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Some dates just carry weight. April 23rd. The anniversary of Taylor's death. Two days after what would have been Andy's 22nd birthday. When Jam reached out and asked to come back on, I looked at the calendar and knew immediately. There was no one else I wanted in this space this week. If you haven't yet listened to Episode 157, I'd encourage you to start there. Jam first came on just four months after losing Taylor, her 13-year-old daughter, a girl who rode the special needs bus by choice every single day so she could sit beside her twin sister Morgan, who saved her lunch seat without fail, who never met a stranger and never stopped looking for someone to love. In that first episode, the word that kept coming to me as I listened was compassion. It still does. Now, nearly four years later, Jam is back. And what strikes me most about this conversation is simply that she is here. That she is still standing. That she is still showing up - for Morgan, for her husband, for the families her foundation has served, for the women in her Starlight support group who have become some of her closest friends in the world. She didn't think she would survive this. She is surviving it. We talk about what these four years have looked like from the fog of the first year, the harder truths of years two and three, and now, the slow, uneven work of figuring out who you are on the other side of the worst thing you have ever lived through. We talk about the May Flowers Taylor George Foundation, which has helped ten families navigate burial expenses, sibling travel, and the crushing practical weight of sudden loss. We talk about Morgan and the particular heartbreak of watching a child grieve in a language she cannot fully speak. We talk about finding your people, even when they live a thousand miles away. And we talk about what it means to still be figuring it out at year four. To not yet know exactly what God is asking of you next. To be healing without yet being whole. Jam says it simply and beautifully near the end of our conversation: I honestly thought I would not survive it. And I am. It may not be pretty every day. But I'm surviving. I want to say to every single one of you what my friend Michele used to say to me, again and again, when I told her I couldn't do this: You are doing it. It may not be pretty. It may not look the way you thought surviving was supposed to look. But every single day that you get up and live your life without your child, that is the work. That is surviving. And you are doing it.

Abnormalities. That is the word that changed Matthew and his wife Hannah's lives forever. They went in for a routine ultrasound, their almost two-year-old son Walker playing happily beside them in the waiting room, and left knowing that their lives would never be the same, and that their son Noah was unlikely to live. What followed was six months of hurrying up and waiting. Six months of grieving a diagnosis before they ever had to grieve a death. Six months of doctor's appointments and phone calls and learning, in real time, what it means to carry an impossible weight while the rest of the world keeps moving. Noah was born with Trisomy 13, a genetic condition that is almost always fatal. He lived for 57 and a half hours. And Matthew will tell you, that was 57 and a half hours more than they ever expected to get. In this conversation, Matthew shares what those hours looked like, what those six months looked like, and what the six years since have looked like. He talks honestly about the fog of grief, about learning to let people in, about the two questions he and Hannah developed that he believes saved their marriage. He talks about the moment a mentor told him it was okay to have a good day, and how he wept on the phone, because he couldn't imagine it. And he talks about how, five years after Noah's death, he sat down to journal on Noah's birthday and realized something that took his breath away. Noah is the only son he never let down. He was fully present for every moment of his son's entire life. Out of that realization, and out of six years of quietly sending care packages to families navigating terminal diagnoses, came the Even Though We Will Foundation, and a book by the same name, released this week. The title is their family's mantra, rooted in Psalm 23. Even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil. Not because Andy died, this happened. Not because Noah died, this came to be. But even though — and in that even though, something beautiful still can. Matthew also writes about something rarely heard from a grieving father, what it looks like to watch your favorite person in the world suffer, and feel utterly powerless to fix it. What it means to be a doer, a leader, a fixer, and suddenly not be able to do any of those things. And what it means to fall back on a faith that, in the end, held them both. Even Though We Will is available now at EvenThoughWeWill.com and on Amazon.

We are not meant to do this alone. That is the thread that runs through every moment of this conversation, and these are the words Gwen chose to close with, because they are simply true. This episode is a replay of our recent live Q&A, a chance to follow up on the four-week educational series Gwen so graciously offered in February while I took a much-needed step back. We talk openly about what that break was like for me, why I needed it, and what I learned from it, including the hard-won lesson that even sacred work can wear you down if you never put it down, even for a little while. From there the conversation opens up into something larger. We talk about the value of support groups, of finding someone a few miles ahead of you on this road and letting them show you that it is possible to keep going. We talk about the difference between the raw, gut-wrenching suffering of early grief and the longing that comes later — the stone in your pocket that never goes away but changes shape over time. And we talk about why hearing someone else's story, knowing someone else feels exactly what you feel, can be the one small thing that makes a grieving parent feel just a little less alone. Gwen also shares a story from her recent vacation that stopped me in my tracks, the story of a ten-year-old girl on a beach, a grieving mama watching from a distance, and a moment that could only have been arranged by God. If you missed the educational series from February, those episodes are available in the feed — Episodes 334 through 337. And if you would like a discount code for private sessions with Gwen, simply reach out to either of us at [email protected] or [email protected] and we will get that to you. Because we are not meant to do this alone. And we never have to.

