Daughter Lost

Finding a Life Raft in the Waters of Grief

Apr 17, 2026

My daughter Fern died 12 years ago today. She was born too early and lay in my hands as her heart gradually stopped beating and my heart broke in a million pieces.

When she died I thought I’d never get off the couch. The pit in my stomach would be permanent and I’d live with this misery stooping my shoulders, stealing my appetite, muddling my mind.

My milk came in the next day and my breasts filled with its life-giving energy. But no babe to suckle them and they swelled and swelled till I thought they would burst, like a balloon, like my heart.

I sorta dread this part of spring, this day in April, cause I never know how I’m going to feel.

Loneliness has often been the dominant theme because the loss is so gutting and yet hard for people to understand. I have often isolated myself and felt very sad. But recently something changed.

Last year in early April, I gathered my courage and reached out to my friends for help. I sent a group text to seven of my closest women, told them what I was feeling, and humbly asked for support.

April 17th loomed on the calendar, so I cleared my schedule for the day and braced myself.

But then something strange happened. In the cradle of my friends’ love, I felt a sort of sweetness I hadn’t felt in years past. I stayed in my silk pajamas all day, and my sweet pal Nadia came over in the afternoon for a tea party. We had all manner of cakes and donuts and cookies from the health food store (so healthy), and told stories and celebrated. She brought me a book of poems and a card.

It was such a beautiful day. Like a birthday.

This year, I am feeling stronger and considered remaining quiet and taking care of myself. I had the misguided impression that I had already asked for enough support and I should take it from here.

Enter my wise adult.

No, child. You don’t need to go it alone. Ask them for help. They love you and will show up again and again. Just try and see.

So I hit up the girls and asked for help again.

Did they reject me for being needy? Did they ignore me cause they were too busy? Did I drown in the vulnerability of asking for more love?

Nope. They embraced me for being human.

Haley wrote: “Grief and forced silence don’t sit well together. Let it out! We are all here for your connection and recognition.”

Aspen left multiple love memos. Zoe and Melinda called to chat. Mo came for tea. Mandee is coming for lunch. Nadia offered a beach walk.

I rose to the surface in the waters of grief with their love as a life jacket.

I got deep, teary hugs from my boys. Even the pets are being more snuggly.

I’m surrounded by angels. All I had to do was ask.

I was recently working with a client in the throes of acute and recent loss. She was struggling with not knowing what happens to someone after they die.

I told her what I have learned from the sharpest and deepest loss of my life: when someone leaves their body behind, they don’t disappear. The light in the core of their being becomes part of the fabric of the universe, and if you get very quiet and tune into your own sprit, you can often feel their presence.

I said this not as my belief, but as a fact. Because I know it to be true.

Maybe they show up as an owl in a dream, a butterfly at the window of the 67th floor, or an eddy of wind that holds a leaf impossibly suspended in air.

Fern came to this world very briefly to teach me about love and loss. Although I still grieve, I am filled with the deepest gratitude for all that she came to teach me, and for the sparkle of her perfect essence in the night sky.