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.

I have often said that different people grieve differently. Today's guest, Lori, adds a new twist to that statement. She lost two of her four sons almost 30 years apart from each other, and she is grieving so much differently now than she did the first time around, showing that the same person can grieve similar losses differently as well.

The stories of Michael and Logan's deaths are far different. Michael died at age 2 of an aggressive type of cancer called neuroblastoma. He died after 9 months of treatment in his mother's arms at the hospital, which she says gave her time to say goodbye, but also forced her to watch him endure pain and suffering. Twenty-five-year-old Logan, on the other hand, died suddenly from an accidental drug overdose in his apartment. Logan was there one day and gone the next.

Lori says that after losing Michael, she became an extremely compassionate person. She and her husband turned to each other for support. Loris describes him as her rock. She was very involved in church, turning to her faith to help ease the intense pain of loss. Over the years, Lori says that her biggest fear was that she might lose another one of her three remaining boys, but despite Logan's long history of mental health struggles, she did not ever think this would happen to them again.

Then, 18 months ago, the unimaginable occurred - Logan died, too. After Michael died, compassion emerged. This time, however, fear and anger are the dominant emotions. She has trouble going out in public. Lori hasn't gone to church, and her faith feels broken. Her relationship with her husband has been damaged, and she has moved in with her two living sons, who are now her two rocks. Online support groups and podcasts have become her coping strategies. 

These vastly different responses may seem surprising. I know they were unexpected to Lori, but there is a lesson here. 

Grace. We need to give others and ourselves grace. We cannot control our feelings or our responses to grief. We need to feel our emotions, whatever they may be, and work through them. Through hard work, hope for the future may come again, for Lori and for us.

Livestreams with Gwen are back! This week's livestream topic was to be about the fact that we are living in two worlds - longing to live in the past while dealing with our messy lives in the present. I talk about my struggles of missing Andy while trying to be the happy mother-of-the-groom at Valeriano's recent wedding. This conversation quickly morphed into another topic.

Respite.

First, is it OK to take a break from your grief? And second - where do I find respite when I need a break from my grief? My answers - First - YES! And Second - walks outside in the sunshine, riding in our boat, listening to birds while on my deck, listening to music, reading a good book, and playing board games with family or friends.

The most important point is this. It is OK (and actually GOOD) to take a break from your grief. Many grieving parents feel like they need to feel their grief all the time. Every book they read is about grief. Every podcast they listen to is about grief. Days are filled with therapy and support groups. While all of these things are great, breaks are needed. Our bodies and minds cannot handle the constant pain of grief. I remember in those early days feeling like I needed to feel the pain constantly. If I started to laugh or even smile, I would remind myself that Andy was dead, and the smile would disappear.

As the seven-year anniversary approaches next week, I feel the heaviness begin to worsen again, but I have learned that the best way to get through these difficult days is to take some time away from the pain as well. I will have intentional times with my family to talk about and remember Andy. There is an upcoming 5K race where 25 of my co-workers will be wearing Be Still bracelets as they run to support our local FitKids program. But there will also be time for me to have respite. I will spend time reading a book and listening to birds outside on my deck. I will play golf and go boating. Hopefully, I will be able to convince my family to play a board game with me.

Finding this balance is what gives me the strength to continue on each day.

Since becoming a bereaved parent, several phrases have irritated me. One of the most bothersome things people say to me is, 'You are so strong. I could never do what you do.' I feel like that suggests they don't think they need to help me—that I can handle everything on my own without assistance. When I first heard about today's guest, Cristi, and the 'Mentally STRONG' method she developed, I wasn't sure if I would like it. However, because Cristi lost not just one, but three children, I thought I should give it a try.

After our conversation, all my doubts melted away. When Cristi talks about being mentally strong, she doesn’t mean being a resilient hero doing everything alone. Instead, Cristi teaches people to face their grief and sorrow directly, in community with therapists and other grieving individuals. As a psychiatric nurse practitioner, Cristi believed in cognitive behavioral therapy and the power of positive thinking. But after losing her adoptive son Johnny to drowning and seeing her son Reggie—and later daughter, Miah, and husband, Bundy—suffer from DRPLA, a terrible degenerative disease, Cristi realized that simply thinking positively was not very helpful for those grieving.

We can’t just 'look on the bright side' and think positive thoughts after losing our children. That isn't realistic or natural. Cristi understands this too well. She writes, "Grief can feel overwhelming, like a weight that never lifts. It consumes your thoughts, leaves you feeling lost, and makes it hard to get through the day. It's an unpredictable journey that pulls at your heart. But in these moments of deep sorrow, there is space to feel, process, and find a path toward healing."

