Grief has its own calendar, marking anniversaries in our bodies before we even recognize them. As certain dates approach, we may feel unexpected waves of sadness, heaviness, or restlessness—often before our minds even register why. This is anniversary grief, a quiet reminder of love that never fades. Instead of resisting it, we can learn to honor these moments with grace. Here’s how to recognize grief’s signals and find comfort in remembering.
Grief changes, but love remains. Each year, my daughter and I honor my late husband, George, with a meaningful adventure—traveling to places he would have loved and creating new memories in his honor. From the mountains of Colorado to the beaches of the Cayman Islands, our tribute has become a cherished tradition of remembrance, healing, and celebration. Here’s how we turned loss into an annual journey of love.
Thanksgiving is a time for gratitude, but for many, it’s also a reminder of loss. Whether you’re celebrating with loved ones or carrying memories of those who are missing, finding thankfulness amid grief is possible. By embracing both love and longing, we can create space for healing, remembrance, and appreciation. Here’s how to navigate Thanksgiving when gratitude feels bittersweet.
I was heading home. My travels took me from a small airport to a larger hub, then a flight to my city. I was mentally prepared for a whole day of travel which included a two hour time change, where I was on the losing side. I’ve flown this route before, so I was not expecting any surprises. My only wish was to avoid chatty seat mates so I could relax and read.
It was time to board, and I proceed down the tiny aisle to discover row 22, a rear of the plane, aisle seat. It was a single, only one seat, so happily I buckled up, no other seat next to me. Across the small aisle were to be the other passengers of row 22, seats for two. We would be taking off shortly, as most all passengers were seated and ready to go.
I didn’t see the women come down the aisle, but noticed she seemed to make a crash landing into her seat directly across from me, at row 22. What happened next was shocking.
“Remember that lovely evening surrounded by friends at home, maybe with a glass or cup of tea and baked goods on the table. There were candles, the rain was beating on the window outside. There was laughter, conversation, and a feeling of comfort…you were present in the moment together. There was no before or after that mattered. That’s hygge.”
~ Unknown
I’m not the kind of person who has trouble looking back to review a year that’s over. I enjoy the process. I’m thankful for my calendar which records the appointments, dinner plans, travel dates, to-do lists, phone numbers, and any other random thing I don’t want to forget. I must write things down, or I never remember what or where I’m supposed to be or do. I don’t think it’s a result of accumulated birthdays, I’ve always had a partial sieve for a memory.
In preparation to publish my second book Write Your Way Through Change - a 21-Day Devotional Journal for Grief & Major Life Transitions, I want to share the reason why I wrote my first book.
My first book, Hello Nobody is what came from my desire to tell my own story of grief and life transition. I wanted someone to know that if I can make it through, they could too.
The hardest trials actually uncovered my faith. I was raised in a Christian home, brought up in church, youth group and even attended a Christian College. I believed God was good and had good plans for me. I asked Him into my heart and life, in a personal way when I was 16 years old. I knew He was real.
It’s that time of year again. My screened-in porch gives a new spot for living. This week I washed the furniture, vacuumed all the cushions of winter partials and scrubbed the floor with a solvent that left a squeaky clean feel to bare feet. The ceiling fan ensures a soft constant breeze. Today the humidity is cooperating and is comfortable. The wind passing by comes in ribbons of strength that have tree leaves dancing and shaking, lifting their heads to sound like the waves of the ocean.
I find myself a back seat passenger in my car. For the last 10 years, since my husband passed away, I’ve been the driver. I’ve gotten used driving now, out of necessity. Before, George always drove. I loved being the passenger. I could look around, discuss interesting observations, knit, read, and enjoy the easy company of sitting next to my husband for six or seven hours.
