I can't believe we’re approaching three years since you left this earth. I miss your infectious laugh and zest for life everywhere I go.

While grief has transformed into something I can carry, it doesn’t take away how much I miss you.

Chloe and Abby are getting so big, and I can’t help but wonder what life would be like with you still in it. No doubt, you’d be an amazing grandma and have so much fun with them.

Professionally, I started a new job as a Dean of Students, and I still find myself wanting to call you after school to tell you about my day.

I also started a grief magazine, truly inspired by the way you left the world a better place. I want to encourage people to live as you did—leaving no stone unturned and no opportunity for joy wasted. Even in your grief, you made sure your life was well-lived, and that’s all I’m aiming to do.

Personally, I’ve lived through a challenging few months. With Mike away at training, I was home alone with the girls, working full-time, and juggling the magazine.

Through it all, I realized just how much like you I am—and for that, I am forever grateful to be your daughter.

I love you, Mom, and I miss you.

Happy Mother’s Day to the best. I will ALWAYS be Laura’s daughter!

P.S. If you read this, send me a sign! :) (Sunflower and a 6)

xoxo, Kera

-Meagan

Over 10 years since I held your hand as you left earthside, but it feels like yesterday.

So much has happened in those 10 years. In my own little way I know you can see all of it, but it doesn´t take away the ache of wanting you to be right here for me to share all of it with you. Especially the being a mum stuff. I would give anything to pick up the phone and ask you questions, cry over the phone to you in these tough moments when I don´t know what to do or say.

But in the midst of all of my grief, I´m helping others in theirs. It feels bittersweet, but also so fulfilling having started GriefSpan a year ago. I also shared my grief journey and became a co-author in Resilient AF and was on a billboard in Times Square in January. I hope you saw me in big lights.

As you probably can already guess, I keep meeting amazing people on my journey, especially linked to my grief work. You know I was always good at connecting with people. That will never stop.

You would be 85 this year if you were still here.

Because of your strength you showed me, I keep strong for Asher and Lara, physically and exercise daily, mentally is a struggle, but I keep fighting and share my grief with the kids so they know how much my pain is because of how wonderful and and dad and Alistair were. SO they know you.

Happy Mother´s Day mum for every day, because that´s how often I think of you and miss you so much. Every day is a wish you were here day. You are my everything.

Give my love to dad and Alistair. Thank you for still looking after us from up there. I know you´re watching over us, and making sure the kids and I are the best version of ourselves.

Send me a sign when you can. I love and miss you so much mum.

Hugs and kisses for eternity.

Moira xx

Oh, how your mama misses you—more than words could ever hold. As I write this, you're just three months shy of your 20th birthday. Twenty. And it's been 19 years since I last held your sweet little hand in mine.

Though the years have been long and the journey oh-so heavy, I often imagine what life would look like with you still here. I wonder if you'd be in college now… playing sports, chasing dreams, maybe even dating a girl who'd have to win your mama’s heart too. I live in the wonder of who you would’ve become, holding tight to the one precious year we shared.

I miss your big, bright blue eyes. Your dimpled smile. That strawberry-blonde hair and your adorable little “uh-oh’s.” You brought light into my world in a way no one else ever could.

In your honor—and in your daddy’s and uncle’s too—I’ve created a legacy that speaks your name into every room I enter. I wrote about you in my memoir, Chapters of a Resilient Heart. I told the world about your short but beautiful life, and the ache that never quite leaves. I shared how we remember you, how we honor you, and how we say your name with love, always.

Becoming an author wasn’t something I planned—but you placed that calling on my heart. And now, Butterflies + Halos exists because of you. The butterflies are my sign… your sign… that you’re always near. I’m also a certified grief coach now, helping other moms walk the painful road I know too well. I can feel you beside me in every word I speak and every hand I hold.

What I wouldn’t give for one more snuggle. Just one more "uh-oh" from your tiny voice.

But I will always be grateful that I got to be your mama. And now you get to dance in Heaven with your daddy, both of you watching over me with love.

Butterfly kisses and rainbow hugs, forever and always.
XOXO, Garret’s mommy

How it has already been five years since you left us here in the physical world is almost incomprehensible to me. You were never supposed to leave us this early, and I know this breaks your heart as much as it does mine.

My grief around losing you has both softened and intensified at the same time, it's the strangest feeling. It's not as filled with anguish as it was in the beginning, but the longing and aching for your presence deep in my bones is more profound than ever.

Navigating motherhood without you here has only made that more prevalent, but sadly it doesn't take a Mother's Day to feel the sting of that. I feel this every single day. In the moments I can't call or text you, the moments you aren't here to hold and play with Audrey Rose, and in every small but significant moment in between—because man, do I still need you.

I mourn not seeing you being THE BEST grandma (or whatever fun name you would have been called) is something I will always mourn not getting to experience. I can't tell you how much that pains me. Audrey Rose is truly an angel, and reminds me so much of you - physically and personality-wise.

