Unexpected Loss

Unexpected Loss I created this page to help others and also to help myself . I recently lost my son . I hope this page will help myself and others .

More so to help others who have lost someone and may just need a friend , or a shoulder or a safe place to vent.

03/16/2026

Between the book and now fighting for justice for James I find myself consumed in it all. It doesn’t bother me because I know I’m being strong for my son and fighting for what is right . In all honesty I hear people say “ how are you being so strong “ “ I couldn’t do what you’re doing “ well I don’t have choice I have to be strong , and I have to do this for James . I have to honor my son and fighting for what is right and that is getting justice for what happened to him! I’ll continue this fight till my very last breathe. I will always fight for all my children as that is what a mother does !

03/12/2026

Urgent Request for Higher Penalties Against Vehicle Hit- and Run Death Accidents

03/11/2026

Grief is a deeply personal, non-linear process manifesting as emotional, physical, and behavioral changes, not just sadness or tears. It often looks like intense shock, anger, numbness, or deep yearning, along with fatigue, brain fog, and social withdrawal. It is a natural reaction to loss, lasting months to years.

03/09/2026

Grief is the last act of love we can give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love.

03/04/2026

So I started something and I’m happy to say it’s helping me . I’ve started writing a book . So far I’m about 2 chapters in ! I will share the first couple pages but the rest must wait !

Chapter 1
The Beginning of James

The night James entered the world is etched into my heart forever. It was January 19th, 1996, 2:30 in the morning, at Wilson Memorial Hospital in Johnson City, New York. He arrived exactly twelve days after my eighteenth birthday, as if life wanted to hand me the most profound gift right on the edge of adulthood. James was my firstborn son, my first everything, and from the moment he took his first breath, I knew he was a gift from God.

I remember the stillness of the hospital room when they placed him in my arms for the first time. His tiny fingers curled instinctively around mine, and in that moment, I felt a surge of love I had never known was possible. Time seemed to stop. All the noise of the world—the beeping machines, the hushed voices of nurses—faded away, and all I could see was him. My boy. My beacon of light.

Yet behind that overwhelming love, there was fear. I was eighteen, still in high school, with no job and no clear plan for the future. What did I know about raising a child? Could I really be the mother he deserved? Those thoughts swirled in my head, but they were softened by the presence of my parents. I was blessed to have them by my side that night, ready to help guide me through the unknown. They were my lifeline in those first fragile hours, helping me navigate the terrifying and beautiful reality of new motherhood.

James slept peacefully that first night, unaware of the weight of the world that I felt on my shoulders. I traced the curve of his cheek with my finger and silently promised him that I would do everything in my power to give him a life full of love. He was my miracle, my reason to keep pushing forward, even when I had no idea what the next day—or the next year—would hold.

I couldn’t have known then how much joy he would bring, or how deeply his presence would change me. All I knew was that my life had started anew the moment James arrived, and that every heartbeat of mine now belonged to him.

02/28/2026

Today marks a day of deep reflection as we gather to celebrate the life of Brother Doug. It has been four months since I lost my beloved son, James, and the weight of that loss still lingers heavily in my heart. Emotions are heightened, as grief and love intersect in a way that is both overwhelming and tender.

Even in the midst of sorrow, I find strength in knowing that James is above, watching over us, his presence felt in quiet moments and in every memory we hold dear. He continues to keep our family in his embrace, holding us together no matter the storms life brings. Today, as we honor Brother Doug, we also honor the bond of family, love, and faith that carries us through our hardest days.

Though grief remains, so does the unshakable love that connects us to those we’ve lost. James’s light and Brother Doug’s memory will forever guide and comfort us.

02/26/2026

Journal Entry – February 26, 2026

It has been four months since James passed away, and the weight of his absence still sits heavy on my heart. I wake up each day feeling like I am still in the middle of a storm I can’t escape. Tomorrow, I fly to New York for yet another funeral—this time for my brother-in-law. Another loved one gone. Another goodbye I’m not ready to say.

I feel overwhelmed. I haven’t even begun to fully process James’s passing, and now grief knocks at my door again. My heart feels split in two, carrying the pain of my son’s loss while bracing for another farewell. I find myself asking how much a heart can hold before it breaks.

I realize there is no “right way” to manage this. Grief doesn’t move in a straight line—it twists, crashes, and lingers. Maybe I can only allow myself to feel each wave as it comes. I can cry, I can sit in silence, I can hold onto the love each of these people brought into my life. I can remind myself to breathe, to lean on the people who understand, and to honor James and my brother-in-law by remembering the joy they gave me, even in the middle of my pain.

