Joy and Pain: Reflections from the Shoreline

A Return to the ShoreI find myself on a familiar stretch of sand in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. As I sit on the deck, the ocean breeze carries memories with it—some soft, warm and pleasant, some jagged and weighty. It's Tuesday, June 17. I usually lose track of time on vacation, but this date rings in my head with clarity. One week from today marks ten years since Shayna left her body. Her tenth Angelversary. The countdown is on.

Full CircleWhat strikes me is the quiet poetry of this moment. Eleven years ago, we were here in this very condo. I mean the exact same one. It was our last family vacation with Shayna. We didn't know then that it would be the final one. But time has a way of gently circling back, inviting us to sit with what was and what is. In June 2014, I couldn't even have pictured this moment.

The Beach Became Too MuchAfter Shayna passed, the beach became too painful a place for my family. My girls loved the ocean, but that first summer without her, Kayla said, "Not the beach." It held too much pain. So we listened. We went to Arizona instead. And for a while, the sea stayed out of reach.

Making Space for JoyNow, a decade later, I return—not just to the shore, but to the memory. To the joy and the pain.

One of my favorite songs is "Joy and Pain" by Frankie Beverly and Maze. It speaks to the paradox we all live through: joy and pain as sunshine and rain, both essential for growth. A flower needs the proper balance of sunshine and rain to bloom. So do we.

Holding BothIn my work with grieving clients, I often witness how pain takes up all the air in the room at first. It feels like there's no space for anything else. And yet, life whispers an invitation: "Make room for joy, too." Not as a betrayal of grief, but as a partner to it. The sea, this condo, now holds space for both. It was on this deck that we had conversations with our then 14 and 17-year-olds. On that couch, I took the iconic picture of Shayna on her phone. The girls had their first raw oysters, just up the road at the restaurant I will visit tomorrow.

Different Faces, Same LoveNext Tuesday will be hard. There's no way around that. But even now, I find moments of laughter with friends, smiles under the sun, and gratitude tucked inside the ache. Eleven years ago, my wife and my daughters were in the condo with me. Today, it's Tom and Amy, friends who carry the journey with me. Different faces, same undercurrent of love.

Permission to LiveAs you walk through your seasons of sorrow, remember this: we don't bypass pain. We honor it. We feel it. But we don’t let it consume the entirety of our story. It's okay to smile. It's okay to feel joy. It's okay to live. You're not forgetting them. You're not dishonoring them. They are right beside you, waiting for you to find joy again.

You are, in fact, carrying their memory into more moments. Into laughter. Into life.

Trusting the ProcessSo here I sit, on the same balcony where I once watched Shayna laugh and take in the waves. I hold those memories close. I smile through tears. I trust that even the painful moments are shaping me into someone who can love deeper, speak more softly, and live more fully. This is where faith comes in, when we can trust not just the joy but the pain is working for us, not against us.

Thank You for Walking With MeThank you for letting me share this space with you. I'm grateful for this journey—the whole of it. And I look forward to the day I see my baby again.

Your TurnAs you reflect on your journey, where can you allow a little more joy to enter? What memory can you hold today with both gratitude and grace? Please share in the comments, or simply take a moment to breathe it in.

If this message resonated with you, I invite you to share it with someone who might need it. And if you're navigating grief, know you're not alone. There's space for all of it—the joy, the pain, and everything in between.

🙏 Thank you for being here. Your presence means more than you know. If my words have offered you comfort, insight, or a moment of clarity, consider supporting my work.Your paid subscription or a one-time tip helps me keep sharing stories, tools, and reflections to guide others through grief and growth.

Together, we’re expanding consciousness—one heart at a 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

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

What if angels aren’t just watching over us—they’re walking beside us? What if they’re our friends, our neighbors, even… ourselves?

In this powerful episode of Grief 2 Growth, host Brian D. Smith sits down with Rachel Corpus, a woman who claims to be a literal angel in human form. Through near-death experiences, soul-level memories, and an extraordinary spiritual mission, Rachel invites us to remember who we really are—and why we’re here on Earth during such a pivotal time.

This is more than a conversation. It’s a spiritual activation.

A Near-Death Experience That Changed Everything

Rachel’s journey began when she was just four years old. After a tragic car accident caused by a drunk driver, she flatlined—and what happened next would shape the rest of her life.

She remembers leaving her body and being greeted by her guardian angels, whom she'd already seen throughout her childhood. But this time, they had something new to tell her: You’re not just accompanied by angels. You are one.

“They told me I’m a Seraphim,” Rachel recalls. “They showed me where I came from before I was born.”

Her angels walked her through the Seraphim realm—a place she describes as pure love, light, and preparation. There, souls design their life missions before incarnating. Some stay in spirit. Some, like Rachel, return to Earth with purpose.

Though she doesn’t remember consciously choosing to return, she remembers thinking: “My mama will be sad if I don’t go back.” And with that, she was back in her body—forever changed.

What Is a Seraphim Angel?

In spiritual lore, Seraphim are the highest choir of angels—beings of pure love and light. Unlike the winged, humanoid depictions of popular culture, Seraphim often appear as wheels of eyes, symbolizing their role as divine observers.

“We’re watchers,” Rachel explains. “We absorb information and help other souls prepare for life on Earth or elsewhere.”

She emphasizes that angels are not religious but energetic beings of love and neutrality. Their role isn’t to judge but to guide, hold space, and assist in remembering.

Are Angels and Humans Really That Different?

Rachel says the distinction lies not in the soul’s value, but its origin.

“If you peeled back the layers of my spirit DNA, you'd see I'm from the angelic realm,” she says. “But at the deepest level, we all look the same. We all look like God.”

She describes her earthly body as a “Rachel costume,” chosen purposefully through the parents she incarnated with. While some beings are hybrids (like Earth angels or starseeds), Rachel says she is full angel—here for one reason: to help us remember.

Why We Forget Our Divinity

So if we’re all divine, why don’t we remember?

Rachel describes what many spiritual teachers call the “veil of forgetfulness.” She remembers folding in her gifts during adolescence to blend in, asking her angels to let her just “be a kid.”

“It was too much sometimes. I’d be at my locker wondering, ‘Do I smell bad?’ while also hearing voices from other realms,” she laughs.

But our divine memories are never lost, they’re simply dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken. For Rachel, that awakening unfolded over years and multiple near-death experiences.

Earth: The Universe’s Most Sacred Classroom

If being here is so hard… why choose it?

Rachel’s answer is both cosmic and comforting: Earth is one of the most advanced spiritual classrooms in existence. Our struggles don’t mean we’re being punished—they mean we’re spiritually advanced enough to handle them.

“If you’re on the struggle bus,” she says, “you’re not a beginner. You’re a graduate student.”

She describes Earth as a planet that affects the rest of the multiverse. What happens here ripples outward. That’s why beings from other realms—including angels and starseeds—are so invested in what’s unfolding now.

Merging Timelines and the Great Shift

Rachel shares a vision: Since the 2024 eclipse, multiple timelines (or multiverse versions of ourselves) have begun merging into one.

Imagine a pack of Twizzlers, she says. Each red strand is a timeline—a different version of you. Slowly, they’re intertwining, creating one thick rope of oneness and expansion.

“We’re becoming whole,” she says. “That’s why things feel so intense right now. You’re carrying wisdom from every version of yourself.”

She says this “unification” is part of humanity’s move toward a crystalline, higher-frequency state, and we all have a role to play.

Children Are Leading the Awakening

One of the most hopeful parts of this evolution? The children.

Rachel shares that today’s kids arrive with their gifts fully intact—intuitive, psychic, telepathic—and are often tasked with reactivating the adults around them.

“A child might come into a classroom and awaken a 55-year-old teacher’s gifts through a song or a hug,” she says. “They’re here to help us remember.”

She also notes that entire chapters of angels are supporting the transformation of outdated systems, especially education and religion, for this new era.

Reframing Struggle: Why Difficult Lives Are Chosen

Brian raises a sensitive question: What do we say to someone who’s faced unimaginable loss?

Rachel doesn’t sugarcoat. She acknowledges the depth of grief and the importance of not bypassing pain with spiritual clichés. But she also offers a reframe:

“In pre-life planning, we ask two things: What do I want to learn? And how can I contribute?”

