Still Becoming: Learning to live After the Greatest Loss of My Life
A mother's journey of grief, resilience, and rediscovering purpose beyond loss.
Still Becoming: Finding Purpose After Loss
There are moments in life that divide your story into two parts: who you were before and who you became after. Losing my son was that moment for me.
People often tell you that time heals all wounds. I have learned that isn't entirely true. Time teaches you how to carry wounds that may never completely heal. There isn't a single day that I don't think about my son. There isn't a milestone, holiday, or ordinary Tuesday that doesn't remind me of the life he should still be living.
The hardest part about losing a child isn't just saying goodbye. It's waking up every day knowing you have to keep living when a piece of your heart is no longer here.
Some days, simply getting out of bed feels like an accomplishment. Other days, I smile while carrying pain that no one else can see. Grief has become a part of me—not because I want it to, but because love doesn't disappear when someone you love does.
Even in the midst of unimaginable loss, I still have reasons to keep moving forward.
I have three incredible daughters who still need their mother. Although they are grown women now, they still deserve to see what resilience looks like. They deserve to know that life can knock you down without defining who you become. They remind me that my purpose as a mother didn't end when they became adults. It simply changed.
Then there are my two beautiful grandchildren—my son's children.
Every time I look into their eyes, I see pieces of him. I hear echoes of his laugh. I catch glimpses of his spirit in the way they smile, play, and dream. They are living reminders that his legacy continues. Loving them is one of the greatest gifts God has given me after the greatest heartbreak of my life.
People often compliment my strength.
They see the degrees, the leadership positions, the professional accomplishments, and the organizations I have worked so hard to build. They see a woman who earned her master's degree, led programs, managed teams, and advocated for individuals experiencing homelessness, mental health challenges, and reentry after incarceration. They see someone committed to creating change, serving communities, and helping people rebuild their lives.
What they don't always see is that every accomplishment after losing my son has been achieved while carrying grief.
I have learned how to show up for meetings with tears hidden behind determination. I've learned how to encourage others while quietly trying to encourage myself. I've learned that resilience isn't about pretending you're okay. It's about choosing to keep going even when your heart feels heavy.
My work has become more than a career—it has become an extension of my healing. Every person I help, every family I encourage, and every life I impact reminds me that purpose can still exist alongside pain. If my experiences allow someone else to feel seen, supported, or hopeful, then my pain has not been wasted.
Yet, in this season of life, I find myself facing a different kind of question:
Who am I now?
For years, my identity centered around raising my children. Being their mother was the greatest role I would ever have. Every decision I made, every sacrifice I accepted, and every dream I postponed was rooted in giving them the best life I could.
Now my daughters are building lives of their own. My grandchildren are growing. The house is quieter. The responsibilities are different. And I find myself standing in unfamiliar territory.
Not because I don't know what I have accomplished.
But because I am still learning who I am beyond motherhood.
That realization has been both beautiful and heartbreaking.
I'm discovering that it's okay to dream again. It's okay to create new goals. It's okay to build businesses, nonprofits, and programs that reflect the woman I am becoming. It's okay to invest in myself without feeling guilty.
I don't have to stop being a mother to become more of who God created me to be.
Maybe that's what healing really is.
Not forgetting.
Not moving on.
But moving forward.
Moving forward while carrying love.
Moving forward while honoring my son's memory.
Moving forward while embracing the woman I am still becoming.
I don't have all the answers. There are still days when grief catches me off guard. There are still moments when I wish I could hear my son's voice one more time or watch him laugh with his children. Those feelings may never disappear.
But I have learned that grief and gratitude can exist together.
I can miss my son with every fiber of my being while celebrating the blessings that remain.
I can cry and still smile.
I can be broken and still be whole enough to love.
I can mourn what was lost while believing there is still purpose ahead.
My journey has taught me that resilience isn't about being fearless. It's about choosing hope when life gives you every reason to give up.
Today, I continue walking forward—not because the pain is gone, but because love continues to call me forward.
I walk for my daughters.
I walk for my grandchildren.
I walk for every person who needs someone to remind them that surviving is not the end of the story.
Most of all, I walk because my son deserves to be remembered through a life that continues to make a difference.
I may still be searching for exactly who I am in this new season, but one thing I know for certain is this:
I am not defined by what I lost.
I am defined by the love I continue to give, the lives I continue to touch, the strength I continue to find, and the faith that reminds me my story is still being written.
I am still healing.
I am still growing.
I am still discovering.
- And I am still becoming.
