What is “Ashes in My Pocket”?
This space was born out of unbearable loss – a place to give shape to grief, to honor my son, and to speak what often goes unsaid. I don’t write because I want to. I write because I have to. These are the ashes in my pocket, and this is where I lay them down.
Carrying the Stone
There’s no word for a parent who loses a child. The silence around that truth is deafening. In our family, we found a symbol – a simple, polished stone – to carry the weight we can’t put into words. It's a reminder, a connection, a way to grieve without letting go.
The Day After
The world didn’t stop. It never does. But for us, everything had changed. The day after losing our son felt like a cruel joke – ordinary tasks colliding with unbearable grief. This is what it’s like when the world moves on and you cannot.
Answering with a Quiet Scream
People ask how we’re doing. What they often want is a comfortable answer. But comfort doesn't live here anymore. So we nod. We say “we’re hanging in.” And inside, we scream – not for attention, but because the silence is too loud.
When the Fireworks Go Silent
Holidays used to mean togetherness. Now, they mark absence. This Fourth of July, our memories aren’t about fireworks and joy – they’re about the silence that grief leaves behind. A house quieter than it should be. A day forever changed.
Sounds of Grief – Ashes in the Wind
This week, we scattered our son’s ashes - not as closure, but as an act of love, sorrow, and release. In a place where we were once whole, we said goodbye. The pain remains. But so does the love. And like the ashes, it never truly disappears - it just changes form.
The Myth of Understanding
Some words offer comfort. Others unintentionally deepen the wound. Few hurt more than “I understand.” In grief, especially the loss of a child, understanding is not a shared destination – it’s a solitary road. This post reflects on what it means to grieve without being fully understood, and why that’s okay.
The Other Side I Cannot See
Grief invites comparison – often from those who mean well but do not understand. In this post, I reflect on the hurt that comes when others try to relate by comparing their past loss to our present pain. This is our devastation – raw, consuming, and still unfolding. For us, there is no “other side” yet… only the valley we still walk through.
Tears of a Father
After losing my son, the questions came hard and fast - and haven’t really stopped. In this post, I reflect on the grief that unraveled my world and the only thing that remained solid: Faith. A faith in a Father who knows what it is like to lose His Son.
Already There
I’ve wrestled with the silence of God, shouting “why” into the void of grief. Yet in the quiet, I’ve learned that His silence isn’t absence - it’s invitation. Invitation to trust, to grow, and to see that even unredeemed pain holds meaning in His hands.
Ashes in My Pocket
A father’s journey through suicide loss, grief, memory, and hope.