The Mentally STRONG method isn’t a quick fix for deep grief, but it can help you face and work through your grief. It can help you find purpose in life again. If Cristi can find purpose and experience joy after losing Johnny, Reggie, Miah, and Bundy, so can we.

For more information and access to her book and documentary, visit mentallystrong.com.

Today's guest, Jody, worked as an actor on Broadway for a year, but nothing had ever prepared her for the role she was required to play after the birth of her firstborn daughter, Lueza. After a completely unremarkable pregnancy, Jody suffered severe complications during childbirth, resulting in significant brain injuries for Baby Lueza.

After suffering from horrible seizures as a young infant, they were able to stabilize little Lueza. Once they did so, she began to show a smile that would light up a room. Still, Lueza had significant delays. She could not sit, eat, or talk independently. At one point in time, Jody remembers looking at her husband and saying, "Will Lueza ever be able to sit up on her own?" Her husband's answer stuck with her: "She may be lying down, but she may be very happy."

Over the years, Lueza proved her Dad right. She continued to be 'lying down,' but she was always very happy. She loved music, movies, and roller coasters. She would laugh and squeal and could let her family know what she did and didn't like with the slightest head movements. And her smile continued to light up the room. 

Lueza had a profound effect on many people around her as she interacted with doctors and nurses in the medical community and her teachers at school. Over time, Lueza slowly developed more complications and died suddenly at home one night after getting what her family thought was only a little cold. 

Then, Jody's life changed once again. She was no longer the mother of a medically complex child. She was now a bereaved mother. There were no more hospital visits. The medical equipment was no longer needed in the family home. Jody began doing arts and crafts as a form of healing. She attended spiritual support groups for bereaved parents. Most importantly, Jody began to write.

Jody wrote a memoir about her life with Lueza that was years in the making. The title of the memoir was so fitting - 'She May Be Lying Down, but She May Be Very Happy.' This memoir was a story of her life with Lueza and a heartfelt thank you to all the people who had helped her over the years. A beautiful tribute for a beautiful girl.

When today's guest, Andy, lost his 18-year-old son, Heston, to suicide, he had a lot of time to reflect on life and finding one's purpose. Early in Andy's grief journey, he saw a visual that truly resonated with him. The image was of a framed picture that was completely black. The blackness represented the grief that, early on in one's grief journey, was all-encompassing. The darkness of the grief covered every part of the bereaved person's life. Then, there was a second image of a black rectangle the same size as the first. However, the picture frame was now several times larger, so that the black portion now took up only 5% of the frame. 

The explanation is simple. The deep grief does not go away. The hole in our hearts remains. What we can work to change is the rest of our lives. We can grow and expand so that our lives are bigger than the grief. There are portions with love, joy, and happiness. They do not eliminate the grief, and the grief remains a part of the picture, but it is not the entire picture. The idea is not to get stuck in our grief, but to bring it along with us as we continue to experience life. 

This past weekend, my (foster) son, Valeriano, got married. It was a beautiful wedding. There were lots of smiles and happiness surrounding the couple, but there were tears, too, as we had our first big family event without our Andy. Valeriano bought a special green pen to use to sign his marriage certificate to honor Andy. I put his picture and teddy bear on the seat where he should have been sitting. The new family picture included Andy's picture and teddy bear.

We did not ignore our grief and forget about Andy on Saturday. We brought him along to be a part of the celebration. This is just what Heston's Dad, Andy, encourages as well. He brings Heston with him, feeling his presence. He has even released a powerful book, 'Overcoming Life’s Toughest Setbacks: 15 Breakthrough Core Beliefs to Transform Challenges into Opportunities!' The book is available through his website, askandycampbell.com. If it's half as good as my conversation with him today, I know it will inspire many of us on our grief journey.

Today's guest, Jackie, says that her guiding purpose is based on a quote that she has written down and keeps close by. David Viscott wrote, "The purpose of life is to discover your gift. The work of life is to develop it. And the meaning of life is to give your gift away." Jackie says that is exactly how her son, Stu, lived his life and how she works to live her own.  

Initially, after her amazingly talented, loving son, Stu, died by suicide, she lost herself. Stu had been living his dream life in New York City. He had his own apartment and worked at a job he loved as a barber, cutting hair. Then, mental illness invaded his life and took him away.