Before Angie lost her son Jake, she used to say something that I think many of us have said — or at least thought. If something ever happened to Jake, you would just have to bury me with him. Period. End of discussion. There was no way. And then the unthinkable happened. Jake was Angie's only child, her greatest surprise and her greatest blessing. Born in August of 1995, he grew up to be a man of quiet, steady faith — the kind that didn't ask for recognition, that just lived itself out in the way he treated people, the way he loved his wife Hannah, the way he'd get genuinely excited talking about heaven. He loved the outdoors, he loved to hunt and fish, and Angie always called him her simple man. In fact, when he got married in 2020, their mother-son dance was to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man." On March 8th, 2023, Jake was on his way to work when he was killed in a car accident. He was twenty-seven years old, just two years into his marriage, and days away from closing on the house he and Hannah had planned and saved for together. Now, three years later, Angie is still here. Not because it has been easy. Not because the grief has softened into something manageable. But because one foot in front of the other, one whispered Jesus at a time, God has held her up when she was sure she could not stand. In this conversation, Angie speaks honestly about what these three years have looked like. The shock that she now understands as a mercy from God. The struggle to pray when the words just wouldn't come. The Bible study group of bereaved moms that has become her lifeline. The therapist who told her that one of the ways she could honor Jake was to lean into Jesus, because that was Jake. And how after he said it, she started hearing it everywhere. Lean in. Lean in. Lean in. This is an episode about surviving what you were sure would kill you. About faith that isn't tidy or triumphant, but shows up anyway, kicking and screaming sometimes, and keeps going. If you have ever said there is no way I could survive this, this episode is for you. Here is Angie, three years in, still standing.

When Samantha first came on this podcast in Episode 282, she was only a few months out from losing Raiden. She was raw and fresh in her grief — and yet even then, just four months into her loss, she reached out to ask me about Andy. She stepped outside her own pain to offer comfort to someone further down the road. I knew then that she was someone special. Fourteen months later, she is back. And the question that quietly runs through everything she shares is one that every grieving parent eventually faces: How do I keep being my child's mama when my child is gone? For Samantha, the answer has taken the shape of bubbles. Raiden loved bubbles the way only a little boy can — rain or shine, indoors or out, in the bathtub, in the yard, anywhere and everywhere. That love became the name and the heart of the Raiden Bubble Project, a space Samantha built out of the sudden quiet of life after losing her only child. What started as something to focus on grew into water safety advocacy, autism awareness, and a community where other lost moms feel safe enough to reach out. Her own therapist tells her she has learned things from following along. Mothers she has never met write to thank her. Lost mamas find their way to her, and she holds space for them. She also created the Little Love Lost Mamas, a small close circle of moms who have become like family. And she has been working to bring a memorial arch to her community, a place where anyone can come, padlock the name of someone they love, and know they are not alone. Every single thing she has built is her still parenting Raiden. We also talk about the new baby boy arriving soon, Ryatt. Samantha is clear about something that I think many people need to hear: Ryatt is not a replacement for Raiden. He is someone she gets to share Raiden with. That is the kind of love that doesn't end when a life does. It just finds new ways to live on — in bubbles, in community, and in the quiet, faithful work of a mama who never stopped.

In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, I sit down with Leanne, Mikael's mom, for an honest and heartfelt conversation about grief, faith, and life after losing a child to addiction. At the center of this episode is a powerful shift in perspective. After her son's death, Leanne struggled with the words "give thanks in all circumstances." But when reading the words more carefully, she noticed a subtle difference that shifted her understanding. She began to see the difference between being thankful for her circumstances and being thankful in them. Leanne shares her experience loving her son through addiction, the heartbreak of loss, and the reality of grieving a child. She speaks about the tension between faith and pain, and how grief becomes something that stays, rather than something to overcome. In this episode, we talk about: Child loss and grief after addiction and overdose The meaning of "thankful in, not for" Grief as an ongoing presence in daily life Faith, anger, and healing after loss Writing and poetry as tools for processing grief Leanne also shares about her new book, Tattered Hearts and Hopeful Souls, a collection of devotional reflections and poetry that explores grief, faith, and healing. Her writing offers comfort and language for bereaved parents navigating life after loss. This episode is a reminder that grief does not disappear. But over time, we can learn how to carry it. And even in the hardest circumstances, there can still be moments of meaning, connection, and quiet gratitude.

