Welcome to Life After Lil

After loss, you learn to listen differently. You listen to the hush between footsteps. To the way sunlight sounds as it cuts through a cold morning. To the faint hum of the world carrying on around you. You listen in the sideways spaces—music on the radio, dreams that shimmer just out of reach, the sudden memory that stirs without warning. And sometimes, when the silence grows too heavy, you ask for help: a song, a sign, a whisper carried through someone else’s voice. The first time I did, it was out of desperation. Grief had wrapped so tightly around my chest, I could hardly breathe. I reached for the afterlife hotline—a medium—hoping for anything: a thread, a breath, a glimmer. And she came. “I saw you,” Lily said through the medium, “on your birthday. Looking at the aurora in the backyard. I was right there with you.” I had told almost no one about that night. And just like that, I believed. Since then, there have been flashes. Quick moments when the veil thins: • A silly song poppi...

Where Grief Lives in a Home Grief doesn’t just live in our hearts. Sometimes, it settles into the quiet corners of our homes. It hides in the lavender paint on the wall. In slippers by the bed. In the hook that still holds a robe, and the morning light that warms the floor exactly the way she liked it. Our daughter’s room remained untouched for 123 weeks. It was her space. Her scent. Her essence. Leaving it as it was felt like keeping her close—like preserving a place where her spirit still lingered. But now, slowly and carefully, we’re beginning to change things. A Forgotten Time Capsule The shift began somewhere else. While renovating our bathroom, we uncovered a time capsule: a 2010 drawing our son made—stick figures of our family of five. Next to Lil, he wrote: “13 years and 6 months.” Because at that age, even months mattered. Beside me: “good personality.” Beside his dad: “hard worker.” His twin sister’s label was left blank—earning her sibling wrath, of course. Tucked behin...

Grief has a funny way of showing up—not always loudly, but in quiet, unexpected moments. Sometimes it sneaks in when the house is still, or when a flower blooms just right, or when you forget—just for a second—that life has changed. This week was eventful, but as always you found little ways to sneak in to a few of those moments, and I welcomed every single one. The Flashback For the first time in a long time, I had a flashback that didn’t feel like looking back. It happened in the present moment, like you were still here. I don’t think I’ve experienced that before. We had some friends over one night, and around 11 p.m., we walked them to the door to say our goodbyes. As soon as we closed the door behind them, my first thought was, thank God you stayed asleep! I felt that familiar rush of relief that we hadn’t woken you up—before reality caught up and reminded me that this isn’t something I need to worry about anymore. But instead of hurting, it brought me back to those nights when we ...

One of the most surreal things I’ve learned since my daughter, Lil, has passed is that I can hold two or more opposing emotions at the same time. I can be happy and sad, while being angry and still find myself laughing. I can rage at the universe while also appreciating the strange, bittersweet moments life offers. Why Do Grief and Happiness Coexist? These contradictory emotions—feeling joy and sadness at once—are known as emotional ambivalence. It’s a natural and complex part of human psychology, especially in grief and healing. How It Happens Our emotions are complex; they exist on a spectrum and can coexist, even when they seem contradictory. This is why you might feel joy and sorrow in the same moment—because one part of you is experiencing something pleasurable, while another part holds onto loss or pain. The Bittersweet Reality of Family Moments For example, this week, my son and daughter came home from college for a few days. The four of us were together, and I cherished every m...