When the Boulder Shifts
I think of grief as a giant boulder you learn to carry. Over time, its edges soften, your body grows stronger, and you find ways to live with its weight. Then something shifts. A recent dream about my son Connor brought me back to a raw place I hadn’t felt in a long time. This is where I am right now: missing him, feeling every rough edge, and remembering that returning to pain doesn’t erase the healing that came before it.
The Truth I Stopped Softening
For 15 years, I softened the words when I told people how my son, Connor, died. I thought I was shielding myself from their judgment. Then my dreams brought me back to the shame I thought I had healed—and a grief support group became the place where I could finally speak without defending myself.
This Is What Healing Looks Like
I Googled myself before my first session with a medium. I wanted to know what she could find—but what I really wanted was to connect with Connor. The session brought me back to a question that had haunted me since he died: Did he know how much I loved him?