In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, Marcy speaks with Jean and Shelly about the loss of their daughter, Chantal, and the grief journey that followed after losing a child to cancer. Jean remembers the exact moment everything changed: 8:15, the time Chantal died. That moment became the dividing line between the life they once knew and the life that followed. Together they share the long and difficult experience of Chantal's cancer diagnosis, the exhausting treatments that followed, and the heartbreak of losing a child. They also talk about how grief continued to unfold in the years afterward and how healing slowly takes shape over time. Jean reflects on something many parents feel deeply after the death of a child — the instinct to fix things and protect the people they love. His book, Dads Can't Fix Everything, grew out of that realization and explores the helplessness many fathers feel when faced with a loss that cannot be repaired. Music has always been an important part of Jean and Shelly's lives together. After Chantal's death, that part of their world felt quiet for a time, but eventually music began to return, offering another way to carry love and memory forward. Shelly also shares a moment that surprised her. Around the five-year mark in her grief journey, she realized that life felt recognizable again. It wasn't the life they once had, and grief was still present, but she began to feel like herself again. In this conversation they discuss: • losing a child to cancer • how grief evolves over time • the different ways parents process loss • music and writing as ways of expressing grief • and the ways families continue honoring the child who died Nearly two decades later, Chantal is still remembered in simple but meaningful ways. Each year friends and family gather on her birthday for pizza and Caesars — her favorite — raising a glass and remembering the girl who continues to shape their lives. This episode is a powerful reflection on grief, love, and learning to live with what cannot be fixed.

After six and a half years and more than 300 episodes, I took a month away from the podcast to rest, spend time with my family, and tend to my own heart. When it felt right to return, there was only one person I wanted to talk with. Stephanie — Keyan's mom — was the very first bereaved mother I ever interviewed when this podcast began. Even before that, she was someone I met in a grief support group just weeks after Andy died. She was further down the road of child loss than I was, and I remember quietly watching her, wondering how she was still standing. Somewhere in that watching was a small hope: If she can do this, maybe I can too. Now, eight and a half years into her grief journey, Stephanie shares honestly about what life looks like today. She talks about the days that still knock her off her feet, the complicated guilt that can come with laughing or enjoying time with her living children, and how grief doesn't disappear—it changes shape. For five years, Stephanie poured herself into serving other grieving families at Starlight Ministries. It was good work. Holy work. But somewhere along the way, the work that once helped her heal began to crowd out her own healing. As her therapist told her, "Anything you give energy to takes away from your healing energy." So she stepped away. We talk about what it means to reassess. To recognize when something that once brought relief no longer does. To admit that even good, sacred things can become too much. Together we talk about: • what it means to be years into grief and still hurting • the tension of holding joy and sorrow at the same time • the freedom of allowing grief to change as the years pass • the difference between being healed and being cured This episode is about scars, seasons, and the quiet courage it takes to keep learning your grief as it changes. If you are years into loss and wondering why it still hurts sometimes… you are not alone.

In this fourth and final episode of the February educational series, Gwen Kapcia of grief-guide.com focuses on long-term grief coping and the practical ways we can expand our ability to live with loss. Grief impacts every part of us — physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually. When loss first happens, our "coping range" narrows. We feel overwhelmed more easily. Small stressors feel enormous. Our bodies are exhausted. Our thoughts can spiral. In this episode, Gwen explains how intentional care in each area of our lives can help widen that coping range again. She discusses: How grief affects the body and nervous system The role of sleep, movement, and physical care The impact of negative thought patterns and "mental tapes" How gratitude and forgiveness expand emotional capacity Why isolation deepens suffering — and connection restores strength The importance of tending to your spiritual life, even when faith feels fragile This episode offers practical grief support, emotional education, and gentle encouragement for the long haul. Healing does not mean the loss disappears. But with steady tools and compassionate awareness, we can learn to carry it in a way that is sustainable. If you are navigating child loss, suicide loss, or any significant grief, this conversation offers grounded guidance and hope for the road ahead.

Grief is deeply personal — but it never happens in isolation. In Part 3 of this four-part educational grief series, Gwen Kapcia of grief-guide.com explores how loss impacts family dynamics and why each person in a family often grieves differently. One may withdraw. Another may need to talk. A child may crave routine while a parent feels shattered. The same loss — expressed in different ways. Gwen gently explains how grief can strain communication, shift roles within the family, and create misunderstandings — especially in the early months after a death. She also shares why shared acknowledgement, honest expression, and steady routines can help families move toward stability again. This episode also addresses the "big emotions" of grief, including anger, guilt, shame, jealousy, loss of identity, and even spiritual struggle. These reactions are not weaknesses — they are human responses to love and devastation. If you have ever wondered whether your grief is "normal," or why your family seems out of sync, this conversation offers reassurance, language, and practical guidance. Healing may not look the way it once did, but connection, understanding, and meaning are still possible. *If you would like a coupon code for resources or private sessions with Gwen, please email either [email protected] or [email protected]

In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, grief educator Gwen Kapcia of grief-guide.com continues her four-part educational series on grief. In Part 2, Gwen focuses on the many factors that influence grief and the way individuals experience loss. Grief does not follow a single path. Personality, life history, coping styles, cultural background, belief systems, support networks, and the circumstances of the death all shape how grief shows up. Gwen explains why people grieve differently and why comparison can be harmful during the grieving process. This episode offers both education and reassurance, especially for bereaved parents who may feel pressure to grieve a certain way or on a specific timeline. By understanding the factors that influence grief, listeners are encouraged to approach themselves—and others—with greater compassion and patience. This is Part 2 of a 4-part educational series with Gwen Kapcia, created to help listeners better understand grief and support healing without judgment.

Why does grief feel so overwhelming—physically, emotionally, and mentally? And why does it so often feel lonelier than we expected? This episode is Part 1 of a four-part educational series with grief educator Gwen Kapcia (grief-guide.com). Together, we explore why grief is so hard, particularly in modern culture, and why so many grieving people feel isolated, misunderstood, or unsure of what is "normal." Gwen explains how grief often shows up in the body through panic, exhaustion, numbness, brain fog, and anxiety—and why these responses are not signs of weakness or failure. We also talk about how shortened bereavement leave, lack of grief education, and societal pressure to "move on" complicate the grieving process. This conversation offers grounding insight for anyone navigating loss, as well as for those who want to better support grieving people in their lives. If you have ever questioned your grief or wondered why it feels so heavy and confusing, this episode offers clarity, validation, and compassion.

What color is your heart today? In this episode, I sit down with Rachael, Addy's mom, to talk about grief, healing, and the unexpected ways art can help us survive unimaginable loss. After 12 year-old, Addy's death, Rachael's grief showed up not only emotionally, but physically—through panic, sleeplessness, and a constant sense of overwhelm. Words often felt insufficient. Months later, painting entered her life without intention or expectation. Through color and movement, Rachael found a new way to release what grief held inside. Art became a language when words were unreachable—and a way to gently check in with herself each day. We also talk about how this simple question—What color is your heart today?—creates space for honesty without pressure, allowing grief to be messy, changing, and deeply personal. Rachael shares how this mindset now informs her work with young people in suicide prevention, reminding them that while life brings hard things, they are capable of moving through them. This conversation is a tender reflection on grief, creativity, and learning how to carry love and loss together—one day, one color at a time.

In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, Luna returns for a new conversation—one shaped by time, lived experience, and the quiet ways grief continues to unfold. Years ago, Luna signed a letter to her son Hunter with words that have stayed with me since reading her book, Look Mom, I Can Fly. She signed it: Love, Your devastated, aching, flailing, vulnerable, wrecked, and resilient Mama. Those words hold so much of what it means to live after the loss of a child. When Luna first joined the podcast, she was only weeks into her grief after Hunter died suddenly while he was sleeping. Even then, she carried a rare clarity—an understanding that grief does not need to be fixed, rushed, or hidden. Now, five years later, we talk about how grief lives in the body, how healing asks us to listen differently, and how moments of peace sometimes arrive quietly, without explanation. Luna shares how she honors her emotions as they come and how love continues to show itself through small signs and deep presence. Luna closes the episode by reading her poem "Signs," from her book Look Mom, I Can Fly, written from Hunter's perspective. It is tender, powerful, and filled with the kind of love that does not end. This episode is a reminder that grief is full of contradictions—that we can be devastated and resilient, wrecked and still growing. Some things remain. Some things grow. Both can be true.

In this episode of Always Andy's Mom, Marcy is joined by Melinda, a mother whose love for her son, Cody, continues to quietly shape the way she lives, grieves, and remembers. Melinda reflects on how Cody's life changed her family for the better—how his presence deepened their compassion, softened their hearts, and continues to guide them forward even after his death. Melinda shares the story of the day her world changed, the confusion and shock that followed, and the unexpected moments of peace that met her in the midst of profound grief. She speaks honestly about how grief looks different for each member of a family, especially as her husband wrestled with guilt and trauma, and how love—patient, steady love—became the thing that carried them through. Seven years into her grief journey, Melinda describes learning how to live in the love rather than the pain, allowing space for sorrow without being consumed by it. She talks about journaling as a way to stay connected to Cody, the meaning she found in small signs and moments, and the comfort that arrived exactly when it was needed most. Rather than grand gestures, Melinda honors her son in quiet, intentional ways—anonymous acts of kindness, simple remembrances, and choices rooted in who he was and what he would have wanted. Her story is a reminder that there is no timeline for grief, no right way to carry loss, and no measure for how deeply love can continue after death. This conversation offers a tender look at how grief evolves, how peace can arrive unexpectedly, and how love—when held gently—can still make us better.