Struggles aren’t punishments. They’re agreements. She even describes how, after death, souls undergo healing, not hell.

For example, Rachel says Adolf Hitler, upon crossing over, chose to experience everything he caused, but not as punishment. As education. As a way to fully understand the ripple of his actions.

What Happens When We Die?

It’s a question at the heart of Grief 2 Growth— and one Rachel answers with clarity and love:

🕊️ No one dies alone.🕊️ We’re met by loved ones, angels, and guides.🕊️ The moment of crossing is beautiful and peaceful.

“The room fills with beings ready to walk you over,” she says. “Even if no humans are present, your spirit team is there.”

She also shares that if a soul wasn’t ready or had unresolved trauma, boundaries are in place. Spirit only enters when it supports our healing.

How to Prepare for Earth’s Transformation

The changes on Earth are real and accelerating. But instead of fear, Rachel recommends grounded spiritual practice:

* 🎧 Put on an eye mask and listen to brown noise or ocean waves

* 👁️ Watch the back of your eyelids like a movie screen—this is the quantum space

* 🌀 Call in your spirit team and simply be present

* 🌳 Walk in nature, sway your body, breathe deeply—movement activates memory

* 🧘 Ask your higher self: What do I need to remember today?

And don’t worry if you “don’t see anything.” Spirit is always listening—and may just be at “Costco,” she jokes.

A Final Message from the Angels (and the Stars)

Rachel closes the episode with a message from the beings she channels:

🌌 Look up.👁️ We’re here.💫 The veil is thin. You are not alone.

She invites listeners to go outside, look at the stars, and say: “Show me some magic.” Whether it’s a flicker of light, a vision in the clouds, or a sudden knowing—you’ll be met.

“We’re in every cell of your body,” she says. “We’re helping with every thought you have.”

You Are Divine. You Are Guided. You Are Not Alone.

Rachel Corpus’s story may seem extraordinary, but the deeper truth is this: you are extraordinary too.

You may not remember your origin right now, but it’s there. In your intuition. Your dreams. That subtle nudge you can’t explain. And maybe, just maybe… in your grief.

Because every challenge you face is not the end, but the beginning of remembering.

💬 Join The Conversation:

What part of Rachel's message resonated with you most? Do you believe in angels in human form?

🗨️ Share your thoughts with us in the community:👉 grief2growth.com/community

📣 Related Content:

* 🎧 Listen to the episode on Apple Podcasts

* 📺 Watch the full interview on YouTube

* 🌐 Learn more about Rachel Corpus

* 🎙️ Explore more episodes of Grief 2 Growth

📌 Featured Quote:

“We're all spirit immigrants. We’ve come from somewhere else—and we’re here to help Earth evolve.” —Rachel Corpus

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

Can we really continue our relationship with someone we love after they’ve crossed over?

If you're deep in grief, that question isn't just philosophical—it’s survival. In a moving episode of Grief 2 Growth, I had the honor of speaking with Kim Hodous, a mom who’s not only lived through unimaginable loss, but found profound meaning on the other side of it. She lost both her daughter Chelsea and her son Rob—and yet, she’s here today, not just surviving, but living a life of joy, purpose, and connection.

Kim’s story is one of transformation. From the sterile walls of a hospital room to the mysticism of dream visitations and messages from spirit, her journey teaches us that connecting with a child in spirit isn’t just possible—it’s healing.

A Mother’s Double Grief: Chelsea and Rob

Kim’s first experience with loss came when her daughter Chelsea was just two years old. Diagnosed with leukemia before her second birthday, Chelsea underwent a bone marrow transplant. The donor? Her big brother Rob, who was only a child himself at the time.

Chelsea’s life was short, but impactful. She passed away in Kim’s arms at the Minneapolis pediatric bone marrow transplant center. As a young mom of four under five, Kim was thrust into a world of hospitals, heartbreak, and existential questions—years before most of us even begin to face mortality.

Rob, on the other hand, lived to 29. He was a tennis pro, entrepreneur, and vibrant soul with a wide smile and a sensitive heart. Rob had a past with substance use but had been clean for two years and thriving—until he was unknowingly sold fentanyl instead of heroin. He passed away in 2022.

Two children. Two entirely different deaths. Two devastating losses.

Fentanyl Poisoning, Not Overdose

There’s power in words—and Kim chooses hers carefully.

“I call it fentanyl poisoning, not overdose,” she told me, “because he didn’t choose to die.”

This distinction matters. “Overdose” often implies recklessness. But like many victims of the fentanyl crisis, Rob had no idea what he was taking. He thought he was taking something else—something that wouldn’t have killed him.

Rob had worked hard to rebuild his life. He had gone through drug court. He was clean. He had a job, a community, and a future. He was one of the 300+ people who die daily in the U.S. due to fentanyl-laced substances.

Calling it poisoning reclaims dignity and tells the truth.

And it’s not just about semantics—it’s about removing the shame and breaking the stigma around how our loved ones pass.

From Doctrine to Divinity: Redefining God

Kim grew up in a traditional Christian home. Her father was a preacher. The God she knew was male, watchful, and, often, judgmental.

“My idea of God was a man sitting on a throne, waiting for me to screw up,” she said.

Losing Chelsea cracked open those rigid beliefs. But it wasn’t until Rob transitioned that they were completely reshaped.

Through her grief, Kim discovered something far more expansive: a divine presence big enough to hold her pain, her questions, and her evolving truth.

Today, she sees God as all-loving, genderless, and deeply present—not just in heaven, but right here, in the messy beauty of human life.

“I believe in God more now than ever,” she said. “But my God is bigger. My God can hold it all.”

When the Messages Began

Roughly a month after Rob passed, Kim had a dream—or what she now calls a “waking dream.”

In it, Rob appeared as his radiant, healthy self. He wore a mint-green polo and khakis. He sat beside her, held her hand, and said: “We have work to do.”

It wasn’t just comforting. It was directive. Rob wanted to help not just his mom—but other moms, too.

He told her she would help grieving mothers learn how to connect with their children in spirit, just as she was connecting with him. Kim wasn’t ready.

“I said, thanks, but no thanks,” she laughed. “I didn’t want to be the woman teaching people how to talk to their dead kids.”

But Rob didn’t give up.

He told her, “There are kids pounding on the veil. Their moms just can’t hear them.”

Eventually, Kim agreed to share the system Rob gave her.

The White Stones: Chelsea’s First Message

Though Rob was the one who began direct communication, Chelsea may have planted the seed for Kim’s awakening.

After Chelsea passed, Kim began finding white stones—everywhere. In parking lots. On trails. In her shoes. Something in her spirit knew they were a sign.

The moment of confirmation came during a church service. The sermon that day was on David and Goliath. The guest preacher spoke of the smooth white stones David used to defeat his giant.

Kim wept.

“I knew in that moment Chelsea was talking to me through that woman,” she said.

Those stones weren’t just signs. They were symbols of her strength. Proof that she wasn’t abandoned. That grief was a beginning—not just an end.

Rob’s System: A Path for Parents

Following Rob’s guidance, Kim created Messages for Moms, a course designed to help other parents connect with their children in spirit.

It’s not mediumship.

“You’re not coming to me for a reading,” Kim said. “You’re learning to build your own connection.”

The course includes:

* Tools to create a sacred space

* Daily practices to open communication

* Techniques to know when you’re connected

* A support structure with other grieving parents

And it works.

Some moms just want to ask one question: “Are you okay?” Others go on to have ongoing conversations, dreams, and signs.

One of Kim’s students said, “I felt like I got my child back.”

Addiction as a Spiritual Teacher

Kim asked Rob directly: Why did you start using drugs?

His response was enlightening.

“Because I wanted to have fun,” he said. “If I’d had a disease, I would’ve lost my hair and gotten sick. This way, I could live fully… and die quietly.”

He also shared that he didn’t want Kim to go through another hospital experience. He wanted her to remember him strong.

Rob framed addiction not as a weakness—but a soul choice. A way for his spirit to experience intensity, challenge, and contrast.

Kim now sees addiction as a possible gateway to spiritual growth—especially in our society where sensitive souls often feel overwhelmed.

