Losing a child affects us in ways that we never possibly could have imagined. We are quite honestly not the same people who we were before experiencing this profound loss. When today's guest, Lisa, lost her 19-year-old amazing, talented daughter, Kate, to a rare, aggressive cancer a few months ago, she truly felt lost. She said that she lost confidence in herself. She felt like she couldn't do anything even to the point that she started feeling like a bad cook and a bad driver.

The guilt and all of the 'what ifs' became consuming for Lisa. She found herself focusing on many past decisions. What if they had taken her daughter's ovary the first time when she had a simple benign cyst? What if they had gone to a different doctor? What if they had done surgeries at different times? Would her daughter still be alive today?

These 'what if' questions haunt so many of us, don't they? They plagued me throughout my grief just as they affect Lisa today. How do we learn to let go of those doubts and questions? There are no easy answers. Others tell us again and again that we did the best we could do and that there is nothing we could have done differently, but learning to accept and believe in ourselves is much more difficult.

I learned from Gwen many years ago that feelings don't have to be rational to be real. And these feelings, as irrational as they may be, are important to acknowledge. Only by experiencing all of our emotions can we truly begin to heal. We need to slowly and gently go through our irrational feelings and challenge them ourselves. Therapists and support groups can help us along our journey as well.

Through hard work and perseverance grieving parents can and do heal. I have seen it in myself and so many others through these past six years. I can tell a funny story about Andy now without overflowing tears. The grief is still there, certainly, but it is no longer all-consuming and I experience more moments of peace. I know, too, that someday when Lisa thinks about Kate, the first thing that will come to her mind will be her amazing smile and personality and not the doubts that flood her mind today.

When Justin Cole started on his peewee football team many years ago, each practice started and ended with a chant. Part of that chant included these words - Never Give Up. As the years went by, the boys eventually stopped playing peewee football, but the friendships continued and the 'never give up' mantra remained important. When Cole suddenly died at 22 years of age in a car accident, many of his former teammates who were planning to be groomsmen at Cole's wedding in 55 days instead became his pallbearers.

In the first days after Cole's death, his mother Wendy wondered how she would even be able to live a week without her beloved Cole. Her world was forever broken, never to be the same again, but somehow, she did live a week, and then a month. Hope seemed impossible and giving up did not seem like an unreasonable option. Time kept going on, however, whether she wanted it to or not. Finding no grief support locally in her area of Fort Worth, Texas, she turned to social media. She and her husband signed up to take a David Kessler course on grief. That course gave her the first glimmers of hope that she had seen in 2 months.

Through social media, Wendy realized that they were not alone. She found other grieving moms on Facebook in many different groups with many different stories. (Four of them actually had sons named Justin Cole!) She arranged in-person meetings between a few who lived locally and then decided to start her own Facebook group to try to help other bereaved parents. Wendy knew that hope was the key to healing after the devastation of child loss. Parents need to find hope, and Wendy wanted her group to offer that hope to parents everywhere. She named her group 'Never Give Up Hope' in honor of that peewee football team. In just a few short months, the group has grown to 56 moms across North America. They host Zoom meetings on Tuesday nights for members as well with education and discussions on grief. Wendy hopes that in her own little way, she can help encourage parents everywhere to never give up hope.

Before our children are even born, we have dreams for them. We think of what they will be like as babies and the personalities they will develop as they grow. These dreams only get more real after they are born. Clara's dad, Joe, says that as he sang to Clara as a baby, he imagined what it would be like to dance with her as a little girl and even watch her get ready for her prom. It is truly one of the joys of parenthood - imagining a blissful, happy future.

When today's guests, Jenna and Joe, went to Jenna's 28-week ultrasound, however, they got their first 'kick in the gut' that the blissful future they were imagining might not be possible. Baby Clara was suffering from SVT (supra ventricular tachycardia), and Jenna needed to be hospitalized immediately. They tried numerous medications, but little Clara entered into the world as a premature infant. Clara had numerous complications in her first 5 1/2 months of life, but eventually, they were able to bring her home, although still with a central line for her IV nutrition.

Despite all of these hurdles, Jenna describes this time at home as 'amazing.' They started to dream again, hoping that Clara would be able to lead a relatively full life. That all changed 5 1/2 months later (10 1/2 weeks before this interview was recorded when after a relatively routine medical procedure, Clara suddenly died on Mother's Day - Jenna's first Mother's Day. Jenna had looked forward to this day for weeks, telling all her friends how happy she was that she wouldn't be in the hospital as had been the case the year before when she was still pregnant with Clara, but the day had turned into a nightmare.

