Frequently Asked Questions

Nope. Not a counselor, not a therapist, not a priest. Just someone who has spent a lot of time in the trenches and realized grief and funeral prep might be my oddly specific calling. I write, I listen, I support. I do not diagnose or prescribe. I do recommend snacks.

Have you experienced every kind of grief?

No. And I won’t pretend I have. I’ve never lost a child or spouse. I’ve never been married and I don’t have kids. I’ve never killed anyone either—important clarification, apparently. But I have been the main caregiver for my mom through major dementia, and for my dad as he slowly declined from many things. Everyone—maybe even him—seemed to know he was dying except me. I kept insisting he’d make it to 104, even though his 78-year-old self was falling apart in front of us. I’ve also encountered suicide loss and violent death, both directly and indirectly. I’ve seen what it does to people. When I don’t know something firsthand, I try to ask, listen, and do no harm.

I looked at what people kept asking me for: help with crises, funeral prep, eulogies, storytelling, and “what do I say now?” advice. And while I’ve also fielded my share of arroz con pollo or biscuits and gravy recipe requests, I realized grief might be my special sauce. Most grief support I’d seen tried to make things feel okay again. But the truth is—they’ll never be okay in the same way. I wanted to create something honest. Something useful. Something that doesn’t flinch. I want my work to matter—and I want people to feel less alone in the hardest moments of their lives.

Mostly death-related grief. But also grief from caregiving, estrangement, identity loss, divorce, job loss, or loving someone who’s still alive but no longer themselves. Grief doesn’t always come with a death certificate. If it hurts, it counts.

Yes. Animals are family. Losing a pet can be just as heartbreaking as losing a person, and for some, even more so. If someone tells you “it was just a dog” or “you can get another one,” feel free to ignore them completely. Or show them a Fresh Pet food commercial and see if they laugh or cry. The love is real. So is the grief.

This one’s delicate. I come from a lapsed Catholic background, so that’s part of my lens. But I try to create space for a wide range of beliefs—religious, spiritual-but-not-religious, atheist, agnostic, or “none of the above.” If the person who died was religious, do your best to honor that. If they weren’t, don’t impose a belief system they didn’t subscribe to. We each grieve in our own way, and none of us gets to decide what brings peace to someone else’s heart.

I believe something continues. Maybe not clouds and harps, but something. I like to picture my dad holding court at a bar with John Wayne, my loved ones pain-free and fully themselves again—checking in on me from time to time, probably with an eye roll and a drink in hand. I also believe your relationship with the person doesn’t end when they die. They stay with you—in memory, in love, in quiet conversation, even if it’s just in your mind. That connection matters.

Yes. You can write to me through the site. If I can’t respond directly, I might answer in a blog, podcast, or grief card—with your permission and without your name, unless you ask otherwise.

Yes—sort of. I’ve created a Reddit thread at r/HoldingSpaceGrief, where you can connect with others navigating grief in real, honest ways. I also have a contact form on the website if you’d rather reach out directly. A fuller community space may be built into the site down the line. For now, think of it as a place to start a conversation, not a polished support group. Yet.