Today's guest, Lisa, says she has always felt a special, spiritual link to her eldest daughter, Libby—starting when Libby was an infant and lasting throughout her life. One night, Lisa complained to her husband about a throbbing thumb. The next morning, Libby called, saying she had hurt her thumb and thought it was broken. When Libby’s father asked if the injury happened around 9 pm, Libby confirmed the time of the injury, but she was puzzled until he answered, “Your mother felt that.”

Despite being over 200 miles away and unaware of any injury, Lisa sensed Libby’s broken thumb that night. Six months later, at 1 am, Libby’s friends called, reporting that she had vanished after being dropped off in a taxi. Lisa instantly feared the worst, though she tried to reassure them that Libby might simply be delayed. Deep down, she knew Libby was dead. She could not feel her as she normally could.

The following day, Lisa and her husband braved a harsh English winter storm to drive to Hull. As they passed the Humber Estuary—a vast inlet leading to the North Sea—Lisa whispered, “Libby is in that water.” Her husband dismissed it as being 'silly,' but Lisa insisted she wasn’t imagining it. Forty‑eight agonizing days later, police recovered Libby’s body from those waters; she had been raped and murdered.

In the nearly seven years since that tragedy, Lisa and her family have endured relentless trauma. At first, she felt isolated despite the story dominating UK headlines, and for two years she seemed to lose herself entirely. Over the past five years, however, she has begun to heal by connecting with other bereaved parents, listening to podcasts, and sharing Libby’s story with young people and police officers. She hopes that exposing the warning signs that preceded the murder will help protect other women.

And although Libby is no longer physically here with her, through her work, Lisa still feels connected to Libby. Lisa feels her as she does her "Libby work" in Libby's old bedroom, now her office. Our love for our children keeps that spiritual connection alive long after they are gone.

Jerry’s passion is helping bereaved children. When I was first introduced to her, Jerry was described as a widowed mother with a heart for grieving kids. She’d written Joy Overcame Sorrow, a fictional tale for late‑elementary and middle‑school readers about a ten‑year‑old girl coping with her father’s death. The story follows Joy’s grief journey, letting parents buy a companion workbook so children can record their own feelings while reading.

I booked Jerry for the show because listeners frequently ask how parents can support grieving children. I didn’t realize her personal loss mirrored our own so closely. Jerry lost her husband her best friend — and raised their young family alone. Before that, she endured four pregnancy losses, including delivering and burying two infants, Jenny and Jesse. Those early tragedies marked her first encounter with deep grief and forced her to help her surviving kids navigate sorrow. Little did she know the next forty years would bring more loss, both as a widow and as a K‑9 teacher working with grieving students.

In the classroom, Jerry advised fellow teachers on supporting grieving children. Many educators feel helpless; asking parents is tough because they, too, are immersed in grief. Colleagues urged her to write a book to help grieving children. Jerry had already published a non-fiction book, helping widows rediscover joy after loss, but writing for children would prove to be very different indeed. 

Instead of a non‑fiction how‑to guide, Jerry chose fiction — a powerful decision. Stories teach while comforting, allowing children to see themselves reflected without overt instruction. Kids gravitate to narrative—they don’t want to feel singled out. By experiencing grief through Joy’s eyes, they learn, empathize, and feel less alone. Her novel and its workbook now serve as a gentle bridge for families and teachers navigating the delicate path of loss together.

To learn more about Jerry and her writing, visit drjerrylwoodbridge.com.

Eight minutes.

That is how long it took for Michael's life to be forever changed. In late November 2016, a fire broke out in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Unbeknownst to Michael, the winds picked up while he was driving with his oldest son, and the fires swept toward the family home. Michael is haunted by nightmares of his frantic drive back through the fires, trying to get back home.

By the time he arrived, the fire had taken the lives of his daughters, Chloe and Lily, as well as his wife, Constance. In the months after the fires, as Michael struggled to sleep, he would write about his pain. One day, he posted a writing on Facebook. It "went nuts," causing Michael to start a blog.

Michael continued in his dark world until November 2023, when he stood at the memorial for the fires. He whispered to the empty air, opening his heart to the girls he had lost. In the silence, he heard Chloe’s voice, bright and urgent: “Daddy, it’s time to do the work.” The words struck a chord deep inside him. That night, he enrolled in college, determined to learn how to translate his pain into something to help others.

