capture your grief, day 30: my promise to you

I have not made a specific promise to Kade since he died, per se. “Promises to him” seem to be sort of revealing themselves as my grieving morphs and changes.

From this parent’s desire that her son not be forgotten, a promise takes shape to speak his name. From the drive to remember and honor him, and to feel the familiarity of ritual, a promise develops to celebrate his life on his anniversary date, birthday, and holidays.

When I think of Kade and promises, it brings me back to middle-of-the night feedings with my newborn almost 24 years ago. I brought him to the cushy reclining rocking chair in the living room of our little apartment so as not to wake his dad. I turned on the TV for dim light (reruns of Gilligan’s Island). I whispered promises upon his sweet little head with the fervor of a new parent: I will protect you. You will always be loved. I will give you what you need. You will have a good life.


capture your grief, day 29: give away your love

I did my favorite act of kindness for today’s theme. Favorite because it’s the one I do the most, it’s easy, and I get to leave a Kade kindness card.


I went through a Starbuck’s drive-through and bought the coffee behind me. (Well, there was nobody behind me this time, so I left $5 toward the next person’s order.) I’m up for some new acts of kindness ideas if you have any!

I’m glad I stumbled upon the MISS Foundation’s Kindness Project online years ago. It’s a way to put your child’s name into the world, and a bit of good, as well.

MISS Foundation Kindness Project

capture your grief, day 26: what heals you?

CarlyMarie says that when she finds herself asking, “Why?” she turns it into “What?” As in, “What heals me?”

I will try to remember that. I don’t ask the “Whys” as much. They are anguishing. But when they do arise, I will try to remember to turn them into “What heals?”

Yoga is healing for me, but I need to work on incorporating it as a regular part of my life. Same with meditation.
Time with my fellow bereaved moms is healing.
Date night is healing.
Family getaways are healing.
Journaling is healing.
Laughter is healing.
Time with a friend is healing.
Time with Kade (connecting with him, remembering him, honoring him, visiting his stone or his river) is healing.
Doing something that I know is good for me (like eating well, going to bed early, exercising, or keeping my schedule light) is healing.
Creating is healing.
Hikes/time in nature is healing.


Dillon, CO 10/14/2016

capture your grief, day 25: i am

I AM | Finish these 5 sentences

I wish: that Kade wore his soft burgundy flannel instead of me. And that the pictures I have of him didn’t stop at age 19.

I remember: his laugh and his voice, thank goodness.

I could not believe: that one so animated and talkative could be so abruptly silenced. 

If only: I could call him up right now. It’s been too long.

I am: still experiencing a level of disbelief that this is reality.


Needed a little humor with this post.

capture your grief, day 24: consciously becoming

Today’s theme is loaded with a lot of sub-questions so I will do them as a question-and-answer session.

Q. So many of us split our lives into a timeline of before and after our children died. Who were you before your child died?

A. I was a mom of a nearly-grown 19-year-old embarking on his young adulthood, and stay-at-home mom to a little toddler, not yet 2 years old. I blissfully got to be a stay-at-home mom to my little guy and often met friends for play-dates.

Q. Who are you now?

A. I don’t want to be what I am about to answer. I am a bereaved mom. As Dr. Joanne Cacciatore said: I am mom to one who walks and one who soars. I am a wife, a mom to a spunky, bright first-grader, and I figure out daily how to be a mom to one who soars.

Q. Who are you now in this present moment?

A. Sitting on my couch after getting home from class tonight at 10:00 p.m., I am very much a student. I just turned in an 8-page paper. My school program is wonderful. It is fascinating and rewarding. It also takes up more of my time than I thought possible.

Q. What are you feeling?

A. Tired (because being a mom to one who soars is not always conducive to a peaceful and sound night’s slumber lately). Happy (because my paper is turned in). Content (because my hubby is next to me on the couch, and my class load for the next couple weeks seems manageable).


Had to take this seeing that we happened to have our matching shirts on tonight

Q. Have you been irrevocably changed by the death of your child?

A. Yes.

Q. How are you different now?

A. I asked my husband how I am different now–not a great idea. First he paused…and probably against his better judgment said, “You get more upset than before. I think it’s even harder for you to get stuff done.” Then he said that I am probably more empathetic than I was before. And because I’ve been through this, will be a great counselor. Then we both laughed when he read that I wrote “I asked my husband–not a great idea”. He said, “Well, it’s not like you would have a trauma and you’re happier! And more organized and more efficient!” Aaah, grief humor.

Q. Do you love anything about the new you?

A. I like that I decided to go back to school, and that I will be able to help people in their grief. I like that I have a little different perspective to cut to the chase of what’s important, and to speak my truth.

Q. Do you want and old part of you back?

A. Yes.

Q. Who are you becoming?

A. I am becoming a mental health professional. I am becoming more authentic. I hope I continue to become a better person, wife, and mom…to one who walks and one who soars.

capture your grief, day 23: sounds, seasons, and scents

Sounds: This is a different way to think of remembering Kade. Sounds. I can never hear the kickflip of a skateboard, or the jarring but not unpleasant sound of a skateboard deck scraping along a paved curb without thinking of Kade. Passing a skate park makes me freeze for a moment.

The bass line of any song brings to mind his focused form sitting on his bed teaching himself riffs. I have a bursting folder of bass tabs he printed from online.


Kade’s folder of bass tabs. Mostly Primus.

Seasons: all of them. When spring approaches there is an excitement of rebirth, but the sting that not everything can be reborn. With summer comes my favorite season whose associations were traveling, volleyball, and summer dresses. Now the season first and foremost brings the anniversary of Kade’s death on June 29th. When fall comes, the colors and crisp nights remind that winter, ski season (Kade’s favorite), is around the corner. As well as Christmas with its special brand of heartache, and his birthday, and the turn from one year that hasn’t seen Kade in it to yet another that will not.

Scents: Sometimes when I smell cigarette smoke on clothing I think of Kade, and his friends. And AXE Body Spray doused over cigarette smoke on clothing? A direct olfactory path back to some early teen times. One of my favorite times and places in my memory is him in a clean white t-shirt and pajama pants (with little penguins with Santa hats on), sitting in his satellite chair in the basement. I would come down to tell him goodnight. Sometimes I would lean in and kiss his just-showered head. Damp and freshly shampooed.