We are not meant to do this alone.

That is the thread that runs through every moment of this conversation, and these are the words Gwen chose to close with, because they are simply true.

This episode is a replay of our recent live Q&A, a chance to follow up on the four-week educational series Gwen so graciously offered in February while I took a much-needed step back. We talk openly about what that break was like for me, why I needed it, and what I learned from it, including the hard-won lesson that even sacred work can wear you down if you never put it down, even for a little while.

From there the conversation opens up into something larger. We talk about the value of support groups, of finding someone a few miles ahead of you on this road and letting them show you that it is possible to keep going. We talk about the difference between the raw, gut-wrenching suffering of early grief and the longing that comes later — the stone in your pocket that never goes away but changes shape over time. And we talk about why hearing someone else's story, knowing someone else feels exactly what you feel, can be the one small thing that makes a grieving parent feel just a little less alone.

Gwen also shares a story from her recent vacation that stopped me in my tracks, the story of a ten-year-old girl on a beach, a grieving mama watching from a distance, and a moment that could only have been arranged by God.

If you missed the educational series from February, those episodes are available in the feed — Episodes 333 through 337. And if you would like a discount code for private sessions with Gwen, simply reach out to either of us at marcy@andysmom.com or gwen@grief-guide.com and we will get that to you.

Because we are not meant to do this alone.

And we never have to.

Before Angie lost her son Jake, she used to say something that I think many of us have said — or at least thought.

If something ever happened to Jake, you would just have to bury me with him. Period. End of discussion. There was no way.

And then the unthinkable happened.

Jake was Angie's only child, her greatest surprise and her greatest blessing. Born in August of 1995, he grew up to be a man of quiet, steady faith — the kind that didn't ask for recognition, that just lived itself out in the way he treated people, the way he loved his wife Hannah, the way he'd get genuinely excited talking about heaven. He loved the outdoors, he loved to hunt and fish, and Angie always called him her simple man. In fact, when he got married in 2020, their mother-son dance was to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man."

On March 8th, 2023, Jake was on his way to work when he was killed in a car accident. He was twenty-seven years old, just two years into his marriage, and days away from closing on the house he and Hannah had planned and saved for together.

Now, three years later, Angie is still here.

Not because it has been easy. Not because the grief has softened into something manageable. But because one foot in front of the other, one whispered Jesus at a time, God has held her up when she was sure she could not stand.

In this conversation, Angie speaks honestly about what these three years have looked like. The shock that she now understands as a mercy from God. The struggle to pray when the words just wouldn't come. The Bible study group of bereaved moms that has become her lifeline. The therapist who told her that one of the ways she could honor Jake was to lean into Jesus, because that was Jake. And how after he said it, she started hearing it everywhere.

Lean in. Lean in. Lean in.

This is an episode about surviving what you were sure would kill you. About faith that isn't tidy or triumphant, but shows up anyway, kicking and screaming sometimes, and keeps going.

If you have ever said there is no way I could survive this, this episode is for you.

Here is Angie, three years in, still standing.

When Samantha first came on this podcast in Episode 282, she was only a few months out from losing Raiden.

She was raw and fresh in her grief — and yet even then, just four months into her loss, she reached out to ask me about Andy. She stepped outside her own pain to offer comfort to someone further down the road. I knew then that she was someone special.

Fourteen months later, she is back. And the question that quietly runs through everything she shares is one that every grieving parent eventually faces:

How do I keep being my child's mama when my child is gone?

For Samantha, the answer has taken the shape of bubbles.

Raiden loved bubbles the way only a little boy can — rain or shine, indoors or out, in the bathtub, in the yard, anywhere and everywhere. That love became the name and the heart of the Raiden Bubble Project, a space Samantha built out of the sudden quiet of life after losing her only child. What started as something to focus on grew into water safety advocacy, autism awareness, and a community where other lost moms feel safe enough to reach out. Her own therapist tells her she has learned things from following along. Mothers she has never met write to thank her. Lost mamas find their way to her, and she holds space for them.

She also created the Little Love Lost Mamas, a small close circle of moms who have become like family. And she has been working to bring a memorial arch to her community, a place where anyone can come, padlock the name of someone they love, and know they are not alone.

Every single thing she has built is her still parenting Raiden.

We also talk about the new baby boy arriving soon, Ryatt. Samantha is clear about something that I think many people need to hear: Ryatt is not a replacement for Raiden. He is someone she gets to share Raiden with.

That is the kind of love that doesn't end when a life does.

It just finds new ways to live on — in bubbles, in community, and in the quiet, faithful work of a mama who never stopped.