Given mine and John's features we thought for sure she'd have brown hair, and maybe she will one day. But for now, here she is, blonde and blue-eyed as ever—just like you. She lights up a room with her big eyes and smile, just as you did. She's so friendly, loves to share, a total cuddle bug, curious, feisty, and is a complete joy to those around her. Again, just like you.

I've learned what it means to carry my grief and the loss of you and dad with me. I know you know what I'm up to, because I know you're around and ALL up in my business, probably, because that's very on brand for you. But I do hope you're proud, because I sure never thought I'd be building such a warm and fulfilling community and life around grief... let me tell ya.

But I'm profoundly grateful. You and dad are the reasons I have the insanely amazing and beautiful life, and get to enjoy the "work" I do (I can't even call coaching or podcasting work, it brings SO much joy). You gave me the most magical childhood and young adulthood I could have asked for, and always encouraged me to be curious, adventurous, and open—all of which I'm doing proudly. I know some big things are coming... I can feel it.

It all stems from you. I wouldn't be here—wouldn't be me—without you. I know our soul connection surpasses all time and space. I love you to the stars and back, as we'd say. Happy Mother's Day, mama. Sending you the biggest, soulful hug and I know you're sending one back. xx - T

Also, asking you and the universe to send a coin or a 222 as a little sign, that's be lovely :)

I keep this photo at my desk these days because guess what? My office is 2 blocks from the beach ⛱️ I live by the beach, Ma! I think you'd like it. I love this photo of you and I recognize this smile in myself and I feel close to you when I think about this.

I'm trying really hard these days to create new memories because I don't have any with you since you died when I was so young... Lately, I've been more open about losing you and sharing things about you with friends, my husband, and my son. This year I shared some of your old jewelry with Sean. He loves to wear it and ask me about you. It brings me so much joy to share with him!

Miss ya, mom!

My dear sweet son. On this May 11, 2025, your birthday falls, once again, on Mother's Day. As does your physical deathday. How is it even possible that you turn 35 this year?!?

I remember lying in bed, hours after I heard those words, "I'm sorry, he didn't make it," and having one distinct thought: I did not want to live a lifetime mourning my son.

As you and the heavens have heard me say a gazillion times since, "I didn't know what that meant, what it looked like on the other side, or how the h*ll I was ever going to get there, but I knew what I didn't want, and I went from there." The seed of something had been planted.

I know you witnessed my hysterical sobs, the BIG scrawling swear words on the pages of my journals...and the countless "Why's" and "Why me's?"

I know you heard my pleas for God to take me in the wake of the seven-year string of losses that followed your death.

I remember the dream visitation and how real it felt, all the while debating that it was "just" a dream. I remember you saying I needed to stay here because people needed me.

I remember feeling your presence everywhere, even though I only felt your breath of life while you were in utero. Once, again, I rationalized that feeling your energy was but a figment of my imagination and I reasoned to your brothers and sister, who came after you, that we could feel you because we carried you in our hearts.

In those seven years following your birth and death, one question drove me forward: How is it that some people go on to live happy, fulfilled lives following tragedy, mishap, or mayhem, while others succumb to drugs, despair, a life of void, or suicide?

As you know, like a dog with a bone or a child with his prized toy, I relentlessly pursued that question and the thousands more it spawned.

I know you witnessed my healing moments-sparks of hope, healing, and happiness, such as "Why not me?"

...and the revelations that propelled me forward and into the realization of what I did want in the wake of your death...

I wanted to one day celebrate your life.

Today, I shout these words from the depths of my soul, in my books, and from every rooftop, platform, and stage I can:

I no longer mourn any aspect of your death; I celebrate your life!

I am a beacon of hope for all who are facing seemingly insurmountable grief, and you are the light that shines through me.

I am humbled to be your mom and honored that you are always with me, sending me inspiration, partnering with me, guiding me to those who need to hear our message:

You can experience full-spectrum healing and live your best life, no matter your adversity.

I look forward to our Mother's Day event that will help bring healing moments to those mothers whose child died, those people whose mamas and mama figures have died, and those mothers' hearts who, for whatever reason, are struggling in the face of an unfulfilled motherhood longing.

Thank you, Gavin, my little hummingbird, for teaching me how to fly and for being such an amazing mentor and lifelong guide.

I love you, Son. Here's to our next thirty-five years together!

Mom xoxo

It’s been so many years since I held you—and still, there are moments where it feels like just yesterday. The weight of you in my arms, the stillness in the room, the way the world shifted completely when we had to say goodbye. I never knew a heart could break and still keep beating, but it did. It does. Every day.

You were my first baby. The one who made me a mother. The one who taught me about love in a way I had never known—pure, fierce, and forever. And you taught me about loss in that very same breath.