Thus, The Million Stages of Grief was born. Each chapter opens with an italicized fragment from his old blog — a snapshot of confusion, terror, or numbness. The remainder of the chapter presents the lessons he gathered in classrooms, therapy rooms, and through life's experiences, reshaping those dark moments into pathways forward. Before pressing “publish,” Michael whispered a brief prayer, handing the manuscript over to his girls, asking, "I am completely giving this to you. However big you want this to go, however many people you want to read it, I give it all to you."

Years ago, while working as a zipline instructor, a woman kicked Michael, knocking him over. Inexplicably, five years later and one month after that prayer, she posted the video to TikTok, garnering 1.5 million views. Curious, Michael created his own TikTok account, stitching the video to a narration of his story and book. The new post surged to 2.5 million views. I guess his girls decided that their story needed to go very big indeed.

He should be here.

Today's guest, Lindsay, says that these are the four most impactful words that have been said to her in the year since her 6-month-old son, Chase, died from bacterial meningitis. These words don't try to cheer her up or remind her of some grand plan. They simply acknowledge the wrongness of the whole situation. Lindsay's family no longer feels complete without Chase. Smiling 'Chasey' should be tagging along, trying to keep up with his big brother, Jack. Chase should be here.

From the time her two boys were tiny babies, Lindsay would read to them. She loved reading board books by Nancy Tillman, especially 'On the Night You Were Born' and 'Wherever You Go: My Love Will Find You.' This second book begins with the line, 'I wanted you more than you'll ever know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go.'

The book goes on to describe how the mother's love will follow the child wherever he or she goes, whether it be going swimming, climbing trees, or marching in parades. It reminds the child that as they grow, their mother's love will continue to follow them throughout life. The last line of the book reads, 'You are my angel, my darling, my star, and my love will find you wherever you are.'

Since Chase's death, Lindsay has truly realized the truth of that little board book. The book was certainly not written for grieving parents, but we can hold fast to the words of that book, can't we? Death does not end our love for our children. Our love continues to follow them after death. 

Lindsay's love for Chase has followed him all the way to heaven. In the year since Chase died, her love for Chase has not diminished. Her love has continued to grow just as it does for all mothers. On Chase's birthday, Lindsay now donates 70 copies of 'Wherever You Go: My Love will Find You' to the NICU where she works and Baby Chase once stayed. 

Certainly, Chase should be here as a laughing, smiling toddler, but as she sees parents read these books to their new babies, Lindsay remembers that their love for each other continues to grow, and these books will help spread that love even further.

I feel like God arranges for certain guests to come on the podcast just when I need them most. On the day of this interview, I was particularly weepy, missing Andy even more than I normally do. I think God knew I needed someone to cry with, and Nancy was that someone.

Nancy calls her son, Jacob, her Buddha baby, weighing 11 pounds 3 ounces at birth. The bib that they brought with them to the hospital would not even fit around his neck. However, that was not the only reason Jacob was called her Buddha Baby. Even as an infant, Jacob seemed to be a calming presence to everyone around him. 

Shortly after graduating from high school, Jacob was feeling a bit tired while working a new job. He noticed a lump that was quickly determined to be lymphoma. However, cancer did not slow him down. Jacob was determined to keep living his best life and even started school after his diagnosis. When beginning a new cancer treatment, it was expected that he would be in the hospital for a relatively short stay and then move on with life.

In fact, at 19 years of age, Jacob would only let Nancy stay a certain number of hours each day so he could have some privacy. Suddenly, one evening after Nancy went back to her hotel, everything changed. In a matter of hours, Jacob suffered severe complications from the treatment, leading to brain swelling. Jacob, her amazing teenage Buddha, was gone.

In the five months between Jacob's death and this interview, Nancy feels as if she has been living in a fog. She finds that she just wants to keep moving and walking constantly. At times, she wondered if she would even be able to make it back home. Tears still come daily. She has joined support groups, where she talks to other bereaved mothers who get it. She listens to my podcast during long walks. Nancy talks to Jacob and looks for signs of him in nature.

So in today's episode, we talked about and cried for our boys. She understood my pain, and I understood hers, and after an hour of talking and crying, I knew that we both felt just a little bit better. So thank you, God, for sending Nancy just when we needed each other most.

