michael chose life in the smallest of ways before it became noticeable in bigger ways. And that’s how healing always begins—tiny decisions that feel insignificant until, one day, you look back and realize they saved you.

Men and the Silence of Grief

This is a subject that hits home for both of us.

Men are taught to be strong, stoic, steady. We’re taught that tears are weakness. We’re taught that vulnerability is a burden. And when our children die, those messages become suffocating.

Michael breaks that pattern.I try to break it too.

He cried. He talked. He wrote. He let himself be broken.

And in doing so, he created space for other men to breathe.

Healing after unimaginable loss requires honesty.It requires softness.It requires courage far greater than silence.

The strongest thing a grieving man can do is tell the truth about his pain.

Wrestling With God After Tragedy

This is where Michael’s story and mine intertwine again.

Both of us still have a relationship with God.But neither of us attends church anymore.

And that may confuse people who assume those two things must go together. But grief changes how you connect with the divine. After loss, some words ring hollow. Some rituals feel distant. Some communities feel too cheerful, too shallow, too eager to fix something that cannot be fixed.

For many grieving parents, church becomes a place where they feel misunderstood.

Michael didn’t lose his faith.He lost his place in the institution.

I relate.

My conversations with God got more honest.My questions got sharper.My understanding got wider.But my ability to sit in a pew and pretend everything was fine disappeared.

What remains for both of us is a relationship with God that is personal, raw, and real.

Not organized.Not polished.Not structured.

Just true.

Faith Outside of Church: The Quiet Way Back to God

Some people think that stepping away from church means stepping away from God. But what I’ve learned—and what Michael lives every day—is that faith can survive even the worst fire.

It doesn’t need stained glass or sermons.It doesn’t need a building.It doesn’t need approval.

It needs honesty.It needs room.It needs the freedom to question.

Healing after unimaginable loss often means rebuilding your spiritual life from the ground up. Many grieving parents discover a God who walks with them through the ruins, not a God who lives at the front of a sanctuary.

God became quieter for both of us—but also closer.

Using Pain to Change the World One Person at a Time

Michael writes so others won’t feel alone.I podcast so others won’t feel alone.

Our work is different, but our purpose is shared.

Grief took what seemed like everything from us, and yet somehow it gave us something too—a mission to make sure no grieving parent walks in darkness without at least one hand reaching out to them.

Michael told me that if he can help one person, it’s worth the pain of telling his story. I feel the same way every time I publish an episode or write a reflection.

Pain transformed into service becomes something sacred.It becomes the quiet heartbeat of hope.

What Michael Taught Me About the Human Spirit

There are conversations that stay with you long after the cameras turn off.My conversation with Michael was one of them.

He taught me that the human spirit can survive even the most catastrophic loss—not by forgetting, not by moving on, but by loving so fiercely that even death can’t extinguish it.

He taught me that grief can take everyone you love and still not take everything you are.

Most of all, he reminded me that healing after unimaginable loss is not only possible—it is happening, right now, in ways we often don’t recognize.

In every tear.In every honest conversation.In every moment we choose to keep going.In every breath we take for a child who no longer breathes.

Healing doesn’t mean the end of pain.It means the continuation of love.

Key Takeaways

* Healing after unimaginable loss is not linear.

* We don’t move on—but we can move forward.

* Men grieve deeply but often silently. Speaking helps.

* Faith can survive outside traditional structures.

* God walks with us even when church no longer fits.

* Purpose often grows from pain.

* Connection with others who “get it” is essential for survival.

* Grief doesn’t shrink with time. We grow around it.

A Closing Invitation

If Michael’s story touched you, I invite you to share your heart in the comments.Tell us about your loved one.Tell us what helps you keep going.Tell us what you wrestle with.

Your story matters here.

If this resonated with you, please share it with someone who feels alone in their grief.You never know whose life you might steady with a single gesture.

And if you want more reflections like this—gentle honesty, spiritual exploration, real conversations about grief—join me on Substack:

👉

We heal together.We carry each other.And we survive the unimaginable by refusing to walk alone.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

When I sat down with Samina Bari, I expected a meaningful conversation. We scheduled this interview months ago. I did not expect her story to echo my present life so closely.

Many of you know my friend Mike passed earlier this year. He and his wife, Lisa, are two of my closest friends. We live just a few yards apart and spent nearly one evening every weekend together.

My wife and I have been walking beside her through the fog, shock, and numbness. I have tried to show up with care, even when I do not know the right words.