Your siblings all know you. They know your story, they’ve seen your pictures, held your memory in their hands through the pages of your book. We talk about you—not in hushed tones, but in open-hearted conversation. You are not a secret, not a whisper. You are a part of us. Always.

Zoe has always carried you with such tenderness. She draws you into our family pictures without hesitation. She sees you. She includes you. And sometimes I look at her and wonder how you two would’ve giggled together, shared secrets, argued over clothes, or stayed up too late whispering in the dark.

Grayson has questions—the kind that make my heart catch in my throat. But he asks with innocence and love, and I try to answer with honesty and grace. He holds your book gently, carefully flipping through each page like he knows how sacred it is. He is proud to have a big sister in heaven.

And Logan—oh, my wild-hearted boy. He didn’t get to meet you, but he knows who you are. He speaks your name and asks about you. Sometimes, when he hugs me tightly out of nowhere, I wonder if he feels you near too. I like to think you’re his soft place when the world feels hard.

We are a family shaped by both love and loss. And while the ache of missing you will never leave, neither will the love. You are not just gone—you are deeply present in ways words can’t explain. You are the pause in my breath, the warmth in the sun, the soft ache in my chest when I see three children and know it should be four.

I want you to know that we miss you with our whole hearts. That you are remembered not just in October or on your birthday, but in everyday moments—when your sister laughs, when your brothers play, when I close my eyes and still see you as clearly as I did back then.

You are loved beyond measure, missed beyond words, and remembered beyond time.

With all the pieces of my broken and beautiful heart,
Mommy

I miss you so much. Some days, the ache is just under the surface, and other days it knocks the wind out of me. This past year has been one of the hardest of my life, and I’ve found myself needing you in ways I can’t put into words.

There have been so many moments I wished I could call you—just to hear your voice, to feel grounded by your steady presence, to cry without explanation. You always had a way of making everything feel just a little more bearable, just by being there. I ache for that comfort now. I ache for you.

There are decisions I’ve had to make, changes I’ve walked through, and emotions I’ve wrestled with that I never imagined facing without you. And yet, somehow, I’ve felt you with me. Not in the way I want—not in the physical, arms-around-me way—but in the quiet moments. In the stillness. In the signs that seem too perfect to be coincidence.

I feel you when the kids say something wise beyond their years.
I feel you when the light hits just right and the world slows down.
I feel you when I’m on the brink of falling apart—and I suddenly remember your strength.
Your laugh echoes in my memories. Your love still wraps around me, even now.

I wish you could be here to see how the kids are growing. I wish you could’ve held Logan one more time. I wish I could lean on you in all the uncertainty I’m facing, especially with the move and everything it’s stirring up inside me. I’m scared sometimes, and I know you’d remind me to breathe, to trust myself, to trust God.

Your absence feels so loud, Mom. But your presence, in its own mysterious way, is still here too. I carry you with me every day. In the way I mother. In the way I love. In the way I keep going, even when it hurts.

Thank you for everything you gave me, everything you taught me, and everything you still are to me.
I hope you know how much I love you. I hope you feel it, wherever you are.

Love always,
Your Lizzie

I've written and rewritten this a million times. Turns out I have so much to say that I can't seem to pick the most important- the most profound.

I finally settled on this: it's all pretty simple really- I miss you.

You are loved- still.

You are loved- always.

It's really as harsh and as simple as that.

I hope we're making you proud.

I hope I'm making you proud.

And more than anything, I hope you can see it all, even though it's significantly different than we planned and dreamed.

Happy Mother's Day to the greatest woman I've ever known, you.

Happy Mother's Day, to heaven and back.

xox

I can't believe it's been almost two years since we last spoke. I miss you so much and wish I could share updates on how your grandsons are doing! Mother's Day is tough since that was the day you stopped speaking two years agoa and passed a few days later. Mom, can you believe you passed away on a French national holiday, Ascension Day? Or that the next day, when walking by a restaurant that never played music the song 'Stairway to Heaven' was playing. Mom, I see the signs you send us and know you are still watching over us--thank you!

I hope you and Billy have met up and that you found Uncle Joe's family reunion from beyond. Please send everyone my love & thank you for being my mom. Oh, and yes, I am writing the books I promised I would write. The first one was dedicated to you :)

Happy Mother's Day, mom! Your legacy lives on through me, your grandsons & my sister--and all the people you met when you were on Earth.

Love,

Sandi 💕💕☀️☀️

As I get older I think about you from a different perspective. Not only do I miss you, but I'm sorry that I was never able to give you the love that I think you were always looking for. I love you Mom ❤️

from the conundrums of human existence

When I am alone enough to hear the silence

It strikes to me : the thought of HER being gone

Not just gone but never coming back cause she's stardust now

This then rips the flamboyance of my soul

Tears start rolling down my eyes

Cause I know,

I know that no force on earth could make me feel alive like she did ……