The short story of my life is . . .

I was widowed to suicide when I was 39 and my children were six and eight. I had taken my sons on a hike with the family dog one beautiful fall afternoon in 2007, and we returned home to find a policewoman, a policeman and a priest in our driveway, there to deliver the news of my husband’s death. I knew Sam had been stressed about work, but I had no idea he was suicidal. I thought he had stayed home to take a nap.

As a young widow, I was determined that my children’s lives would not be defined by their father’s death. Even so, I lost 25 pounds in three months. I traded mascara for dark glasses. I felt all five stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance – at once, plus shock, scrutiny and anxiety. Tuesdays became my day for radical self-care; I went to yoga, therapy and took myself to lunch, my holy trinity of healing. I cried, cursed, meditated, medicated, downward-dogged and ran my way to save my young sons from their father’s suicide and legacy, only to realize that I could really only save myself. If I expected them to live lives of joy and purpose, I would have to open my own heart again. Eventually, I did fall in love with a handsome widower who also had two sons, and we blended our families together. But of course, there’s never an end date to grief.

I started the blog SushiTuesdays on which I shared my thoughts on life and love and loss. One of my most ardent readers said I used language to speak about grief in a way that was accessible and measured; I helped her feel held safely in what otherwise might be a scary place. My four children liked the blog because there was a certain colorful word right in the middle: suSHITuesdays, which felt oddly poetic. Healing requires dealing with the messy middle, and I’m not afraid to roll up my sleeves. Life is not exactly easy, love is certainly complicated, and yet joy is possible.

So pull up a cozy chair and grab a cup of tea. We’ll chat about what grief and family and love look like in real life. We’ll laugh and cry. I’ve got tissues if you need them. I’m happy you’re here.