Their vibrant, happy amazing little girl was suddenly gone, and with her, all of the new little family's dreams went with her. Now, Jenna and Joe are slowly trying to put together the pieces of their life once again. They are moving to be closer to family and trying to find grief support in any way they can. Now their biggest dream for their little smiling Clara is to make sure that they are not the only ones who remember her and let others know that Clara is still a part of their lives.

I cannot quite believe I have been doing the Always Andy's Mom podcast for 5 years. As of today, there have been well over 250,000 downloads in 128 countries as we share stories from around the world. This week, we went back to talk to guests who have been with us from the beginning and others who joined us along the way.

Accompanying Gwen and I for this episode are Stephanie (Ep. 3: Keyan's Mom), Chrisy (Ep. 19: Caleb's Mom), Nan (Ep. 23: Connor's Mom), and Demetra (Ep. 92: Eleni's Mom). If you have not heard these moms before or want to remind yourself of their stories, click on the links, but even if you are new to the podcast and have never listened before, you will find so much hope and healing by listening.

Each of these amazing moms talks about how they struggled when they were first recorded. In Chrisy's case, she was only 148 days into her grief journey so it is understandable that she would be in the depths of her pain. On the other hand, Nan lost her Connor 11 years before recording her episode. At the time, I found myself longing to have her strength. Little did I know, however, that inwardly, Nan was struggling and only one month later, found herself hitting rock bottom at the lowest point in her grief.

As I listened to each woman share years after I first met them, I saw so much growth. I found myself smiling as Stephanie found purpose again by dedicating her life to helping bereaved people through Starlight Ministries. As I smiled, however, tears also came as they so often do. Grief is hard. Grief is messy. Growth can come as months and years go by, but it is not a linear path. It is a path filled with many dark valleys and helping each other through the dark times is key.

As I think back over these past 5 years, I feel so incredibly blessed that God has allowed me to meet hundreds of bereaved people from varied backgrounds from all over the world. I have become a part of their grief journey and they have become a part of mine. I cannot wait to see who will enter my life over the next 5 years. Thank you all.

*To sign up for the next Starlight virtual support groups that I lead starting September 10th, email marybr@starlightmin.org. Visit starlightmin.org for more information

If you listened to last week's podcast, you heard a little bit about what goes on behind the scenes. For example, each week, one to two days before release, I listen to that week's full podcast and try to find an overriding theme I want to focus on for the write-up. This week was no different. but as I listened, I found myself hearing different themes.

The first idea was to focus on Remi’s amazing personality and how she impacted those around her - even those who knew her only in the hospital. The second theme revolved around the idea that Remi's mom, Courtney, felt like Remi's death affected her confidence in her ability to parent and her outlook on life in general. As I found myself debating the pros and cons of each of these ideas, it hit me - these ideas come from the same place. They all stem from how different experiences cause us to change and evolve as people.

When the ICU team cared for Remi in the hospital for 37 days after her drowning, they grew to love Remi and were forever changed. They never got to hear her speak or see her run and play, but they were impacted nonetheless, As Courtney held her young daughter as she died, she turned to the doctor who sat rubbing her back and told the doctor that she didn't have to be there with them. The doctor responded, 'I'm exactly where I need to be.'

The experience of losing Remi affected Courtney deeply as well. In many ways, these changes are negative, but there are a few positive ones as well. Before Remi died, Courtney felt confident in her decisions as a parent. She knew that she was a good mom who cared for her children well. Losing Remi changed all of this. Doubts came constantly. Is she a good mom? Can she keep her children safe? Those on the outside still see the great, amazing mom Courtney has always been, but inwardly, she feels that she is lacking. As much as these doubts haunt Courtney, however, she does value life in a way she could not before. Courtney says, ‘We are not promised tomorrow so we should love hard today.'

So to all of you today, the message to you is this - love hard and offer care and support to all who are hurting.

This week is one that I have been dreading for a while now. Every year, as the calendar turns to August, I feel my dread and anxiety go up and with that an increase in headaches and other physical symptoms as August 15th comes closer. Last year was especially bad as it was the 5 year anniversary of Andy's death. I thought this year would be better until I learned that we would have to drop our youngest son Peter off at college on August 13th.