Grief and Laughter.

At first glance, it may seem like these words could be considered polar opposites, but as we grieve, moments of laughter and joy can be a balm for the soul. The intense pain of grief oftentimes feels overwhelming. It is deep and dark, and it can feel like it will go on forever.

I remember the first time that I laughed after Andy died. I felt tremendous guilt. Andy was dead. I felt like I should never laugh again. I should be sad every moment of every day. But that is not how we were made. We were created to be beings that felt joy and happiness. My mind wouldn't let me stay in the darkness continuously, and that is a good thing.

Laughter can bring a tremendous release of emotions in much the same way that crying brings release. Most people do not feel guilty when they cry during grief, but laughter can cause guilt. My hope is to help people learn that laughter is amazing medicine for the soul and not something to avoid. 

This week's podcast is an edited release of the Livestream with Gwen. (If you tuned in and had a difficult time listening due to technical problems, I apologize. This version is much better!) Gwen shares her wisdom on the benefits of laughter and learning to reintroduce laughter into our lives while still navigating through the depths of our pain.

We are certainly not suggesting that someone can simply let go of their grief and choose to be happy. (Many people have said those words to me, and frankly, that is simplistic and absurd.) We are asking you to seek out moments of laughter and joy. Seek out people in your life who make you feel good, even if it's only for a few hours or a few minutes. For me, the best people to laugh with are actually other bereaved parents. It feels safe to laugh with them, knowing that they will not judge me if I laugh and cry at the same time.

Having those people and moments in your life may help make the pit of grief feel a little less dark and help you feel a little less alone.

Today's guest, Catherine, says that in many ways, she grieved for her daughter, Helen, not once but twice. The grieving began after she suffered complications during delivery, which led to seizures that began shortly after birth and multiple medical complications. Catherine grieved for the life she had hoped and dreamed of for Helen. Then, fourteen years later, Catherine's grief started fresh when Helen died unexpectedly in her sleep.

Although Catherine says that she grieved Helen twice, Helen's 14 years were not years full of sadness and grief. They were joy-filled years. Catherine loved being Helen's hands and feet. She loved seeing her eyes light up and give big smiles. Catherine was a part of Helen, and Helen was a part of her. One day, when Helen was young, the two of them were watching TV, and Catherine saw the inspirational story of Team Hoyt, a father-son duo who competed in over 1,100 races, including numerous Ironman Triathlons. Son Rick suffered from cerebral palsy, but said that when racing in a specialized wheelchair with his dad, Dick, he felt freedom and joy.

After Helen died, Catherine felt lost. She did not know what to do with herself without Helen being beside her. When asking her priest for advice, he answered that he didn't know what she should do, but that for many, participation in sport could be a good healing modality. That's when Catherine began to think once again about the inspirational story of the Hoyts. She knew that she couldn't physically swim, run, and bike with Helen, but perhaps she could still be with her emotionally. That's exactly what Catherine did. Her first triathlon was done almost secretively, with only her husband's knowledge. As she waited in the water of the lake at the beginning of the race, wondering if she had made a mistake in signing up, until the sun began to rise, and she felt Helen with her. 

Over the years, Catherine has continued to train and now races in an Ironman triathlon each year, following in the Hoyts' footsteps. She compares the training to her life, first as a mom of a special needs child and now as a bereaved mom. She chronicles her journey in her book, Finding My Stride: A Guide to Finding Power Raising a Child with Special Needs.

Belief expansion. As they navigate life, all adults develop a core set of beliefs. When tragedy strikes, sometimes these core beliefs can be shaken. Some grieving people lose their sense of spirituality, while others gain a deeper, stronger faith after experiencing trauma.

Dave was trained as a therapist, but nothing in his training prepared him for his 18-year-old daughter, Jeannine's cancer diagnosis and death. He grew up in the Christian church with some Christian traditions, but Dave's core values and beliefs were grounded in science. Dave realized in the months and years after Jeannine's death, he needed more. Science alone did not bring him the comfort or peace he needed. 

Dave says by pure serendipity, an interfaith minister named Patty entered his life. (I like to think this was by divine intervention, but I digress.) Dave had a spiritual experience with Patty that changed his life forever. Over the next ten years, Dave began exploring more and more ideas of spirituality with Patty and others. Dave said that he began to realize he did not have to abandon his core beliefs and values to adopt additional beliefs that aligned with and complemented his perspective.