“We don’t shame people for dying of cancer,” she said. “Why do we shame people who struggled with substance use?”

Coexisting With Grief and Joy

After Rob died, Kim canceled all her speaking engagements for a year.

She was known as the “Happiness Speaker,” a woman who taught audiences how to live joyful lives. That felt impossible now.

“How do I talk about happiness after this?” she asked a friend.

Her friend replied, “Who better than you?”

Kim began slowly speaking again—first in prisons, then at sober living facilities. Eventually, back on the big stage.

She now talks about grief and joy coexisting. About how tears and laughter often live side by side.

Today, she continues to spread happiness—but with deeper roots.

“I didn’t know joy could be this full,” she said. “Because now it includes everything.”

Final Words from Rob (and Kim)

In their book, My Son’s Afterlife Breakthrough, Rob shares unfiltered messages from the other side. He talks about death, addiction, marriage, and God—with the wit and wisdom only a 29-year-old spiritual guide could offer.

He also reminds us of this:

“I didn’t die. I just changed form.”

Kim echoes that.

“I still miss him every day. I cry on his birthday. But I also talk to him every day. That relationship didn’t end. It evolved.”

Key Takeaways:

* Grief can be a doorway to spiritual awakening

* Connecting with a child in spirit is available to everyone

* Addiction is not a moral failure—it may be part of the soul’s path

* Joy and grief are not opposites—they are companions

* Our children are not gone—they’re changed

Keep the Conversation Going 💬

If you’re a parent wondering if you can connect with your child in spirit—you can.

✨ Visit Kim’s site:

https://messagesformoms.com

Her book is: Beyond Grief: How a Son's Afterlife Connection Transformed a Mother's Loss into a Remarkable Spiritual Journey

✨ Join our community: https://grief2growth.com/community

Have you received a sign from your child or loved one?Share your experience in the comments below or in our online community.

You’re not alone.And your connection is not gone.

🙏 Thank you for being here. Your presence means more than you know. If my words have offered you comfort, insight, or a moment of clarity, consider supporting my work.Your paid subscription or a one-time tip helps keep me sharing stories, tools, and reflections to guide others through grief and growth.

Together, we’re expanding consciousness—one heart at a time. 💛It’s just waiting to be rediscovered.

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

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Some stories don’t make sense until you zoom out. Some moments whisper their truth only after the dust has settled.

Yesterday was one of those days.

Shayna’s 10th angelversary is just over a month away. Ten years. A full decade of breathing without her. Loving her from a distance I can’t touch. The weight of that milestone has been settling on my chest lately, bringing with it a familiar ache, sharp and quiet.

A couple of weeks ago, I found Shayna’s old iPhone in the basement. It felt like stumbling on a sacred artifact, sealed in grief. But it was locked, and in true Apple fashion, that meant the contents were inaccessible. No password, no access. I assumed those memories were locked away for good.

And then yesterday happened.

The Glitch That Became a Gift

My computer—an old, moody machine—started acting up again. It does this occasionally: works perfectly for weeks, then suddenly malfunctions like it’s channeling Mercury in retrograde. I tried reinstalling the OS multiple times, each attempt ending with a different flavor of failure. Out of frustration, I finally surrendered to the idea: it was time for a new computer. Shayna often communicates with me through electronics— my iPhone, and yes— computer glitches.

But here's the catch—I don’t delete anything. My life is archived in layers of digital sediment. To replace this machine, I’d need the biggest internal drive Apple offers, which not only is expensive, but also nearly impossible to find in stock. It would take at least two weeks to get one from Apple. It was finally time to clean up and properly archive old stuff.

In the middle of this mess, I remembered I had a podcast interview scheduled that afternoon with Daniel Drasin. If you know Calling Earth, you know how significant Daniel is in the afterlife research space. His documentary explores Instrumental TransCommunication—how those in spirit use electronics to communicate. Given the chaos, I seriously considered canceling the interview. But I didn’t. I just kept pushing through. Finally, right before the interview, the computer came back to life, and we did the interview.

Unearthing Shayna’s Digital Voice

After the interview, desperately trying to free up space, I decided to finally get serious about organizing my files. I couldn’t wait two weeks for a new computer. I needed at least get the disk size manageable so I could pick one up today.

I used Clean My Mac, a tool that identifies junk files you can safely delete. Clean My Mac identified backup files of every Apple device anyone in my family has ever had.

I had no idea these files were on my computer. As I scrolled through its recommendations, something unusual caught my eye: a file marked as a backup of Shayna’s phone from July 2015—the month after she passed.

The file name was gibberish. Encrypted. Something like F28bxe238txtl.bkp. Nothing to indicate what it held. But Clean My Mac recognized it and presented it to me as clear as day: Backup of Shayna's 5C iPhone.

My heart caught in my throat.

I searched for a way to extract its contents—without needing the original phone or password. Apple’s security is notoriously tight. I could possibly retrieve it. But I’d need to install on a phone and then convince Apple to let me in since I have no idea of Shayna’s password.

Thanks to AI, I found software that could parse the backup and display the files—texts, photos, videos—on my Mac. Fifty dollars later, I held in my hands what I thought was gone forever.

And suddenly… there she was.

Shayna’s phone, just as it was in July 2015. Frozen in time.

I read through the messages her friends sent when they learned she had passed. Their shock, their heartbreak, their disbelief. I saw Tywana’s texts from that morning: reminders to get out of bed, to come downstairs. Shayna had Girl Scouts that day.

There were no signs she knew she was going to pass. She was happy. It was just a normal day.

I sat at my desk and bawled—harder than I have in years. That deep, heaving kind of cry that rips you open and somehow stitches something back together.

The Second Layer: A Living Legacy

As if that weren’t enough, just a few hours later, I stood in Shayna’s old gym—the very place where she played basketball, volleyball, and received her own awards in 9th grade.

I was there to present the annual Shayna Smith Memorial Scholarship.

This year, we selected two recipients—a boy and a girl. The girl played volleyball, like Shayna. In her application essay, she referenced the motto “Play for Shay,” which still lives on nearly ten years later. The girls still wear a bracelet with that motto. Coach Kornau, Shayna’s volleyball coach, continued to share Shayna’s story with her players. These students, seven years younger than Shayna, knew exactly who she was—not as a memory but as a legacy.

Shayna never attended the main high school building. She passed the summer after 9th grade. But there I was, speaking her name in the gym where she shone—proof that love and impact don’t care about age or time. I reminded everyone of the impact Shayna had at Lakota in just her two short years there. I encouraged the scholarship recipients to not just see the award as financial aid, but to use Shayna as an inspiration for how they live, just as they had pledged in their applications.

A Code Waiting to Be Cracked

By the grace of digital resurrection, my computer came back to life just in time for the interview with Daniel Drasin.

As we wrapped, Daniel read a single chapter from his book about codes—how they conceal deeper meanings beneath the surface. How a code is something that must be unlocked to reveal its truth.

After the scholarship ceremony, it hit me like a wave: That’s what happened.

Those encrypted file names—those indecipherable strings—were codes hiding Shayna’s voice, her images, her texts. For nearly ten years they sat buried in my machine. Meaningless junk, unless you knew how to interpret them. Unless you were given the tools to decode them.

If my computer hadn’t crashed…If I hadn’t run Clean My Mac…If I hadn’t needed to declutter in a hurry…If I hadn’t interviewed Daniel that very day…

I would’ve missed it.

But Spirit doesn’t let us miss what we’re meant to receive.

The Whisper Beneath the Noise

Some days are more than just days.

Yesterday was one of those days where everything seems random, but in hindsight, every thread was perfectly placed. Shayna showed up—in code, in the gym, in the hearts of students too young to know her but old enough to carry her light.

What began as technical chaos became a divine orchestration.

A reminder that our loved ones in spirit don’t leave. They just speak in different ways. Through memories. Through electricity. Through files you almost deleted.

Through code.

If you’ve ever doubted that love transcends space and time, let this be your sign: The connection never breaks. The messages never stop. You just have to learn how to listen—and how to look.

p.s.- three weeks later, my computer is running fine. No more glitches. And, we received this from one of the scholarship recipients, an outstanding young man.