I know that most mothers have feelings of worry and sadness when their youngest child moves out of the house. For me, the feelings of worry exploded to a whole new level. I fear that as I drop him off at college, some tragic accident will occur and I will never see him again. I know that this is irrational and that most college students do not die when they go to college, but over the years, I have met many mothers whose children have died and that makes it more real.

In two weeks, the podcast celebrates its 5th birthday. Five years of telling amazing stories of amazing children, but they are also hard stories. They are emotional stories of tragic accidents and prolonged illnesses. Tears often flow as we relive those final minutes or days of our child's life or the moment we heard that the unimaginable has happened. As hard as these stories are, however, they are also stories of hope and resilience. They are stories of parents who continue to get up every day after horrific tragedy. They are stories that bind us together as a community of grieving parents.

As I look back on these past 5 years, I am proud of the stories we have helped tell and proud of the community we have created. As difficult as this week is for me and as real as my fears are, I know that so many of you are just a text or an email away. Six years ago, I felt very alone in my grief. I had my family and close friends, but when I looked into the world, I saw only happy, whole families. Today, as I wake up on August 15th, I feel quite different. Although I know far more stories of tragedy, I feel the strength and support of broken parents from around the globe. I know that with your help, I will get through.

"I don't know how you do it."

I have heard this phrase on and off in my life, but that was nothing compared to how often I have heard those words since Andy died. I know people mean well when they say, "I don't know how you do it," but I never really know how to respond. I don't feel any stronger or more resilient than anyone else. Quite the opposite is the case actually. I often feel weak and alone.

Today's guest, Jessica, heard "I don't know how you do it" for many years as well. It started shortly after her 5-year-old daughter, Dalia, was diagnosed with MERRF syndrome, a degenerative mitochondrial disease. Over the years as other parents watched their children gain milestones, Jessica and her family watched Dalia lose hers - first, her ability to walk and speak and then the ability to eat on her own. Eventually, Dalia even lost her sweet smile.

At the time of Dalia's death, her bedroom looked more like an ICU room than the bedroom of a teenage girl, but until Dalia died, Jessica didn't notice any of that. She just focused on being a loving mom to her sweet daughter. 'I don't know how you do it?' Really? It was just normal life for her. There was nothing heroic or extraordinary happening. Jessica just did what she had to do, living every day with her family hoping to give them all the best life possible.

Jessica at some point decided to write a book about her experiences raising and losing Dalia while also suffering through the deaths of both of her parents and sisters. The result of this effort was 'Breath Taking: A Memoir of Family, Dreams, and Broken Genes' available here on Amazon. She also began to think about the phrase 'I don't know how you do it' more deeply. How does anyone 'do it' actually? Jessica decided to start her podcast which she aptly named, 'I Don't Know How You Do It' to explore the question more deeply. Each week, she interviews someone whose life seems unimaginable from the outside. Through the podcast, Jessica hopes to show listeners that there isn't a magic answer. We can all do it, no matter what our circumstances. Each day, we all get out of bed and do it and so can you.

Communication is such an important part of the human experience. We all come from different backgrounds and with different experiences, but being able to communicate with each other and share our own perspectives brings us closer together. When Chezik's 3-year-old son, Yori, drowned in a backyard pool, she was unexpectedly thrust into a completely new world and forced to learn a new language. This was the language of grief.

Over the next year, Chezik was drawn to other grieving families, especially those who had lost children to drowning. She felt very strongly that she needed to do something to try to decrease the number of drowning victims which is the #1 cause of death in young children. Since Chezik had a background in film production, she knew that the best way for her to get the message out would be through film.

What resulted is a simply beautiful documentary called 'Drowning in Silence' (available to watch on Amazon Prime or free on Tubi). In the film, Chezik shares Yori's story as well as the stories of other children who were drowning victims. Through these stories of amazing young children, she calls for action for all of us to do our part in decreasing the number of drowning victims. These actions include having an adult as a designated 'water watcher' (much like a designated driver), encouraging all young children to wear life jackets within 100 feet of water, and even working to provide swimming lessons for young children free of charge. In addition to making this powerful film, Chezik also started a nonprofit organization (nomoreunder.org) to help with education and provide free swim lessons to children, especially those of black and brown communities who are at higher risk of drowning.

Chezik's call to action profoundly affected me. Watching her film not only changed the way I think about drowning on a personal level, it changed me as a pediatrician as well. No matter how much information I feel like I need to give parents during a well-child visit, I will never again neglect to remind parents of the risks of drowning and provide information to help protect children as much as possible.