So when Samina told me her husband Doug died suddenly in 2023, something inside me froze. This interview was not only professional. It was personal. It was timely. It was needed. And, strangely, Mike and Doug passed on the same day— April 7, one year apart.

This article is about supporting a grieving spouse. It is about what helps, what hurts, and how we can love better. It is also about what Samina taught me through her courage, her honesty, and her willingness to share her heart.

If you love someone who is grieving, I hope this reaches you today.If you are grieving, I hope you feel seen.

The Day Everything Changed

Samina and Doug had been together for twenty-one years. They shared dreams, meals, inside jokes, twin daughters, and a life built from deep love.

Then, one ordinary evening, Doug went out to see friends. He never made it home.Samina told me:

“It felt like I left my body. My mind could not process what happened.”

She described shaking uncontrollably. She described shock so sharp it robbed her of the ability to think. She described a silence so big it filled the room.

She told me she could not recall conversations. Friends later told her she had spoken. But she has no memory of those moments. Her brain protected her by shutting down the parts that hurt the most.

When someone loses a spouse suddenly, they lose more than a person. They lose the anchor. They lose safety. They lose the story they believed they were living.

Supporting a grieving spouse during this time requires patience. It requires presence. It requires humility. There is no fixing. There is only sitting with the unbearable.

Grief Brain Is Real

One of the most important ideas Samina explained was grief brain. She described it as:

* memory loss

* confusion

* impaired decision-making

* emotional numbness

* difficulty concentrating

* constant overwhelm

She said she could not drive. She could not eat. She could not track time. She could not organize her thoughts. Her brain simply stopped functioning in familiar ways.

She told me:

“I couldn’t remember if I had showered or eaten. Everything disappeared.”

This is biology. The brain shuts down non-essential functions under trauma. And sudden spousal loss is trauma in its purest form.

If you are supporting a grieving spouse, know this:

* They are not lazy.

* They are not distracted.

* They are not “not trying.”

They are wounded in a way you cannot fathom.

I saw grief brain in myself after my daughter passed. I have watched it in parents I supported. It is real. It is heavy. It takes time.

Solo Parenting Is Not Single Parenting

Samina talked about raising twin daughters after Doug’s death. She spoke with love. She spoke with exhaustion. She spoke with a truth rarely acknowledged.

She told me:

“Single parenting is a choice or a circumstance. Solo parenting is being completely alone.”

When a spouse dies, every decision falls to the surviving partner:

* school choices

* financial planning

* emotional support

* bedtime routines

* medical decisions

* grief management

* safety

* discipline

* comfort

* daily logistics

There is no backup parent.There is no one to debate choices with.There is no one who loves the children like the one who is gone.

Supporting a grieving spouse with children means offering very practical help:

* drive the kids

* take them to the park

* give the parent space to cry

* help with meals

* help with paperwork

* help with appointments

* help with homework

* help with rest

* help with reality

This is not optional help. It is life support.

The Word “Widow” and Its Weight

I will not reveal the full reason Samina finds the word “widow” so ugly. It’s in the interview. You should watch or listen. She shares the deeper story in the episode. But I will tell you this much.

When she said the word, I felt it hit my chest.It felt heavy.It felt cold.It felt wrong.

A few days after Mike passed, the word widow came into my mind. It just didn’t seem right for Lisa. I instantly hated the word. It felt like a word that pushed her into another category. A lonely one. A sad one. A category with a door that locks behind you.

Samina said:

“It does not define me.”

And I understood exactly why.

Supporting a grieving spouse means honoring their identity.Not defining them by loss.Not assigning them a label they did not choose.

The Loss of Past, Present, and Future

One of the deepest moments in our conversation came when Samina explained the three layers of loss.

Loss of the past:No one remains who shares those memories.No one is there to validate the moments.No one remembers the details the way Doug did.

Loss of the present:Every habit changes.Every routine collapses.Every room feels different.

Loss of the future:This was the hardest part for Samina.She told me she cannot picture herself older.She cannot imagine retirement.She cannot see decades ahead.Her mind stops before it reaches those images.

She said:

“My dreams died with him.”

Supporting a grieving spouse means understanding this:They are not only mourning a person.They are mourning the past they lived.They are mourning the present they hold.They are mourning the future they expected.

It is grief in three directions.

What Actually Helps (and What Hurts)

Every grieving spouse hears two phrases:

* Call me if you need anything.

* Let me know what I can do.

