October carries a weight and tenderness that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. It’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month—a time to remember babies who left us too soon, to break the silence around these losses, and to remind grieving parents that they are not alone.

I desperately searched for other people who were ‘like me’. After sitting with the girls who ate their feelings for a bit, and skirting around the JV jocks, burnouts, and sexually active band geeks, I decided to create my own table for the greatest people you’ll ever meet.

On 9/11/2026 that statement—“Give it time”—feels like a challenge. A guiding light that we have followed for 25 years since the terrorist attacks on 9/11, which killed and injured thousands of innocent people in New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia.

For nearly 15 years, I worked as a therapist specializing in postpartum mental health. I attended one of Postpartum Support International's early large-scale training on perinatal mood disorders. I know more than I ever wanted to know about postpartum psychosis. I also know what psychosis looks like when it enters the life of someone you love, because my best friend died at 41 after six months of a debilitating mental health crisis that included psychosis.

So I'm not really following the trial.

The black-and-white checkered floor hasn’t changed in decades, and neither has their recipe for cheese fries. Everyone knows the last three or four bites are the prime real estate. After soaking in that salty liquid cheese, they’re quite literally the closest thing to heaven on earth.

The question I loathe whenever people found out that I was losing pregnancies, and especially after I lost my final pregnancy in March of 2025. After dealing with infertility for years, that question had run through my mind on more than multiple occasions and it was part of my Roman Empire.

My question now is, why is #grief trending? Why such a sudden influx of grief accounts that are growing so rapidly? Maybe it’s because we’ve exposed a weakness in our chain, maybe we aren’t addressing the needs of the people. Are grief-fluencers filling a gap left by traditional support systems and communities?

If you aren’t familiar with my grief journey, I feel the need to share how deeply grief and joy, death and life, are woven into my story. It is no coincidence, I think, that I went on to become the Editor-in-Chief of a grief magazine built entirely around finding joy after loss. I didn’t choose that mission from a place of theory. I chose it because I lived it — and I am still living it.

I looked out at the stadium — hundreds, if not thousands, of people packed in with balloons, flowers, and a buzz of collective pride — and I saw something I had never noticed before. I worked at a school with a large population of immigrant families, and for many, this was the first person in their family to graduate high school, the first to prepare to attend college. I had always seen the joy. That day, I saw the grief woven inside it.

As Mother’s Day approaches, the world fills with messages of celebration—gratitude, flowers, brunch reservations, and reflections on what it means to be celebrated as a mother and to be loved by a mother.

For many… that lands beautifully.
For many others… it doesn’t.

We’re trying to build a bridge. But grief has taught me something different. No …you don’t. And even more surprisingly sometimes, neither do I.

My dead ends were chopped off. A new connection was made. All while wearing a cape. Turns out grief and split ends have something in common: you can only ignore them for so long before someone has to help you cut through them.