5/21/25

Dear Smith family,

I am writing to express my deepest gratitude for selecting me as a recipient of the Shayna Smith Scholarship. I was overwhelmed when you made the announcement, and I wanted to reach out and convey my gratitude.

I am truly honored to be selected for this scholarship. When you spoke about Shayna at the ceremony, it explained to me even more how great of a person she really was. I appreciate how many people considered her their closest friend. And I really admire how she was comfortable relating to all kinds of people with different backgrounds and beliefs, which is something I work really hard at, too. I am truly honored to be selected for this scholarship. I remember applying for this scholarship and what I wrote about was truly personal to me. It made me reflect on my impact on other people, instead of just thinking about myself. The things that Shayna stood for were inspiring to me, and to hear about how she affected her friends around her was also very special. Shayna and I are not the same person, but I believe we had strong similarities in our calling to stand up for what's right. Thank you for selecting me as the recipient of the Shayna Smith Scholarship, and I will do my best to carry on her legacy. I realize that I am now part of a community of people who remember her and who are motivated because of Shayna to live an honorable, good life.

I will be attending The Ohio State University this fall. I have been accepted into the College of Engineering and I will be studying Biomedical Engineering. Your support through this scholarship has really helped me get started next year. I know that I will worry less about my finances and I will therefore be able to give more of my full energy towards being a successful student. This scholarship not only eases the financial burden of continuing my education but also motivates me to push even harder. Thank you again for creating this scholarship and for selecting me. I know this means that I am even more responsible to make a productive impact with what others have given me, and I take that responsibility very seriously.

Sincerely,(signature)

🙏 Thank you for being here. Your presence means more than you know. If my words have offered you comfort, insight, or a moment of clarity, consider supporting my work.Your paid subscription or a one-time tip helps keep me sharing stories, tools, and reflections to guide others through grief and growth.

Together, we’re expanding consciousness—one heart at a 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

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

“Sometimes the only way to heal the past is to finally tell the truth about it.”

What happens when the person who hurt you most is also the person you most wanted to love you?

In this deeply vulnerable story, author and storytelling strategist Kennerly Clay shows us what it means to forgive an absent father—not because he earned it, but because she was finally ready to let go. Through Letters from East of Nowhere, her memoir composed of decades of real letters from her alcoholic father, Kennerly invites us into her journey of rediscovery, compassion, and healing.

This is a story for anyone who’s ever waited for a parent who never showed up.

The Lingering Wound of Absence

Kennerly’s father was a long-haul truck driver. He wasn’t abusive. He wasn’t mean. He simply wasn’t there.

“I’d sit all Sunday waiting for him. Sometimes he came. Sometimes he didn’t,” she recalls. “There was no consistency, and no explanation. Just the waiting.”

That inconsistency left a lasting emotional bruise. Her father had started another family. She wasn’t part of the daily rhythms of his life. There were no alternating weekends. No routine. Just a father who drifted in and out when he could spare the time—or the sobriety.

“I built up a lifetime of resentment,” she admits. “But I also cherished every single moment I had with him.”

That contrast—the ache of absence and the thrill of presence—is at the heart of what makes forgiving an absent father so complex. It’s not just grief. It’s longing. It’s the hope that never dies.

Addiction, Pain, and Parallel Paths

Kennerly followed in her father’s footsteps in a painful way: she became an alcoholic.

But unlike her father, she found sobriety early—at just 21.

It was in recovery that she realized something had to change. “I had to be honest. Not just with myself, but with him,” she says.

One day, while visiting, she asked him to go for a drive. They parked in a field. She told him everything. About her drinking. Her pain. What it felt like to be his daughter. To wait. To wonder. To feel forgotten.

“He popped a beer as I spoke. He never made eye contact,” she writes. “And when I finished, he didn’t apologize. He said, ‘If I had known it was that bad…’ and started explaining.”

Kennerly knew in that moment: forgiveness wasn’t about his response. It was about her release.

The Power of the Unsent Letter

That fieldside conversation became Kennerly’s emotional turning point.

“He didn’t get it,” she writes. “But I said it. And in saying it, I was free.”

In recovery, Kennerly learned a powerful truth: not everyone you forgive will respond the way you want them to. Sometimes they won’t respond at all. Sometimes, they’re no longer alive.

But you forgive anyway—for you.

This is the deeper reality of forgiving an absent father. You may never get closure from them. You may never get the apology. The recognition. The reconciliation.

But what you can get is freedom.

From bitterness. From blame. From the constant craving for something they may never give.

Rediscovering Her Father Through Letters

Years later, Kennerly’s healing deepened in the most unexpected way: her mother unearthed a box of old letters.

They were from her father.

Hundreds of handwritten pages, chronologically ordered, spanning from his college days to adulthood.

As she read through them, something shifted. “I remembered some of them from childhood. But I had forgotten,” she says. “And suddenly I saw a version of my father I’d never seen before.”

There were love letters to her mother. Tender messages to toddler Kennerly. Reflections on life. Dreams. Regrets.

She realized: “My father loved us. He just didn’t know how to stay.”

The letters didn’t excuse his absence. But they explained it. And in that explanation, she found compassion.

Mourning the Love That Might Have Been

Reading those letters triggered a wave of grief Kennerly never expected.

“I started crying in a way I hadn’t in decades,” she shares. “I wasn’t mourning what happened. I was mourning what could have happened.”

That’s a painful layer to forgiving an absent father—letting go not just of the hurt, but of the fantasy. Of what you wished they’d been. Of what you tried not to want.

“I realized I missed the love that I should have had. And that I’d built my life proving I didn’t need it.”

This acknowledgment cracked open her heart in a way no confrontation could. The letters showed her the tenderness he couldn’t live out—and gave her permission to grieve what she lost.

Understanding Changes Everything

Kennerly didn’t stop at the letters. She started interviewing family—her father’s cousin, old college buddies, even former coworkers.

She wanted to know: who was this man before he became her father?

The more she learned, the more she understood. He’d grown up in a violent household. He was shamed by his own father. He never believed he was enough. And when he started drinking, it only deepened that wound.

One family member said, “He was a great kid—funny, bright, so loving. But he was told he was nothing.”

Kennerly realized: “Of course he abandoned us. He didn’t believe he had anything to give.”

This wasn’t about condoning his choices. It was about context. And when we understand the context, forgiveness becomes not just possible—but natural.

The Healing Power of Storytelling

Kennerly didn’t just read the letters. She wrote a book about them.

Letters from East of Nowhere became a memoir, a tribute, and a lifeline—for her and for others.

“Writing this book was like reclaiming a piece of myself,” she says. “I finally got to tell the story I never told as a child.”

And that story was never just about her father. It was about her voice. Her truth. Her healing.

She discovered that storytelling—especially the deeply personal kind—can be one of the most powerful tools for emotional transformation.

You don’t have to be a writer to start. You just have to be willing to speak your truth. Even if your voice shakes.

When Forgiveness Isn’t About Them

If you’re wrestling with forgiving an absent father, Kennerly offers this truth:

“It’s not about what they did or didn’t do. It’s about who you want to be.”

You can choose to carry bitterness. Or you can choose to release it. Forgiveness doesn’t say, “It was okay.” It says, “I won’t let this control me anymore.”

For Kennerly, forgiveness was the bridge between truth and peace.

It didn’t change the past. But it changed her future.

She could finally love her father—not as the man she wanted him to be, but as the flawed, complicated human he was.

And in doing so, she gave herself the kind of love she’d been seeking all along.

From Pain to Purpose

Kennerly Clay’s story is a roadmap for anyone navigating complex grief, family trauma, or generational wounds.

By forgiving an absent father, she didn’t erase the pain—she transformed it. Through sobriety, storytelling, and soulful reflection, she turned what could have been a life of resentment into a legacy of compassion.

Today, her book isn’t just a tribute to her father. It’s a guide for anyone learning to forgive someone who couldn’t show up—and for anyone ready to reclaim their voice.

If you're holding on to anger, longing, or silence, maybe it’s time to write your own letter. Speak your truth. And finally, let go.

🗣️ Join the Conversation

Have you ever forgiven someone who never apologized?How did it feel to let go?