Dave now asks himself, "What can I add here that is going to help me get through this part of my life?" He truly feels that if he had continued in the old set of beliefs that he had when Jeannine died, he would not be where he is today. Dave said,  "My journey demanded that I needed to embrace different perspectives about how I saw myself, how I saw the world, and how I saw my values if I was going to reengage in life again while still honoring my grief."

Dave wrote a book about his experiences and conversations with Patty called, 'When the Psychology Professor Met the Minister," available on Amazon. He also now hosts a podcast, The Teaching Journeys (listen for me on an upcoming episode). On the podcast, Dave continues his own journey of belief expansion by learning from the stories of others who have experienced challenges in life. Dave says, "We are all students and teachers...let's learn from each other." I cannot think of a more amazing way to learn.

Near the end of today's interview, my guest, Miranda, said one of the most beautiful sentences that I have ever heard from a bereaved mom, especially one who is only 9 months into her grief journey. Miranda said, "Denver's death is going to be my reason, not my excuse - my reason to get up, my reason to do, my reason to survive, and my reason to love."

Denver was a happy, healthy toddler who had just celebrated his first birthday when he died from accidental suffocation while he slept. His birthday theme just weeks before had been 'One Happy Dude,’ so Miranda and her family used the decorations for his funeral. His funeral was full of yellow smiley faces and lots of bright colors. The family handed out smiley face pins at the funeral. 

Every summer, their hometown of Medicine Hat, Alberta, has a hot air balloon festival. This year, Miranda had the idea that one of the pilots might be able to take a picture of Denver up in a brightly colored hot air balloon during he festival. By the time the festival began, all thirty hot air balloons contained pictures of Denver. Many of the balloonists are international and continue to bring the picture of Denver with them as they fly all over the world. This month, Denver's picture is flying with a hot air balloon over Italy. 

I have shared many times about bringing Andy's teddy bear with us as we travel to help us have a symbol of Andy with us. Continuing to live and make happy memories without him is challenging. Living without Denver's smile and laugh each day is extremely difficult, yet Miranda continues to get up and try. She, too, often travels with a little teddy bear she can hug when the pain of missing Denver feels too great. 

Miranda's goal is to try to keep on living in the best way that she can - her reason to live and not her excuse. Each day still contains tears for Denver, but the tears no longer flow all day. She tries to look for smiley faces around her as she thinks of Denver's little picture flying in hot air balloons. Every time I see a hot air balloon, I will wonder if a little bit of Denver might be up there in its basket.  

When today's guests, Andy and Kristen, lost their almost 2-year-old daughter due to complications after a seizure 2 years ago, their lives completely changed. There was life before Juniper died, and there was life after Juniper died. Before Juniper died, they had two young girls in daycare. Days after Juniper died, their older daughter, Macie, started public school, and Juniper was gone. There was no longer a need for a daycare.

They were suddenly navigating a world where they were bereaved parents. It was as if they were suddenly living in an alternative universe. Years before Juniper's death, Andy had watched his aunt and uncle mourn their son after he died in a car accident. Andy now realized that he didn't have a clue about what they had gone through - the pain that they felt each day.

Andy and Kristen found themselves looking to other bereaved parents for support. They joined their local Compassionate Friends chapter and became regular listeners of the podcast. I sometimes have doubts about continuing to produce the podcast each week. It is certainly a labor of love, but it does require a lot of work, and sometimes, when listener numbers falter or donations stop for several weeks at a time, I wonder if the time for the podcast has passed.

Then, I hear beautiful words like I heard today, and I realize that even though most of my guests have never spoken to each other, we have created a community of grievers. Before ending my conversation with Andy and Kristen today, Andy shared, "For all of the other parents who have been on the podcast and are now listening, we have cried for your children. We have mourned for your children because we know how it feels. We have heard them."

Kristen says that early on in their grief journey, they knew that someday, they would want to share Juniper's story on the podcast. Today, almost two years later, is that day. Now, Andy and Kristen can know that all around the world, other bereaved parents are truly hearing them. They are crying for Juniper and mourning her as well. And for me, that is all that truly matters.