These words feel supportive on the surface.But they create pressure.They place the burden of planning on the person who can barely think.Many grievers hate them.

Samina said:

“Just do something. Anything. Do not wait to be asked.”

Here is what actually helps:

* bring meals

* portion them

* label them

* clean the dishes

* take kids out

* send a short text

* sit quietly

* listen

* say the spouse’s name

* run errands

* offer rides

* handle forms

* schedule appointments

* shovel the driveway

* fold laundry

* go with them to purchase a car

* show up again

* show up again

* show up again

Don’t Stop Including People

Samina’s friends kept including her and still do, two and a half years later. When Mike passed, we kept inviting Lisa to everything.We invited her to our Derby party only weeks after his passing.She was unsure at first.

We said:

“You can be sad with us. Or sad alone. But you will not be alone.”

She came.She cried.We cried with her.It was one of the most healing moments for all of us.

Presence matters more than perfection.

Children Are Not Naturally Resilient

Samina emphasized something society refuses to understand.

“Children are not resilient. They are vulnerable, especially after trauma.”

Children who lose a parent face increased:

* anxiety

* depression

* fear

* emotional shutdown

* suicidal thoughts

* sleep issues

* behavioral changes

They need tenderness.They need truth.They need affection.They need professional support.They need consistency.They need reminders that life can still be safe.

Supporting a grieving spouse means supporting grieving children too.

Year Two: The Harder Year

Many people assume the first year is the hardest.The first holidays.The first birthday.The first anniversary.The first everything.

But Samina said year two was worse.

The shock faded.The paperwork ended.The casseroles stopped.People returned to their routines.She was still grieving.But the world had moved on.

She said:

“I survived year one. Then I realized this is forever.”

Supporting a grieving spouse means remembering them after the first year.Send a text.Make a call.Bring a meal.Invite them out.Name the spouse.Show you remember.

Long grief needs long compassion.

How We Can All Be Better at Supporting a Grieving Spouse

Samina said:

“Our grief is not about your discomfort.”

We often stay silent because we fear saying the wrong thing.We avoid people because we fear our presence may hurt.We rush to platitudes because silence makes us uneasy.

But grief asks something different.It asks us to grow.It asks us to sit with pain.It asks us to expand our ability to feel.

Supporting a grieving spouse means:

* choosing discomfort

* offering presence

* staying patient

* refusing to disappear

* remembering anniversaries

* honoring the spouse

* acknowledging the pain

* avoiding comparisons

* avoiding clichés

* allowing tears

* allowing silence

And most of all, it means remembering this truth:

Grief is love in a new form.It deserves reverence, not avoidance.

Key Takeaways

* Grief brain is real and requires patience.

* “Call me if you need anything” is rarely helpful.

* Solo parenting is a heavy emotional and logistical load.

* Children need active support through grief.

* The word “widow” carries complicated weight.

* Year two can feel even more painful than year one.

* The future becomes hard to imagine after sudden loss.

* Community support can save a grieving spouse.

* Presence matters more than perfect words.

* Long grief requires long-term care.

Final Thoughts — An Invitation to Show Up

Supporting a grieving spouse is not about fixing their pain.It is about walking beside them through it.

So today, I invite you to take one simple step.Reach out to someone who is grieving.Say, “I’m thinking of you.”Say their spouse’s name.Offer presence.Offer tenderness.Offer love.

We heal better when we heal together.

💬 Join the Conversation

* What resonated with you most?

* Have you supported a grieving spouse before?

* What helped?

* What hurt?

💬 Join the Chat

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This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

I’ve had many powerful conversations on the Grief 2 Growth podcast, but every now and then, I sit down with someone who shifts my inner landscape. My recent interview with internationally bestselling author and dream expert Theresa Cheung did exactly that.

Going into this conversation, I expected to learn a few new things about dream symbolism or the psychology of sleep. What I didn’t expect was to walk away with a deeper understanding of the spiritual meaning of dreams—and a deeper understanding of myself.

As many of you know, loss changed the entire trajectory of my life. When you lose a child, you begin to search for meaning in every corner of experience. Dreams often become one of those corners—sometimes a refuge, sometimes a mystery, sometimes a source of painful longing. I’ve heard from countless listeners who’ve had vivid dream visits from their loved ones, including some that brought more comfort than any waking experience could.

Talking with Theresa helped me see dreams not only as messages or symbols, but as living dialogues between our subconscious, our soul, and sometimes those in spirit. I want to share with you what stood out to me most—because I believe this conversation can help you understand your own dreams with more clarity, peace, and hope.