👉 Share your story in the comments or join our private community at grief2growth.com/community

📚 Learn More

🔗 Get the book: Letters from East of Nowhere🎧 Listen to the episode on YouTube🫂 Join our healing community: grief2growth.com/community

💬 Quote to Remember:

“There’s nothing he could have done about anything. I chose to forgive him. That was the point.” — Kennerly Clay

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

You Are Not Your Body

We live in a world obsessed with appearances—youthful skin, strong muscles, symmetrical faces. We use the body as shorthand for identity. We say, this is me. But it isn’t. Not really.

When someone we love dies, we grieve the form—the face, the voice, the physical presence. We miss the hugs, the laughter, the way their body moved through the world. But what if the essence of who they are is not gone at all? What if we’ve just been looking for them in the wrong place?

The Body Is Always Changing

Our body is just a conglomeration of chemicals interacting with each other at a particular point in time. It's constantly changing. Every cell in our body turns over at varying rates—our skin renews itself every few weeks, our liver cells every few months, and even our bones are replaced over the span of years. The body you have today is not the same one you had five years ago. It doesn’t even contain the same atoms.

Consider this: the molecules in us now that came from the bread we ate last week were in a field somewhere just a few months ago. Some of the molecules from the hamburger we ate were once part of a cow—and before that, part of the grass it grazed on. We are part of a great cycle of matter and life, constantly exchanging pieces of the Earth itself.

From the food we eat to the air we breathe, we are built from the materials of the Earth. We are literally stardust—recycled elements that once formed ancient stars, now shaped into flesh and bone for a time. The body we see in the coffin is not a fixed identity. It is simply the temporary arrangement of atoms that happened to be present when the person transitioned. The essence of who they are is not confined to that collection of matter.

The Body Is the Vehicle, Not the Driver

We spend our lives mistaking the body for the self. We think I am tired, I am sick, I am getting older — but the truth is, the one who observes all of this is not the body at all. The body is a vehicle, a vessel through which the spirit experiences the world. Just like we don’t confuse a person with their car, or a voice on the phone with the device in our hand, we shouldn’t confuse a person with their body.

This confusion is at the heart of so much of our grief, especially in death. We attach identity to what we can see and touch. But the soul, the consciousness, is never visible to the eye.

A Funeral Reveals What We’ve Forgotten

I attended a Catholic funeral mass recently, and I was struck by how often people referred to the person who had passed in the past tense. The priest called him “our brother,” and spoke of him as “sleeping” and being “laid to rest.” The focus remained on the body—its stillness, its absence.

But when it was my turn to speak, I gently reminded everyone: he’s still here.

And I meant it. The presence, the spirit, the essence of who he is—that doesn’t vanish. It doesn’t cease to be. It simply sheds what is no longer needed.

We Don’t Burn or Bury People—We Release the Shell

My mother-in-law, deeply afraid of cremation, used to say, “Don’t burn me up.” And I understand that fear. But it comes from a misunderstanding. We don’t burn people. We don’t bury them either. What we lay to rest is the body—the well-worn vehicle that carried their spirit through this life.

We release the body.We honor its service.We can be grateful to it.

But it’s important to keep in perspective what it is—and what it is not.

The body is not the person. It’s not the love, or the laughter, or the memories. It’s not the soul that animated it.

Now, it’s time for something new: to form a different relationship with our loved one. One that goes beyond their voice, their face, their habits and gestures. One that is soul-to-soul.

They’re still here. Just not in the way we’re used to.

The Dead Often Attend Their Own Funerals

Mediums and near-death experiencers often share something astonishingly consistent: many souls attend their own funerals. They hear the stories, feel the love, and sometimes try to comfort the grieving. What we bury is the vessel—but the passenger, the consciousness, is very much alive. They haven’t gone far. They’ve just stepped out.

The Soul Often Watches from the Corner of the Room

Those who’ve had near-death experiences often describe it the same way: their consciousness leaves the body and hovers nearby. They see everything. They’re calm, curious, and observant. Sometimes they ride in the ambulance. Sometimes they watch doctors working to revive their bodies. And always, there’s a sense of knowing: That’s my body—but I am not it.

Some turn and look at the body lovingly. Some think their bodies look strange and awkward. Others don’t even look back at the body and regard it as they would an old coat they’ve gotten their use from and are now donating to charity.

That quiet witnessing perspective is available to all of us, even now. We don’t need to wait for a moment of crisis to begin separating who we are from what we wear.

Maybe Jesus Was Teaching Us This Too

There’s a quiet, mystical moment after Jesus' resurrection when he says to the women at the tomb, “Do not touch me.” I’ve always wondered if, beyond the metaphysical, he was also teaching something deeper: Don’t cling to my physical form. Learn to recognize me without it.

Maybe he was inviting them to begin seeing beyond the body, even his.

What Remains Is What’s Real

The body returns to dust. But love doesn’t. Presence doesn’t. That deep knowing—the feeling that someone is still with us persists because it’s true. Their essence is not tied to flesh and bone. It never was.

So the next time you speak their name, do it with the quiet confidence that they hear you, that your connection continues, and that soul recognizes soul, even beyond the veil.

We are not our bodies. And those we’ve loved and lost, they are not gone. They are more themselves now than ever before. When it’s our turn, we will meet them again, this time, soul-to-soul.

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

There’s a grief that happens when you lose someone you love. And then there’s the grief of returning to a world that didn’t lose them. The return can feel brutal. Your world has changed. Theirs has not.

Maybe you’re walking back into work, sliding into your old pew at church, or trying to keep it together at the school drop-off line. Wherever it is, it probably feels surreal. Like you’re moving through water, fog, or some dimension that no longer fits your skin. And the hardest part? People don’t know what to say. So they either say too much or nothing at all. I’m not sure which is worse.

The Grief No One Prepares You For

One of the cruelest ironies of modern life is how little space we’re given to grieve. Three days off for bereavement. Five, if your company’s generous. As if the death of your spouse, child, parent, or dearest friend could be over in a long weekend. As if you’ll be back Monday with fresh eyes, ready to climb back on the hamster wheel.

And when you do come back, you may find that people are uncomfortable with your sadness. I know someone who was pulled into her manager's office and told her visible grief was upsetting her coworkers. She had lost her child.

Let that sink in.

What do we do with a culture that asks you to make your grief palatable?

The Awkward Questions and Painful Clichés

The questions will come. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes jarringly personal.

"How are you really?""Do you think you’ll have another baby?""Are you planning to date?"

Then there are the cliches that people offer, like life rafts. But they’re life rafts full of holes. Here are a few examples and gentle ways to respond:

* "Everything happens for a reason."Response: "Some things just break us open. I’m still learning how to live with the pieces."

* "God needed another angel."Response: "I’m not sure that comforts me right now, but I know you mean well."

* "At least they’re in a better place."Response: "I’d rather have them here."

* "You can have another child."Response: "My child can never be replaced."

* "You’re young—you’ll find someone else."Response: "Right now, I’m just trying to survive this loss."

* "Time heals all wounds."Response: "Time changes things, maybe. But some wounds become a part of who we are. Right now, the wound is here and raw."

Most people mean well. They just don’t know how to sit in pain without trying to fix it.

You’re Allowed to Protect Your Peace

It’s okay to protect your peace. You don’t have to protect people from your grief.

You can nod politely and change the subject. You can say, "I know that was meant with kindness. Thank you." You can say, "I’m not ready to talk about that." You can say nothing at all.

You do not have to engage in every conversation. You do not have to comfort others in your moment of pain. You do not have to perform your grief in a way that makes anyone else feel better.

Your grief belongs to you. Guard it. Tend to it. Let it breathe on your terms.

You don’t owe anyone your grief story. Don’t talk about it until you’re good and ready.

How to Anchor Yourself Before You Go Back

Here are a few ways to prepare yourself mentally and emotionally for stepping back into public life:

* Plan your exits. You’re allowed to leave early. You’re allowed to ghost. You’re allowed to change your mind.

* Ground yourself. Wear something that brings you comfort. Carry a small token that connects you to your person. It might be wearing their ring on a necklace. Breathe before you go in.

* Recruit backup. Have someone you can text if things get overwhelming. A lifeline.