Jackie was left feeling alone. Hope? What is that? Healing? That's impossible. She tried going to grief support groups but felt overwhelmed. Then, Jackie found an organization called Eric's House. Their vision is that 'no person who is bereaved by suicide or substance use will suffer these devastating losses alone.' Jackie said the organization saved her. 

Ever so slowly, hope crept back into her life. Jackie didn't force healing to come, but it did, a little bit at a time. She joined one of their online support groups and then another. They gave her the tools that she needed to start rebuilding her life. She began writing an article for the organization's newsletter and started facilitating support groups for them as well. Over time, Jackie found a purpose for her grief. 

Now Jackie compares herself to the old apple trees in her backyard. They appear to be 150 years old. They have branches dying each year and huge holes in them, but they persist. Each year, the trees blossom and look beautiful. They produce apples that feed the deer in the area. Whatever life throws at them, they keep going. 

That is a great visual for our lives now. We may have huge holes inside and limbs that are missing, but we just keep going. As ugly as our lives may look from the outside, they can still produce beauty and help provide for others along our life's journey. We may not be who we once were, but we can still be amazing.

Maeve was a little girl who was born to be a big sister. As soon as she was able to toddle around the house, Maeve was bringing the family dog her favorite books to read and making sure he had everything that he 'needed'. Shortly after Maeve's second birthday, her little brother was born, and Maeve was truly in her element. She adored Declan and wanted to share everything with him. Baby Declan loved being a part of the 'Maeve show' as her mama, Tarah, described it. Declan would grin as his big sister laughed and danced around him. Life was good.

Then, one day, that perfect life was destroyed. The little family was on a flight to DC. The flight had been delayed, so by the time the plane landed, Maeve had fallen asleep on her dada's lap. Tarah's husband tried to rouse her, and could not. Maeve was no longer breathing. He let out a scream, and both parents immediately started CPR.

Their perfectly healthy 3-year-old daughter had died for no apparent reason while sleeping on her father's lap. Her official cause of death was Sudden Unexplained Death of Childhood (SUDC). Their world was shattered.

Tarah first wrote to me less than two months after Maeve's death. She shared her story and asked to be connected to another mom whose daughter died of SUDC. Over the almost two years since that first email, Tarah has continued to email with family updates, show ideas, and eventually, about Maeve's Foundation, the charity that Tarah and her husband started in Maeve's memory. 

Initially, Tarah just wanted to collect enough money to buy a bench as a dedication to Maeve. Then, that idea grew into sponsoring a memorial garden in Maeve's memory. As more people contributed to the foundation, Tarah knew they needed to grow. 

The organization now has a new mission - Maeve's Wish. Maeve's Wish is working to provide 'a truly magical respite for children battling a chronic or terminal illness - a trip to Walt Disney World.'  Just as Maeve wanted to make her family dog and baby brother happy, she will help make precious family memories for others. We're pretty sure she will be laughing and dancing as she watches from heaven.

Storytelling. It's my very favorite thing about doing the podcast each week. When I meet each guest, I am privileged to help people share their child's story with people around the world. I have come to learn over the past 300-plus episodes that this storytelling helps lead to healing for both the guests sharing their stories and the listeners who tune in each week.

Emily learned about the power of storytelling years ago while writing her book, Birth Story Brave. As a perinatal mental health specialist, she recognized the importance for women to be able to work through their own birth story experiences to help them heal when things don't go as planned. Hundreds of miles away, Malhaley, a fellow perinatal mental health specialist, used the book with her patients as well, finding its 'storytelling as healing' theme to be extremely helpful. 

Then, the unimaginable happened. Not only did Mahaley have her own birth trauma experience, but her daughter, Saachi, needed to be admitted to the NICU and died a few days later. Mahaley's world was rocked. She did not know if she would ever be able to work in perinatal mental health again, but as she did consider going back, she thought about Emily and her book. Mahaley knew that she needed to work through her own story to begin to heal.

As helpful as Emily's first book was to Mahaley, she quickly realized that families whose birth story leads to their babies being admitted to the NICU needed something more. The birth story was important, certainly, but for these families, it was only the beginning. They need a guide to help them after the birth, when their babies start and sometimes end their lives in the NICU. 

Mahaley interviewed Emily, and an idea was born. The two of them began to write another book, 'Your NICU Story: Reflecting on Your Family’s Experience', which will be released in September. In it, they utilize the power of storytelling to help families navigate their own NICU experiences, whether they ultimately bring their babies home or not.