🌟 We Sleep to Dream — and Why That Idea Mattered to Me

Theresa opened our conversation with a statement that stopped me in my tracks:

“We sleep in order to dream.”

Not “dreams are part of sleep.”Not “dreams support sleep.”But we sleep so we can dream.

Hearing it phrased that way reframed everything.

Most of us think dreams are random disturbances in the night. Some think they’re psychological noise, or the brain sorting out daily experiences. I left that mindset long ago.

Theresa doesn’t dismiss the science—but she believes dreams have a clear spiritual purpose. They show us what we’re ready to face, what we need to heal, and who we are becoming.

From a grief perspective, this is profound. If dreams are intentional, then the ones that feel like guidance might actually be guidance. The ones that feel like connection might truly be connection.

And the ones that hurt… might be invitations to grow.

🪞 Dreams as Mirrors of the Soul

One of Theresa’s ideas that stayed with me is that dreams reflect our current state—not who we want to be, but who we are right now.

When I look back at some of my more intense dreams since losing Shayna, I see this truth. Those dreams weren’t random. They were mirrors, revealing my fears, my hopes, and my transformation in ways I couldn’t yet name during the day.

Theresa says our dreams hold up a snapshot of our inner world. They don’t flatter. They don’t sugarcoat. But they also don’t shame. They meet us exactly where we are.

When I think of how many grievers have told me, “My dreams are so confusing,” or “I don’t like what I see in them,” I realize Theresa’s insight is something we all need:

“Your dreams aren’t showing you what’s wrong with you. They’re showing you what’s asking to be healed.”

That shift alone can make someone feel less afraid of their own mind.

💛 When Dreams Become Visits

We talked about something close to my heart: afterlife dream visits.

So many listeners have asked, “Was that a real visit? Or was it just wishful thinking?”

Theresa explained the difference with a level of clarity that I wish everyone could hear:

* Dream visits feel peaceful, calm, and real.

* The loved one appears healthy or glowing.

* The message is simple, often a look, hug, or phrase.

* You remember it vividly, sometimes for years.

* There’s no fear. No chaos. No distortion.

In contrast, symbolic or psychological dreams tend to be chaotic, confusing, or emotionally charged.

I’ve long believed dream visits are legitimate forms of connection. Hearing Theresa describe the consistent patterns she’s seen over decades of research only strengthened that belief.

If you’ve had a dream like this, you’re not imagining things. You’re not “just grieving.”You may have experienced a true moment of connection.

🌑 Nightmares: The Tough-Love Teachers

I’ll be honest: this part surprised me.

Theresa believes nightmares are not punishments or signs that we’re failing spiritually. Instead, they’re urgent messages—a form of tough love.

She compared them to a smoke alarm: loud, jarring, impossible to ignore. Not because something is trying to hurt us, but because something inside us is calling for attention.

I thought about the dreams people describe in early grief. The recurring stress dreams. The overwhelming scenarios. The feelings of running, searching, or being trapped.

Theresa says these nightmares are the psyche’s way of saying:

“You’re overwhelmed. You’re hurting. Something needs your care.”

This view removes the shame.It removes the fear.And it invites compassion for ourselves.

🌀 Feeling Lost in Dreams—Why That Might Be a Good Sign

Something else Theresa said struck me deeply:When you’re lost in a dream, it’s often because you’re in transition, not because something is wrong.

Being lost doesn’t mean you’re failing.It means you’re searching.

In grief, being lost becomes a familiar feeling. When dreams repeat that theme, they’re not mocking our confusion—they’re mirroring a spiritual journey in progress.

Imagine what it would mean to see confusion not as chaos, but as transformation.

If being lost in a dream is a sign that I’m transforming, that shifts everything. Being lost is my most common dream. I’m in an unfamiliar place, trying to get somewhere. But I don’t know where I’m going or when I’m supposed to be there.

🌟 Lucid Dreaming and Rehearsing Our Future Selves

Theresa spoke beautifully about lucid dreams as rehearsals for our highest potential.In a lucid dream, we can:

* practice courage

* feel whole

* experience reunion

* step into the person we’re becoming

I found this empowering. Many people in grief feel stuck between who they were and who they are now. Lucid dreams offer a space where the soul can try on the future before the mind is ready.

This perspective transforms lucid dreaming from a novelty into a spiritual tool.

