I Keep Living for the Ones Who Couldn’t

I grew up in foster care in Ohio. I never knew my dad. My mom, Violet, was my whole world.

In October 2016, cancer took her. Three days later, my dog Ace — my best friend of seven and a half years — was gone too. A few years after that, my brother-in-law died by suicide.

Grief hit me like a wave that never went back out to sea. There were mornings I didn’t want to get out of bed. Nights I wondered why I was still here when they weren’t.

I’m not a therapist. I’m just a man who has sat in the dark and found his way back. Here’s what I learned, and I share it hoping it reaches a young person who needs it.

First: grief is love with nowhere to go. Nobody told me that. I thought something was wrong with me because the sadness wouldn’t lift. But the sadness is proof of how much I loved them. Once I understood that, I stopped fighting the grief and started carrying it differently.

Second: talk. To someone. Anyone. A friend, a counselor, a crisis line. I spent too long trying to be strong in silence, and silence almost won. If you’re reading this and the dark feels permanent, call or text 988. That number exists because your life matters more than you realize right now.

Third: find one small reason to stay, then build on it. For me, it became my morning prayers. Every morning, I spend about 30 minutes remembering everyone I’ve lost — my mom, my brothers, my dog Ace. I say their names out loud. Then I try to live the day for them: to watch a sunrise they can’t see, to taste food they can’t taste, to be kind in ways that would make them proud. I believe the life of the deceased is placed in the heart of the living.

That practice became my purpose. Out of that grief, I started a company that keeps memories alive, and I wrote my memoir, Violet’s Light, so other people walking through loss would know they’re not walking alone.

I’m not going to tell you the pain goes away. It doesn’t. But it changes shape. It becomes fuel instead of weight — if you let it.

If you’re a young person carrying grief right now, hear me: where you start doesn’t decide where you finish. I was a foster kid with nothing. Today I wake up grateful. Not because life got easy, but because I decided my losses would make me softer, not harder.

Keep going. Your story isn’t over. Someone out there needs the light that only you can shine.

Learn more about how you can support your friends and community with Active Minds’ A.S.K. Acknowledge, Support, Keep-in-Touch – You can’t always change what someone is going through, but you can always A.S.K.: Acknowledge their feelings, Support by listening, and Keep-in-Touch regularly to let them know how much you care.