The Loss That Lead To A New Life

Warning: This story contains mention of Homicide and Suicide. - Please honor your emotional safety when reading.

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What leads someone to live perpetually in the world of Grief as a Grief Coach? When grief crosses our world, most of us want out as fast as possible. Yet I have chosen a life in which I am constantly in the world of grief, sorrow, pain, and turmoil.

The question I often get asked is: What made you go into this field of work?

Honestly, 99% of the time, when I’m faced with this question, my body goes through a series of events. I stall, am forced to stillness, and my words disappear from my tongue and brain. My heart starts to race as my brain boots back up and scrambles for an honest answer, but not so honest as to scare people away—until now.

The truth I often tell people is that I experienced a horrible loss in my own life and, through the process of grieving, realized just how impactful having someone in your corner to guide you through the process can be. All technically accurate, but that’s not the whole story. And frankly, it’s not solely my story, which is the main reason why I have kept elements of this story so close to my soul. But through my own grief and healing journey, I have come to accept that it’s still my story. It shaped who I am and how I live my life to this day, and we all should feel free to speak our stories. There is freedom in that; there is healing in that.

So here’s what led me to the life, career, and soul story I live today

 In 2019, my best friend, Tyler, shot and murdered his pregnant wife, Veronica, and then turned the gun on himself and took his own life.

There’s not really a delicate way of saying that. It’s just the cold, harsh facts of reality.

So there I was in 2019, getting off a trail run with my husband. My cell phone returned to service, and suddenly, I received a barrage of messages, including one from a friend of Tyler's, saying he needed to Call me ASAP. My phone rang, I answered - then and there, that’s when my world turned upside down.

Decades of friendship whizzed through my head in an instant. Exploring NYC together as adolescents, picking him up from his latest breakup, him crashing on my couch, watching him get his shit together and become a husband and father. The present suddenly muddied all of those memories.

In all our years together, it never occurred to me that this was who he was or what he would become known for. He wasn’t a perfect human, but there was no facade with Tyler. He never tried to “fit in”; he was so comfortable as himself. As a young person who had yet to find themselves, he drew me in, and we became close, igniting a friendship that would last decades—only severed that horrible, horrible day.

I hate him for what he did to Veronica, his unborn baby, his children, Veronica’s family, his own family, and to me. I can’t forgive him for that. But when I examined my feelings, I realized I still held love for that 15-year-old Tyler who roamed the streets of New York with me, discovering our independence; the Tyler who taught me everything I know about IRC; the Tyler whose wife nominated him for Father of the Year… and won. It pains me that he will forever be remembered for his worst moment. But he will. He loved his children, but what he did to his wife and himself is his legacy.

All of that without saying how deeply I also miss Veronica. I miss her love for The Nightmare Before Christmas. I miss how she always remembered my birthday and was the first one to text me each year. I miss how she insisted on referring to me as Tyler’s sister, especially when it came to their Children. I miss her smile and the yellow dress she wore to my wedding. I can’t relive any of the good times without fast-forwarding to how it all ended and the egregious 15-second act that forever changed it all.

Needless to say, after the event, I spiraled and fell into a pit of grief. Even with the support of my husband, and my family and friends, I had to fight to claw my way out of that pit. And the truth is, I still struggle to this day because grief never ends or goes away; we just grow around it.

We learn to walk beside it.

I’m not a religious person and never have been. But after losing Tyler and Veronica in the way that I did, I thought a lot about forgiveness. Is this an act that can be forgiven? Who decides that? And if not, what are the repercussions for doing something unforgivable beyond death? It haunts me to think that he might be in ‘Hell’ for eternity– even though Tyler would seemingly deserve it. Yet logically, I don’t believe Hell exists.

But that’s just it; grief is not logical, it’s emotional.

The truth is, I miss him. And some people will think unpleasantly of me because of that. But he was my friend. Some good did once exist inside him. I miss the friend he was, not the man he became that day. For almost 6 years, I‘ve kept this story close to my heart to protect those impacted by this tragedy, Veronica’s family, their children (who I once knew and still love.) And I don’t regret that. But it did shine a light on the complexities of it all. And I began to expand my understanding of grief and loss.

It’s full of loneliness, shame, regret, sadness, and gut-wrenching pain. But so much of that exists in silence, in our heads, where we sit in solitude, surrounded only by our thoughts and memories.

We don’t talk about grief enough and the shame that it gives birth to. We withdraw from our own lives and isolate ourselves. Shame thrives in solitude; it breeds day after day. It tells you that being alone through grief is the best thing for everyone and that “you don’t deserve to be happy.” Sound familiar?

The way to beat grief and regain command of your life is to connect, reach out, rely on others, and exist in a state of community, connection, and healing. I wouldn’t be where I am today without my support network.

That’s why I do what I do.

You already know that that event forever changed me and pointed me toward a new career as a Grief Coach. This horrid event led me to my true purpose; I’m not thankful for that, but I am appreciative of where I have landed. On the flip side, I am more guarded. I don’t let people in as easily as I used to because I know all too well how soul-crushing it feels to have them disappear. There is always grief work to be done.

Ultimately, loss changed me ; it rewired how I interact with those around me daily. I tell people I love them far more than I used to. I tell them I care for them, appreciate their presence and insight, and am here for them. In essence, I live the way I wish I had with Tyler and Veronica.

That is the story of how I became a Grief Coach. It’s not pretty; it’s not simple. It is ugly and beyond complex. But it is my story, and I believe all of our stories hold power.

*Names have been changes to protect the privacy of the families and children involved.