You can improve your ability to lucid dream. I have. It’s a powerful feeling when you become lucid in your dream.

📚 Nightborn — When Fiction Becomes a Spiritual Classroom

Theresa’s new novel Nightborn is more than entertainment. She designed it as a hidden guide to dream meaning disguised as a thriller.

Fiction bypasses the analytical mind and communicates in symbols, just like dreams. It reaches us emotionally, intuitively, and personally. I’ve learned so much from movies. I don’t read fiction though. Maybe it’s time to change that.

Theresa told me she wrote the book so readers would “learn dream wisdom without realizing they’re learning.”

I admire that kind of creativity and intentionality.

✨ How This Conversation Changed the Way I See Dreams

By the time we wrapped up, I realized Theresa had done more than teach me about dreams. She had reminded me of something I often tell others:

Our inner world is alive.It is speaking to us.And we are never as disconnected as we think.

This conversation made me more attentive to my own dreams. It made me more willing to listen. And it made me want to encourage you—yes, you reading this—to pay attention to your dreams tonight.

You might discover:

* a message from your subconscious

* a nudge toward healing

* a moment of guidance

* or even a visit from someone you love

Dreams don’t just entertain us.They accompany us.They teach us.They connect us to what we’ve lost—and what we’re becoming.

🌙 Key Takeaways

* Dreams have profound spiritual meaning and reflect your internal state.

* Afterlife dream visits are peaceful, vivid, and deeply healing.

* Nightmares are messages, not punishments.

* Feeling lost in dreams often means you’re transitioning.

* Lucid dreams can help you rehearse your future self.

* Your dreams may be your most honest—and most loving—inner guide.

💬 Join Me in the Comments

I want to hear from you:

* Have you had a dream that felt like a visit?

* What dream has stayed with you over the years?

* Are there symbols you see again and again?

* Did Theresa’s perspective make you rethink an old dream?

Share your story with me. I read every comment. I reply to most.

📨 Let’s Continue This Journey Together

If you haven’t joined the Substack chat yet, come be part of the Grief 2 Growth community.

We reflect, support each other, and talk openly about the experiences many people keep private.

👉 Join us at:

If this article resonated with you, please:

* ❤️ Comment

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Your presence here matters.Your dreams matter.And you are never alone on this path.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

When I sit down with a guest for Grief 2 Growth, I never know exactly where the conversation will go. I prepare, of course. I read, I research, I feel into the person’s story. But now and then, someone arrives with a presence that shifts the room the moment they appear on screen.

That was my experience with Andy Chaleff.

From the first minutes of our conversation, I sensed that this wasn’t just an interview. It felt like stepping into a shared space of truth-telling, where both of us were invited to be a little braver, a little more honest, and a little more open than we expected to be. Talking with Andy was like sitting across from a mirror—one that reflected both the parts of myself I’ve made peace with, and the parts I’m still learning to hold.

This is the story of what that hour taught me.It’s personal.It’s vulnerable.And it’s a reminder that grief, when met with courage, can become a source of deep awakening.

The Story That Stopped Me: A Letter, a Mother, and a Moment That Changed Everything

There’s a moment early in our conversation when Andy recounts the pivotal experience that shaped his entire life: the night he wrote a deeply honest letter to his mother — and the shock of learning she was killed by a drunk driver only hours after receiving it.

As he spoke, I felt the air shift.

He wasn’t telling a story for effect. He wasn’t dramatizing it. He was simply remembering — and feeling — the weight of a moment that split his world into Before and After.

When he said, “She was everything to me… and when she died, my life felt like it was over,” I felt the echo of that truth inside my own body. Shayna was my everything.

Grief has a way of speaking the same language, even when the circumstances differ. His words brought me back to a moment in my own life when the world changed so suddenly I wondered how I’d ever stand again.

These are not just stories.They are soul-markings.

And as Andy continued, I felt myself pulled deeper into his journey — not as a host, but as a fellow traveler.

Running From Pain and the Places We Hide

Andy told me he left the United States two years after his mother died and didn’t return for three decades.

Thirty years.

That number sat heavy with me.

He described traveling through Australia, Japan, and Europe, building a life rich with experience — but also carefully constructed to stay one step ahead of the grief that haunted him.

I’ve spoken to hundreds of people about grief. I’ve lived through unimaginable loss myself. And one of the most universal truths I’ve learned is this:

We all run from pain in our own ways.