* Script your responses. Practice a few lines that help you feel more in control when the questions come.

When the Tears Come

You might cry at your desk. In the bathroom. In the break room. In your car. You might cry so hard your chest hurts and your makeup smears. So what?

Emotional tears contain higher levels of stress hormones (like ACTH and leucine enkephalin, a natural painkiller) and prolactin, the hormone also involved in emotional bonding. Crying these tears helps the body regulate and release stress.

So when you cry from grief, your body is literally trying to heal itself. It's not just sadness spilling out. It's chemistry working on your behalf.

Let’s be clear: it is not your job to manage anyone else’s emotions.

Tears are normal. Expected. Necessary. You are not unprofessional or unstable—you are grieving. And if the room can’t hold your sorrow, that says more about the room than it does about you.

Do not be embarrassed by your tears. Don’t let anyone shame you for your sadness. You’re not weak. You’re grieving. If someone else is uncomfortable with your humanity, that’s theirs to carry, not yours.

You might spend your whole first day back crying. That doesn’t mean you failed. That means you showed up. That is strength.

You Get to Move at Your Own Pace

Grief isn’t linear. It doesn’t obey calendars or policies. You might feel okay one minute and shattered the next. You might feel numb for weeks, then fall apart over a song in the grocery store. There is no wrong way to grieve.

So go gently. Lower your expectations. Give yourself credit for every small victory. Getting dressed, answering an email, making it to a meeting, saying no to a conversation you’re not ready for— these are all victories.

You Don’t Have to Be Healed to Show Up

The truth is, the world will never be the same. And neither will you. That’s not a flaw—it’s a fact of love. You’re learning how to walk with a part of your heart missing.

But you are still here. Still breathing. Still loving. Still finding your way.

That is enough.

If you’ve walked this road, what helped you get through the early days of returning to public life? What do you wish people had said—or not said? Share your thoughts, or pass this along to someone who might need it today.

Let’s create a gentler world, one honest conversation at a time.

Purchase a 3-minute meditation to help you prepare for the day or if you just need a break

🔒 Bonus for Paid Subscribers: How to Set Boundaries While Grieving—Without Guilt

Paid subscribers get access to:

* Tips for setting boundaries

* 5 simple boundary setting scripts for various situations

* A journal prompt

* Self-compassion checklist for the end of the day

* A guided meditation to prepare you for grief days as you go back into public

Grief changes your capacity—mentally, emotionally, and physically. And yet, the world keeps making demands. People might expect you to reply to texts, attend gatherings, smile through meetings, or explain how you're doing when you barely know yourself.

Here’s the truth: you have the right to set boundaries without guilt.

Start here:

* "I'm not up for talking today, but I appreciate you checking in."

* "Thank you for the invite. I'm going to say no right now so I can rest."

* "That topic feels too tender for me. Let’s talk about something else."

You don’t have to justify, defend, or over-explain. Short responses are generally better.

A boundary isn’t a wall—it’s a doorway back to your own inner safety. Grief takes time. Don’t give up your peace.

Here are a few extras for those who want to go deeper:

5 Boundary-Setting Scripts for Work, Church, Family, and Social Media:

* Work: "I’m still navigating a lot emotionally. I’ll let you know if and when I’m ready to share more."

* Church: "I appreciate your prayers, and I need a little more quiet right now."

* Family: "I love you, but I need space to grieve on my own terms."

* Friends: "Please don’t be offended if I don’t respond quickly—I'm taking care of myself the best I can."

* Social Media: "Thank you for your kind messages. I may not reply to everyone, but I feel your love."

Journal Prompt:

* "Where am I most afraid to say no—and what would it feel like to say it anyway?"

Self-Compassion Checklist for Grief Days:

* I gave myself permission to rest.

* I honored my emotions without judgment.

* I allowed myself to not be okay.

* I said no when I needed to.

* I asked for support,or considered who I might ask next time.

Boundaries are not a betrayal of others—they are a promise to yourself. Let this be your reminder: you’re allowed to need less, speak less, do less. Especially now.

Your bonus grief preparation meditation:

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

What if forgiveness isn’t a gift for them—but for you?That’s the heart of Scott Stewart’s powerful journey—a man who chose healing over hatred, growth over bitterness, and peace over lifelong pain.

In this moving conversation on Grief 2 Growth, Scott sat down with host Brian D. Smith to share how he forgave the man who hurt him more deeply than anyone else could: his own father. The same father who, in a moment of blind rage, murdered Scott’s mother.

This isn’t a story about excuses. It’s a story about reclamation.

If you’ve ever wondered how to forgive someone who hurt you deeply, when the pain seems too great and the betrayal too personal, Scott’s story may be the hope you didn’t know you needed.

Childhood in the Shadow of Fear

Scott’s story begins in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Adopted at birth, he grew up with a mother who loved him, but a father who ruled the home with anger, manipulation, and emotional volatility.

“He could go from zero to rage in seconds,” Scott recalls. “I was always walking on eggshells.”

His mother tried to shield Scott, often explaining away his father’s behavior. “He’s tired. His back hurts. He’s under pressure.” But as many children in abusive households learn, rationalizing doesn’t remove the fear. It just teaches you to internalize it.

And for Scott, that fear became his foundation.

The Unthinkable Night

In August 1991, at age 22, Scott sat down for dinner with his parents. His mom had made her signature spaghetti. The night was unusually peaceful. As he was leaving, his mother followed him to the door.

“She asked for a hug. Kissed me on the cheek. Said she loved me.”

It would be the last time he ever saw her.

Later that night, while she slept, Scott’s father took her life. The act was sudden, violent, and irrevocable. It sent shockwaves through the family—and through Scott’s entire understanding of love, safety, and identity.

But that wasn’t the end of the betrayal.

“I Thought You Did It.”

A few weeks later, Scott agreed to visit his father in jail. He sat behind the glass, phone in hand, unsure of what to feel.

Then came a gut punch he’ll never forget.

“He looked me in the eye and said, ‘I didn’t do it. I told the police I did it to cover for you. Because I thought you did it.’”

Even in the face of unimaginable loss, Scott was being manipulated again. His father, still operating from a place of control and distortion, planted doubt when Scott needed clarity.

It was the last time they ever spoke.

What Forgiveness Is—and What It Isn’t

At first, Scott wasn’t thinking about forgiveness. He was just trying to survive. For two years, he numbed his pain with alcohol—not to escape, but to dull the noise. Eventually, a caring coworker asked him the question that changed everything:

“No… how are you really doing?”

That moment cracked something open. Scott began therapy. He immersed himself in personal development. He committed to healing. Slowly, the topic of forgiveness surfaced—and with it, all the misconceptions we carry.

“I had a totally false belief about what forgiveness is,” Scott says. “I thought it meant I had to excuse him. That I had to trust him again. That he somehow won.”

Instead, he reframed it:

“Forgiveness is releasing the hurt, anger, and bitterness—so you can move forward without them weighing you down.”

In other words: Forgiveness is not for them. It’s for you.

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Why We Stay Stuck: 6 Forgiveness Myths That Hold Us Back

Scott identified six major reasons people struggle to forgive—even when they want to.

1. We think forgiveness means trust.

It doesn’t. Forgiveness doesn’t give someone access to your life again. Trust is earned. Forgiveness is given—on your own terms.

2. We think it’s for them.

Scott’s father never apologized. Never showed remorse. Forgiveness still happened because it was never about him. It was about Scott’s freedom.

3. We think we’re excusing the behavior.

Not at all. Scott still acknowledges the horror of what happened. Forgiveness didn’t erase the crime. It ended its power to control him.

4. We think it’s one-and-done.

“I had to forgive my father hundreds of times,” Scott says. “Every Christmas, every milestone, every time my daughter was born—and my mom wasn’t there—I had to forgive him again.”

Forgiveness is a process, not an event.

5. We don’t want to let go of the anger.

Anger can feel like power. But as Scott puts it, “It’s like holding a hot coal hoping to throw it—only you're the one getting burned.”

6. We think it changes the past.

It doesn’t. But it does change the future. And that’s what makes it worth it.

Choosing a Different Legacy

Scott didn’t just want to survive. He wanted to become a different kind of man.