I don’t have all the answers. All I can do is take one moment, one memory, one breath at a time.

02/23/2026

I’m angry that you died.
There. I said it.

I’m angry that I don’t have answers.

I’m angry that I’m forced to rebuild myself from pieces I never asked to pick up.

I’m angry that the world kept moving like nothing happened.

I’m angry that you’re gone while I still have to live — still show up, still survive, and act like I’m okay with it.

And I don’t know how to make peace with that.

02/20/2026

Losing a child
Do you want to know what it is like to lose a child?
Sit down, let's talk, this could take quite a while.

At first you are in shock, and then you are in denial.
And pretty soon reality puts your emotions on trial.
You lose so much, but the first you lose is your smile.
To others you seem okay, but you really are not.
The grief that you feel is only the start
Because your child now lives only in your heart
You treasure each picture that is all you have got
You cling to memories that you thought you forgot
You know your life will never again be the same.
You pretend things are okay, and you hide your pain.
You just want someone to mention his name.
So you can imagine that he is beside you again.
Sometimes you feel like you are going insane
You still feel all alone, even when in a crowd.
Others can speak of their children of whom they are proud,
But to talk about your child, somehow isn't allowed
So your child's memories are hidden under grief's cloud
You just want to mention his name out loud.
With each day you are reminded of all you have lost.
And how much your loss has ultimately cost
Your child's hopes and dreams have been tossed
So before you judge, keep your fingers crossed
That you never know the pain of a child's loss.
You hold back tears, because they would be a stream
You cry every day, but you really want to scream.
"My child mattered, how can people be so mean?"
You pray for a visit, or vision in the form of a dream
So before you tell me some over used silly cliche'
Like "He is in a better place" or "things are better this way"
Think about what you are about to say
I really mean it when I tell you, that I hope and pray
That you never know how I feel each and every day.

02/20/2026

Journal Entry – February 20, 2026

It has been three months , almost 4 since James passed away, and the ache in my heart still feels as raw as the first day. I keep expecting to hear his laughter echoing through the house, or to get a call from him just to check in. The silence is heavy, and some days it feels impossible to carry.

I miss his smile, the way he could light up any room without even trying. I miss our talks, even the small, ordinary ones about nothing in particular. Those moments are treasures now, replaying in my mind like old home movies.

Grief is a strange companion—some days it’s quiet and distant, and other days it presses on my chest until I can hardly breathe. Today, I let myself cry. I let myself remember. I let myself miss him without holding back.

James, I hope you know how deeply you are loved, and how much of my heart will always belong to you. I will carry your memory with me in everything I do.

02/19/2026

One of the most life-changing truths in trauma healing is this:
We aren’t healing so that we can finally “handle” pain.
We’ve already handled pain.
We’ve survived it.
We’ve carried it.
We’ve lived inside it for years.
Healing isn’t about becoming stronger for suffering.
Healing is about becoming safe enough for joy.
It’s about letting peace feel normal.
Letting laughter return without guilt.
Letting love in without bracing for loss.
Trauma trains the nervous system to expect fear.
Healing teaches the body that happiness is allowed.
We don’t heal just to endure life.
We heal to receive it.

02/18/2026

Some days feel almost manageable, like I can breathe without the weight of grief crushing me. Today is not one of those days. I woke up thinking of James, and the emptiness hit me before I even got out of bed. The memories are vivid—his laughter, his plans, his dreams—and then the reality crashes in. He’s gone, taken from me because of someone else’s negligence. It feels so unfair, so heavy, like the world has tilted off its axis.

I tried to go through my routines, but little things keep reminding me of him—a song on the radio, a scent in the air, a passing thought about what he might be doing today if life had been kinder. The tears come suddenly, and I let them fall, because holding them back only makes my chest ache more.

Even in the hardest moments, I try to honor James by remembering the joy he brought into my life. I tell myself that it’s okay to feel this pain, that grief doesn’t follow rules or a schedule. Some days will be softer, and some will feel like today—raw and relentless.

Tonight, I will sit quietly and light a candle for him, letting the flame remind me that his love and dreams still live in my heart. Maybe tomorrow will be a little lighter, but for now, I let myself feel it all.

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1029 Heartbroken Road
Morrisville, NC
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