DIPG- Deeply Impacted, Purposeful Grief

03/03/2026

Wha part of grief are you in? Anticipatory grief? Newly bereaved? Or bereaved?

03/02/2026

Have you tried somatic breathing? If so, what are your thoughts and what has been the most helpful techniques for you?

02/28/2026

If you could say anything to your loved one no longer here now? What would it be?

02/26/2026

Love is not a bank account. It does not close when someone dies. Deposits continue to be made.

02/18/2026

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1ACZJ9ZVVL/?mibextid=wwXIfr

The dishes have been sitting there for three days.

The laundry is piling up. The emails are unanswered. The calls are unreturned. The things that used to take you twenty minutes now feel like climbing a mountain.

And you're starting to wonder what's wrong with you.

Nothing is wrong with you.

You're not lazy. You're not falling apart. You're not weak or unmotivated or losing your mind.

You're grieving.

And grief is the most exhausting thing a human being can experience.

It takes everything you have just to get out of bed some days. Just to shower. Just to eat something. Just to answer one text without feeling completely depleted.

People don't understand that. They see you not keeping up and they think you're not trying. They think if you just pushed yourself a little harder, got into a routine, stayed busy—you'd be fine.

But they don't know what it feels like to carry this weight.

To wake up every morning already exhausted before the day even starts. To spend so much energy just holding yourself together that there's nothing left for anything else.

Grief is a full-time job. And nobody pays you for it. Nobody gives you time off for it. Nobody sees the work you're doing just to survive it.

But I see you.

I see how hard you're working just to stay above water. I see the effort it takes just to get dressed. I see you showing up even when every part of you wants to disappear. I see you getting through a day without falling apart.

That's not laziness. That's grief.

And grief doesn't care about your to-do list. It doesn't care about your deadlines or your responsibilities or the expectations other people have of you.

It just shows up. Heavy and relentless. And demands everything you have.

So, give yourself grace. Stop measuring yourself against who you were before. Stop comparing your grief-self to your before-self.

That person existed before loss rewrote everything. Before the weight settled in. Before you knew what this kind of pain felt like.

You're doing the best you can. And right now, your best looks different than it used to.

And that's okay.

The dishes can wait. The emails can wait. The laundry can wait.

You're not lazy. You're just trying to survive the unsurvivable.

Written by: Aimee Suyko - In Their Footsteps

02/08/2026

Join me in supporting Lurie children’s hospital : https://go.rallyup.com/9499ff

02/07/2026

Today marks 4 months of losing our sweet boy, Jett. 4 months ago on this day he was still breathing at this time. Still talking. Still fighting. Looking at me with his beautiful hazel eyes and long eye lashes. 4 months ago I hear him say “I love you mom,” and I got to kiss him good night and pray over him. I could tell him seeet dreams. I could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed. His skin was warm. I could run my fingers through his hair. 4 months too long.

If you see someone, are someone, or know someone grieving, please know dates can make a day feel like they have stepped into quick sand. When memory fails to recall, know it’s not personal, but a brain overloaded. If they suddenly cry, give them a hug.

We can’t erase anyone’s pain with words. And it might feel uncomfortable, but to just “be” with that person and sit with them in their grief, witness their grief, that’s a gift in itself. There aren’t any right or magical words. We all can acknowledge that, but human kindness and compassion speak the words for us.

02/06/2026

Some people mean well.
They say things like, “In time it will get easier,” or “The pain will fade.”
Some even ask, “It’s been three months… four months… you’re still sad?”

But grief doesn’t work on a schedule.
That’s a lie we tell because the truth makes people uncomfortable.

The weight of grief doesn’t disappear.
You don’t get over it.
You learn how to carry it.

I can cry in my car, blast the air conditioner on my face, wipe my tears, and walk back into the world like I’m fine. Most people don’t know how close grief always is. How one small thing—a song, a smell, a name—can bring it all rushing back.

The “new normal” will never feel normal.
How could it?

Would you feel normal if you lost an arm or a leg?
You’d wake up every day knowing something is missing, and still have to press on. That’s what losing a child feels like. I didn’t just lose Jett. I lost part of myself.

There is a Jett-shaped hole in me.
I feel it every moment of every day.
I notice his absence in everything.
There is no version of life where he is not missing, where his place is not empty.

Grief teaches you how to smile when you’re breaking.
How to function while carrying a weight no one else can see.
How to keep going even when you’re exhausted from being strong.

Like a tree—when it’s cut down, you can see the rings.
Every year tells a story.

My life keeps growing, but it grows around grief.
Around Jett.
Every ring holds him.

It’s never without him.
It’s never silent.
It’s never normal.

And the pain doesn’t go away.

But neither does the love.

And that’s the part people don’t understand.
I carry grief because I carry him.
I keep going because I am his mom.
And even broken, even changed forever, I will keep growing—
ring by ring—
with his name written into every part of who I am.

02/05/2026

What is DIPG? I didn’t know a year ago. It wasn’t until the doctors walked in sharing my child’s diagnosis that I would know. There is no cure. Pray for these kiddos. Pray for their families. I had a psychiatrist once tell me that when these four letters comes across her screen she has to take a walk around the hospital, she knows what these kids and families are in for. She shared she wouldn’t be able to do her job without antidepressants. This is a heartbreaking diagnosis. Just pray. 🙏