“I didn’t have a model for what a good father looked like,” he says. “But I knew what I didn’t want to be.”

Through years of therapy, coaching, and faith, Scott broke the cycle. Today, he’s a loving husband and father and a speaker helping others do the same.

“You can’t go back and change the beginning,” he says. “But you can start where you are and change the ending.”

What Forgiveness Creates

Forgiveness didn’t erase Scott’s pain. It didn’t bring his mother back. It didn’t restore trust in his father.

But it did something just as important.

It gave Scott his life back.

The ability to love his wife without fear. To raise his daughters with gentleness. To sit in peace with himself, even when the past whispers reminders.

“Forgiveness can’t change what happened,” Scott says. “But it changes everything about what comes next.”

Are You Ready to Let Go?

If you’re still holding on to pain, anger, or betrayal, you’re not alone. And you’re not broken.

But you do have a choice.

Start by asking:

* What am I still carrying that no longer serves me?

* Who am I becoming by holding this pain?

* What might be possible if I let it go?

There’s no timeline. No pressure. Just an invitation:

You can forgive. Not for them—but for you.

🗣️ Join the Conversation

What’s your experience with forgiveness? Have you struggled with letting go, or found freedom through it?💬 Join us and others on the journey:🔗 grief2growth.com/community🔗 Scott is at https://scottstewartspeaking.com

Thanks for reading Grief 2 Growth! This post is public so feel free to share it.

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

To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

For most of my life, I carried a quiet fear beneath the surface of my faith; a fear of hell. Not just the concept of it, but the unsettling idea that God might actually send people there forever. It didn’t sit right with me. It never had. But I believed it anyway, because I thought I had to. It was what good Christians believed, right? It was “the truth”.

Still, that nagging dissonance followed me everywhere. How could a God who is love create a system where most of His children are doomed from birth? How could an all-powerful, all-loving Creator either fail to save us or choose not to? Why did he hate me so much for being just what he made me to be?

Then, in my mid-30s, I stumbled across Christian Universalism. I wasn’t looking for a new doctrine. I just wanted the truth. I had given up on the Christianity of my youth being right. When I found Christian Universalism, something deep inside me lit up. This is it, I thought. This is the truth I knew in my heart all along.

Two Gospels, Both Incomplete

To understand why Christian Universalism is hopeful and theologically sound, we first need to explore the two dominant views on salvation that have shaped the church for centuries. You’re probably familiar with them even though you might not know their names.

Arminianism: Love Without Power

Arminianism, named after the 16th-century Dutch theologian Jacobus Arminius, teaches that:

* God genuinely loves all people.

* Jesus died for the sins of the whole world.

* Salvation is offered freely to everyone.

* But humans have free will, and many will reject God's offer.

* Eternal separation from God (hell) is the result of human choice, not divine decree.

What Arminians get right: They rightly emphasize God's universal love and the inclusiveness of Christ's atonement. Verses like John 3:16, 1 Timothy 2:4, and 2 Peter 3:9 strongly support the idea that God's desire is for everyone to be saved.

What Arminians get wrong: They render God ultimately powerless in matters of salvation. If human will can override divine will, then God wants to save all, but tragically cannot. That turns salvation into a fragile negotiation. Human stubbornness trumps divine grace. God wants to save all. But since he gave us the “gift” of free will, we are free to reject him. I contend that anyone in their right mind who truly knew God could not resist him forever. This is something the Calvinists got right (keep reading).

It also raises a troubling question: If God knew billions would reject Him and suffer eternally, why create them in the first place? That’s a big risk!

Calvinism: Power Without Universal Love

On the other end of the spectrum is Calvinism, rooted in the teachings of John Calvin. Calvinism insists on God's total sovereignty and uses the acronym TULIP to summarize its core doctrines:

* Total Depravity: Every part of human nature is affected by sin; we are incapable of saving ourselves.

* Unconditional Election: God chooses whom to save, not based on anything we've done, but according to His will.

* Limited Atonement: Christ died only for the elect, not for all humanity.

* Irresistible Grace: When God chooses to save someone, they will respond to His call.

* Perseverance of the Saints: Those whom God saves will endure in faith and never finally fall away.

What Calvinists get right: They affirm God's sovereignty—His will is not frustrated, and His purposes always stand (Isaiah 46:10). They rightly point out that God is irresistible.

What Calvinists get wrong: They drastically narrow the scope of God's love. If Christ died only for some, and the rest are predestined for eternal torment, then God’s character is called into question. Why create billions of people only to damn them? This view makes God the author of a cosmic tragedy. It’s a cruel God who creates beings he knows are bound only for torment. That’s deeply at odds with the picture of a God who is love (1 John 4:8).

The Middle We’ve Missed: What If God Can Save All And Wants to?

Now that we've examined both frameworks, something becomes clear:

* Arminianism affirms God’s love but denies His ultimate power.

* Calvinism affirms God’s power but denies His universal love.

But Scripture tells us both are true:

* God is all-powerful.

* God does desire all to be saved.

So what if the error is not in believing one or the other, but in thinking we have to choose?

Christian Universalism takes both truths seriously. It affirms God's love and His power. It trusts that when Scripture says God wants to save everyone, and that His will is never thwarted, we can believe that means… everyone.

The Absurdity We’ve Accepted

If we take a step back, the picture many of us were taught begins to look less like justice and more like a tragic contradiction.

We’re told that God is love. He is the Good Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to rescue the one. He is the Father who runs toward the prodigal while he is still a long way off. And yet, this same God, in most Christian doctrines, creates billions of people knowing they will end up in eternal torment. The Arminian God doesn’t know who wil be lost. The Calvinist God doesn’t care.

Some say hell wasn’t made for us—it was made for Satan and his angels. But that only kicks the can down the road. If God created Satan, knowing what he would become, then God created the conditions for eternal suffering. He built the system. He set the trap. And if God is sovereign, as Arminians and Calvinists believe, He could undo it.

So why doesn’t He?

The common answer is that God’s holiness demands justice. He must punish sin with eternal fire. But this only deepens the absurdity. What kind of justice is eternal conscious torment? What loving Father would allow, let alone decree, infinite suffering for finite failure?

If your theology requires a cosmic torture chamber to satisfy God's character, maybe it's time to reconsider what kind of God you believe in.

What If God's Judgment Isn't the End?

Christian Universalism doesn't deny judgment—it redefines its purpose.

Yes, Scripture speaks of fire. But fire in the Bible often purifies, not punishes. Think of the refiner’s fire in Malachi, or the consuming fire of God’s presence in Hebrews. Judgment then isn’t eternal damnation—it’s the beginning of restoration.

“When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself.” — John 12:32“For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.” — 1 Corinthians 15:22“God has bound everyone over to disobedience so that he may have mercy on them all.” — Romans 11:32

What if judgment is part of the healing process? What if even the hardest hearts are not lost forever, but slowly, surely drawn back to the source of all love? Why would God be limited by time, space, or even human “free will”?

That doesn’t erase human agency. It honors it. It just trusts that in the end, love will win, not by force but by God’s faithfulness patiently wooing us to Godself.

A God Who Actually Gets What He Wants

Let’s return to that original tension.

* If God wants to save all...

* And God’s will cannot be thwarted...

* Then the only logical conclusion is: God will save all.

This is the heart of Christian Universalism.

It doesn’t flatten the Gospel. It fulfills it. It doesn’t ignore sin. It puts it in perspective. It doesn’t erase justice. It completes it in mercy.

Because a God who can save all, and wants to save all… is a God who will.

The Gospel That Finally Made Sense

When I first encountered Christian Universalism, I wasn’t looking to rewrite my faith. I was trying to make sense of a God who claimed to be love, but seemed to act otherwise.

What I found wasn’t just a different doctrine. It was a deeper truth. A Gospel that finally aligned with everything I felt in my spirit, but never knew how to say out loud.

This is the truth I knew in my heart all along.

What If You Let Yourself Hope?

What if God is better than you were told?What if love really does win, not in spite of justice, but through it?What if every soul ultimately finds its way Home?

If this stirred something in you, don’t ignore it. Question what you've inherited. Explore the heart of God with fresh eyes. And most of all—hope.

Because maybe, just maybe, that hope is the Holy Spirit whispering:This is it. This is the truth you’ve known all along.

Thanks for reading. Paid subscribers get access to scriptures for further reflection and additional resources.

Thanks for reading. If this article challenged, encouraged, or comforted you, I invite you to share it with someone who may need to hear it. And I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

🙏 Thank you for being here. Your presence means more than you know. If my words have offered you comfort, insight, or a moment of clarity, consider supporting my work.Your paid subscription or a one-time tip helps keep me sharing stories, tools, and reflections to guide others through grief and growth.

Together, we’re expanding consciousness—one heart at a time. 💛

Scripture References for Further Reflection

These verses offer a glimpse into the fullness of God’s love, will, and redemptive purpose:

* God's desire to save all:

* 1 Timothy 2:4

* 2 Peter 3:9

* Ezekiel 18:23, 32

* God’s sovereignty and the fulfillment of His will:

* Isaiah 46:10

* Job 42:2

* The universal reach of Christ’s work:

* John 12:32

* 1 John 2:2

* 1 Corinthians 15:22

* Romans 11:32

* Philippians 2:10–11

* God’s refining judgment and restorative purpose:

* Malachi 3:2–3

* Hebrews 12:29

* Revelation 21:5

Further Reading & Resources

* Tentmaker.org — Articles, scripture studies, and testimonies from a Christian Universalist perspective.

* Book: The Inescapable Love of God by Thomas Talbott — A philosophical and theological case for Universalism.

* Book: Christianity Without Insanity by Boyd C. Purcell — A pastoral and psychological perspective on letting go of fear-based theology.

Thanks for reading. If this article challenged, encouraged, or comforted you, I invite you to share it with someone who may need to hear it. And I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

🙏 Thank you for being here. Your presence means more than you know. If my words have offered you comfort, insight, or a moment of clarity, consider supporting my work.Your paid subscription or a one-time tip helps keep me sharing stories, tools, and reflections to guide others through grief and growth.

Together, we’re expanding consciousness—one heart at a 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

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

Thank you Kristina God, Julie Neches, Sherry Abdou, Marcy Norman, and many others for tuning into my live video with Sara Redondo, MD! Join me for my next live video in the app.

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By Brian D. Smith, Grief Educator & Founder of Grief 2 GrowthFeaturing Dr. Sara Redondo, MD

Introduction: Why We Must Talk About Grief

Grief changes everything. It changes how we breathe, how we think, how we see the world—and most of all, how we see ourselves.

In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month, I joined Dr. Sara Redondo, a medical doctor from Spain, for a powerful and emotional conversation about one of the most difficult experiences a person can face: grieving the loss of a child.

Together, we shared our stories—not to relive our pain, but to light the path for others walking through their own.

Because grief doesn’t need to be hidden. It needs to be heard.

Brian’s Story: Losing Shayna and Finding Purpose

My daughter Shayna was just 15 years old when she passed away suddenly in her sleep on June 24, 2015.

She was healthy. She was thriving. A volleyball and basketball player, full of energy and light. She had just finished ninth grade and was preparing for her sophomore year. That morning, we went to wake her, and our world fell apart.

As a parent, there is no greater nightmare than losing your child. The pain was indescribable. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was disorientation. A collapse of everything I thought I knew.

And it wasn’t the first time I had struggled with death.

As a child, I had a deep, paralyzing fear of dying. I had panic attacks at night, haunted by thoughts of what might happen after we pass. That fear drove me to study death, near-death experiences, and the afterlife in my 20s. But no amount of intellectual preparation could have braced me for the emotional impact of losing Shayna.

At first, I didn’t want to live. I didn’t want to “get better.” I took a silent vow, like one of my ancestors, Thomas Jefferson, after he lost his wife, that I would never be the same again. I believed staying broken was how I would honor my daughter.

But I soon realized: I had a wife, another daughter, and people who still needed me. Perhaps most of all, I came to understand that staying broken wouldn’t honor Shayna. It would silence her legacy.

Learning to Live Again: Healing Through Community and Meaning

I found my way forward not through forgetting, but through remembering with purpose.

I joined organizations like Helping Parents Heal and the International Association for Near-Death Studies (IANDS). I later joined the boards of both. I became a certified grief educator, published books on coping with grief, and began coaching others one-on-one through their own losses.

Today, I write regularly on Grief 2 Growth, helping others find light in the darkest moments of their lives.

“I believe I’m here to live her legacy.”

And I do. Every story I hear, every parent I sit with, every conversation like this one with Dr. Sara, it’s part of Shayna’s legacy now.

Sara’s Story: A Young Doctor’s Journey Through Grief

Dr. Sara Redondo’s story echoes a different kind of heartbreak, but a familiar emotional landscape.

She was 22 years old, just finishing her first year of medical school in Spain, when her world changed forever. In the midst of celebration with friends, her father called her home. Her mother, a non-smoker, had been diagnosed with advanced lung cancer.

A year later, her mother died at age 56.

“It broke me,” Sara said. “I didn’t want to see anyone. I fell into depression, anxiety, insomnia… even binge eating. I felt so empty I started to eat until it hurt—just to feel something.”

Her pain didn’t stop there. A few years later, her beloved cat—who had been with her for 23 years—had to be euthanized. Around the same time, Sara suffered a severe burn injury in a kitchen accident, requiring three surgeries and months of daily care.

“I’ve felt physical pain. And I can tell you, grief can be just as real. Just as consuming.”

What Helped Us Heal

Healing is never linear. But for both Sara and me, the turning point came when we stopped grieving alone.

For me, it was community, finding other parents who had experienced the unthinkable. I leaned on spirituality, tools like meditation and mediumship, and daily practices that helped me keep moving forward.

For Sara, it was movement. Running helped her cry, release, and breathe again. It motivated her to eat well, sleep better, and gradually reconnect with life. And eventually, she met her husband—proof that joy can re-enter a life, even when it once felt impossible.

“It took me five years to laugh again,” Sara admitted. “But connection brought me back.”

Common Grief Reactions (And Why You’re Not Broken)

Grief can look different for everyone. Some of the most common (and confusing) responses include:

* Guilt (“I should have done more…”)

* Anger (at yourself, others, or even God)

* Numbness or emotional shutdown

* Isolation

* Overeating or loss of appetite

* Insomnia

* Shame for “still grieving”

And for many people, like Sara and me, there’s a deep-seated guilt that lingers.

Sara blamed herself for her cat’s death. I fixated on not hugging Shayna the night before she passed. As irrational as these thoughts may sound, they’re heartbreakingly human.

“We will always find a reason to feel guilty,” I told her. “It’s not about logic. It’s about loss.”

And loss demands compassion. From others—and from yourself.

How You Can Begin Healing Today

There’s no quick fix for grief. But there are better ways to walk through it:

* Talk about itShare your story, even if your voice shakes. Grief thrives in silence. Healing begins with connection.

* Find your communityWhether it's Helping Parents Heal, Compassionate Friends, Forever Family Foundation, or the Grief 2 Growth online community, you don’t have to do this alone.

* Honor your grief ritualsJournal, run, cry in the car, visit their favorite place. Whatever helps you feel and process is valid.

* Avoid over-identifying with painHealing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means making room for love and joy again—without guilt.

* Seek professional or peer supportCoaches, counselors, and spiritual companions can walk beside you when it feels too heavy to walk alone.

“You don’t need permission to grieve publicly,” I reminded viewers. “But sometimes we just need someone to say it’s okay.”

Final Words: Walking Each Other Home

One of my favorite quotes comes from Ram Dass:

“We’re all just walking each other home.”

That’s what Sara and I hoped to do in this conversation. Walk with you. Not to fix you. Not to move you on. But to remind you that you are not alone.

Grief may be a part of your story. But it’s not the whole story.

Whether you’re grieving the loss of a child, a parent, a pet, or a life you once knew—your pain is valid. Your healing is possible. And your love is eternal.

Join the Conversation 💬

We’d love to walk this path with you.

Join my free online community at grief2growth.com/communityConnect with others who understand. Share your story. Discover hope.

Find me at https://www.grief2growth.com

Let’s walk each other home.

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