Shortly after Leigh's 22-year-old son, Josh, was killed in a plane crash, her best friend looked her straight in the eyes and said some of the most beautiful words a bereaved mother can ever hear:

"Your grief doesn't scare me."

When she told me that during this week's podcast interview, it took my breath away.

As a grieving parent myself, I remember how often my grief did seem to scare people. I saw the uncomfortable glances from across the room. I heard the mumbled apologies when someone said something that "made" me cry. It was as if my tears were a burden they didn't quite know how to hold.

And the truth is… my grief scared me, too.

There were days I collapsed to the floor, sobbing so hard I feared I would never stop. Moments when the pain felt so big, so consuming, that I wondered if it might swallow me whole. Grief can feel like that—wild, unpredictable, and utterly overwhelming.

Fifteen months into her own grief journey, these are the same emotions Leigh continues to navigate day by day. As she shared her story, I could feel both the depth of her love for Josh and the weight she carries in his absence. She spoke with such honesty about the moments when she still reaches for her phone, waiting for his daily phone call. And each day, she lights a candle for Josh, a simple yet sacred ritual that keeps his presence in the home.

But here's a lesson I've learned—for myself and for anyone walking this path—slowly and painfully, and with more tenderness than I ever thought possible:

Grief may shake us, but it does not destroy us.

We survive what once felt unsurvivable. Bit by bit, breath by breath, we learn to carry the weight. And somewhere along the way, light begins to seep back in—not because the grief is gone, but because we've grown strong enough to hold both love and loss at the same time.

If you're grieving today, I want you to know this:

Your grief doesn't scare me. And even if you can't feel it right now, there is hope ahead. Not a return to who you were, but a gentle becoming of who you're learning to be.

You're not alone.