My Word for 2025

As the year comes to a close, I reflect on the possibilities that the new year holds. I begin this thoughtful process by selecting a personal word for the year, which helps me consider the journey ahead. I realize I can't enter the new year without acknowledging my journey over the past year. My word for 2024 was “Stable,” serving as a guiding principle as I navigate the challenges posed by my Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD) and other health issues. This past year marked my first full year of retirement, offering me many opportunities to create my schedule. I traveled to Texas three times at the beginning of the year to capture the eclipse, go to a wedding, and visit a friend. We ventured to Europe to explore the charming streets of Salzburg while enjoying a memorable river cruise. I’ve had a trip to admire the vibrant fall colors on my bucket list for years, and that trip became a reality in 2024. As the year wraps up, I look forward to a family getaway planned for Puerto Vallarta. I aim to continue traveling for as long as my health allows. This year took me back to my old house in New York, where I tried to recall aspects of my childhood between the ages of 7 and 11. The late sixties were a significant time, filled with so much happening in our world. That’s all I can remember now, but it was a vital part of my life and fueled my desire to serve others, so I want to understand and give a voice to that part of me. I’m reflecting on this time and the people who impacted me the most. Looking back, I realize that my word for 2025 is part of this process as I revisit those formative years.

My word for the year is “Solace.” This word means to comfort - to ease grief or distress. Other similar words include comfort, assure, reassure, soothe, cheer, console, uplift, calm, elevate, and boost. The word solace is something I hope will move me towards, reassure me of the calling God has placed in me, and give me peace as I think of my future.

Although my passion for photography remains vibrant, I have dedicated more time to assisting others through Grief Recovery. Helping individuals find completion with what they wish had been different, better, or more by using the tools I’ve acquired on this journey brings me profound meaning. Over the past year, I expanded my one-on-one interactions via Zoom, hoping more individuals will take advantage of the opportunity to engage in person during our group sessions. The work I do with Grief Recovery is kept discreet. It takes great courage to undertake the challenging work of Grief Recovery, and my referrals come from individuals who may or may not be willing to discuss it. I have several Grief Recovery groups starting in 2025 and am available via Zoom for one-on-one.

I appreciate your unwavering support this year. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I pray you find the words to encourage and give you hope for 2025!

Empty Arms

Recently I started a birth and bereavement doula course, and I'm currently in the last two modules. The particular module I'm in now, we are talking about the emotional experiences of having a baby in the NICU. One of the exam questions is to choose from the list of 10 experiences one that could have a similar feeling if a child is born sleeping. So much about these emotional experiences are similar to the loss of my almost 26-year-old son. I've learned not to compare losses as when you do that; someone will always have something less or more of what you've experienced. Each loss is unique, as each person is unique. Give space for each loss and hold the heart and hand of that person so that they feel heard, understood, and valued. 

While reading through these experiences, I felt like I could identify with nearly all of them, and yet the question asked me to choose one. I decided on the word derealization, which for the parent of a NICU baby the emotional experience can be so overwhelming for them, that they find themselves in denial, forgetting, or suppressing important information that was spoken to them. Even if they appear to practice active listening, repeating things often can be helpful, along with keeping a journal of things mentioned and questions to ask. (reference from StillBirth Day)

This module, in particular, really has me thinking deeply about the painful process of birth, loss, and bereavement as it feels so very real. It had me thinking back to our days in the hospital and all the information that came our way that I heard but did not process. So much of my time in the hospital was spent with all the people: Evan's friends, Alex's friends, our friends, fielding Facebook messages so much of the processing of vital information was processed by John and Alex cause honestly, it was too much for me. The entire process of it was too much. It's hard to understand unless you’ve walked that long lonely hallway. I can never truly articulate to my husband or my son how much love I have for them. They showed me during that time, what unconditional love looks like as it was walked out during the darkest of days. It wasn't easy for them either. My husband never left Evan's room the entire time he was in the hospital. Alex always was caring for us. Both of them handled the most challenging parts of those days.

Life and death are fragile and fleeting. Whether we are talking about a baby born sleeping or a nearly 26-year-old son whose brain has stopped working but whose organs help save the lives of 5 people. Say your words — even the hard ones to those you love. Reach out to that momma who's arms are left empty because of her loss. Be a light in a world that so desperately needs it.