Sometimes the running is literal.Sometimes it’s emotional.Sometimes it’s spiritual — hiding inside beliefs, identities, or roles that keep us from looking inward.

As Andy told me about how holidays triggered him, how he avoided anything that reminded him of his mother, I felt a quiet recognition.

I’ve known that urge.That instinct to build a life far enough from the wound that maybe, just maybe, it won’t hurt as much.

But time doesn’t erase grief.It waits.

And eventually, it calls us back.

The Moment He Turned Toward the Pain

For Andy, that turning point came at age 35, when a brutally honest mentor confronted him with words that pierced his identity:

“You’re an imposter. You aren’t honest with yourself.”

Most people would have argued.Andy listened.

He sold everything he owned, moved into an unheated attic in Amsterdam, and began the slow, uncertain, courageous process of facing the pain he had avoided for years.

As he spoke, I felt tears rising.

Because I know what it is to rebuild a life from the ground up.I know what it is to strip away every identity that once told you who you were.I know the fear of not knowing who you will become next.

This is why I created Grief 2 Growth in the first place — to give voice to these moments, the ones that shape us not despite grief, but because of it.

Ego Death and the Art of Becoming Someone New

When Andy talked about “dying to live,” I understood exactly what he meant.

He described ego death not as a dramatic mystical experience, but as the quiet, painful surrender of every identity we cling to:Who we think we are.Who we want to be seen as.Who we’re terrified we might be.

Grief strips us.

It pulls away the costumes we’ve worn for years — the competent one, the strong one, the successful one, the one who has it all together. It exposes us to ourselves.

And in that exposure, something new becomes possible.

Andy said something that has stayed with me ever since:

“If I can’t allow myself to cry in front of people who might judge me, then I’m not free.”

Those words hit me hard.

Because grief — real grief — demands that kind of freedom. It demands an honesty that is both terrifying and liberating.

And when we finally let go, what remains is not weakness.

It’s truth.It’s presence.It’s aliveness.

Humor, Absurdity, and the Strange Beauty of Being Human

One of the things I appreciate most about Andy is how he blends humor with depth.

He talked about seeing life as a constructed reality — almost like living in the Matrix — and I laughed because it was so relatable and also so profoundly true.

There’s a point in grief where everything becomes both sacred and absurd.

We cry over a song, and then laugh at the absurdity of crying over a song.We miss someone so deeply it aches, and then find ourselves laughing at something they would have found funny.We experience spiritual awakenings while making breakfast.

Grief doesn’t just break us open.It widens us.It teaches us to hold pain in one hand and humor in the other.

And that balance — that dance — is what makes us human.

The Moment Andy Saw Shayna Behind Me

There was a moment near the end of our conversation that caught me completely off guard.

Andy paused, looked at me, and said he had been aware of the picture of Shayna behind me the entire time we were speaking.

That moment went straight to my heart.

He didn’t say it with theatrics.He didn’t say it for effect.He said it with the tenderness of someone who knows what it means to carry a loved one with you through every moment of your life.

I talk about Shayna often.She’s part of my work.She’s part of my purpose.She’s part of the reason Grief 2 Growth exists.

But this…This was different.

I felt seen.I felt understood.I felt accompanied — not just by Andy, but by the very love that continues to guide my own grief journey.

Grief is not something we get over.It’s something we carry.And that moment reminded me that we never carry it alone.

What Andy’s Grief Journey Reminded Me Of

Talking with Andy reminded me that:

* Grief is not the enemy.

* Running delays healing but cannot prevent it.

* Vulnerability is one of the most powerful forms of courage.

* Our identities are meant to evolve.

* Pain can become a teacher.

* Growth comes from turning inward, not outward.

* We are shaped by loss in ways that deepen our capacity to love.

Andy said, “I hold my grief with loving compassion,”

That is the heart of the grief journey.

Not erasing the pain.Not fixing it.Not rushing past it.

But holding it — gently, honestly, gratefully.

Your Turn: What Is Your Grief Inviting You Into?

Andy’s story isn’t just his story.It’s a doorway.

And now I want to ask you:

What is your grief asking you to look at?What pain have you been running from?What identity is ready to be released?What part of you is waiting to be seen?

Come share your reflections with me.

Together, we learn.Together, we heal.Together, we grow.

If this article touched you…

💬 Comment🗣️ Join the chat📤 Share it with someone who needs it✨ Subscribe to support this work and stay connected

Thank you for walking this journey with me — and with Shayna — every step of the way.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe