It’s difficult to put into words what today feels like. I still cannot believe it’s been 14 years since I hugged my son, Ben—heard his voice, laughed with him, shared a meal, checked in on his whereabouts, or asked, “Are you coming for dinner?”

I just miss doing life with him.

Imagining the Life That Could Have Been

Of course, life would look different today. I often try to imagine what he might be doing now—would he be married? A father? Where would he live? What kind of man would he be?

These unanswered questions never go away.

The Longest Chapter of My Life

In many ways, this has been the longest and hardest chapter of my life. I wasn’t ready for a change like this. I would never have chosen this kind of heartbreak.

And yet, God has not only honored—He has exceeded—my prayers. I asked that He somehow use my pain for good, and what He has done with this senseless tragedy is nothing short of miraculous.

What the enemy meant for destruction—of me, my family, and Ben’s friends—God used to bring restoration, purpose, and even beauty.

From Shattered to Serving

I’m incredibly grateful that I now serve people who, like me, were shattered into a million pieces—people who were in disbelief that life could ever be good again.

And I’m thankful for the many who walked beside me through those early days—and years—of unpredictable, shape-shifting grief.

There Are No Stages of Grief—Just a Lifelong Ride

There are no neat “stages” when you’re grieving the loss of a child. It’s been the longest roller coaster ride of my life. Even after 14 years, I still feel that gut-wrenching drop when the month of June comes around.

Grief brings unexpected twists and turns—moodiness, impatience with those I love, deep waves of sadness. Sometimes I find myself lying on the bed, pounding pillows, letting it all come out before finally collapsing into sleep for the rest of the day.

I Wish I Could Skip This Day

I really wish I could skip over this day. But I can’t. And I can’t avoid the pain either.

Each year, I must walk through the memories, the longing, the tears, and the persistent hope that he might somehow walk through the door again—with his beautiful smile and warm hug—and say, “Where’s my mom?”

Gratitude and Surrender

I am so thankful for the gift of such a beautiful son. I will always wonder why.

Even though I understand the logic and the circumstances, I’ve had to surrender the rest to Jesus. That surrender has brought me peace—but not final answers.

Finding Purpose Through Grief

I’m also thankful for First Hour Grief Response and the incredible people who, like me, felt called to turn their pain into purpose.

Thank you to those who support this ministry—a place where broken people, young and old, find compassion, hope, and understanding.

Joy and Sorrow Can Coexist

God is good, even in our pain.

Today, I will take the advice I’ve offered so many others:
I’ll practice self-care.
I’ll cry if I need to.
I’ll allow the waves of grief to wash over me.

You never truly “get over” the grief of losing a child, but the grief does change. I have more joy today than I ever thought possible in those first few years after Ben’s passing.

Yes—joy and sorrow can coexist.