​Since Rylie died, we’ve been thrown headlong into this thing called grieving. What I didn’t realize before is the eggshell quality of grief. I never thought about the fact that grief affects so many groups of people in so many ways. I never understood that literally no one grieves the same way - which means there is no magic formula. No perfect solution.

As a society, I don’t think we really know what to do with grief. It’s taboo. We talk about it, but not really. No one really knows what to say, how to respond, how to help, or what not to do. We are all just making our best guess.

So while I get that loss and grief is not something that people really want to, or maybe know how to, address, as someone who is in the throes of it, I feel compelled to share my perspective.

Some people talk about it as a journey, but there’s really no destination. Some talk about stages of grief, but that’s misleading because that implies that you finish one stage before moving to the next one. It also implies that there’s an end to it. None of that is true. We don’t experience one thing and then move on to the next. Some parts ebb and flow, some build on each other. There’s no pattern, no norm. There’s no “magic date” when you no longer miss the one you lost.

Even as I write this, I realize this is far too simplified. Perhaps this is why we don’t “do” grief. It’s complicated. It has so many variables and it never comes out the same.

One thing I’ve noticed is that no matter how you’ve been affected by grief, it’s never easy to find words. It’s hard to know what to say, what to do. Even for me, someone who is experiencing grief first hand - I often don’t know what to say when faced with someone who has just experienced a loss.

It’s hard for the outsider looking in because they don’t want to cause any undue stress, tears, etc. It’s hard for someone who also feels the loss, but doesn’t want to show it fear of upsetting you and they want to be your rock, your support. It’s hard for the person on the inside because we don’t want to “dump” too much on you, worried you might run away in fear and leave us too much alone.

This weekend I was struck by this challenge of knowing what to do or say once again. I was so lucky to talk to hundreds of people and share Rylie’s story. This also meant recounting our loss and the circumstances around it over and over. Part of that is a known challenge of starting a foundation in our daughter’s honor. It’s a price I’m willing to pay. I love talking about her.

However each time I share the story, someone inevitably said some form of this phrase, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I get it. I’ve said it - even in the last year or so, I’ve said it.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that phrase, but it’s hard for everyone involved. The person saying it feels obligated to address the loss and the tragedy it is. The person hearing it feels obligated to respond. For me that response is most often, “Thank you,” but that feels wrong. Often I'll add something along the lines of “don’t be sorry”.

As I sit and reflect on that response I realize it is horrible for two reasons. On one hand, I don’t want to put anyone out or make them feel bad on my behalf, so I immediately tell them "it’s okay" or "not to be sorry". On the other hand it totally discounts their actual feelings, which is not my intention. It’s simply what we’ve learned, or not, about how to cope with grief.

So here’s my two cents. Since grief is different for everyone, there is unfortunately no perfect approach. There is no formula. There’s no guidebook. What there is, is compassion and grace.

If, as a society, we respond with compassion - with a true desire to extend our hearts to those who are hurting, no matter where or how they are connected to the loss, we’re bound to make progress. If we extend grace to each other and assume we’re all doing the best we can in this maze of emotions, then we’re bound to make progress.

Come to grief with an open heart.

Worry not about saying the right or wrong thing. Worry not if you cry or don’t. Offer a hug; reach out touch the person you’re talking to. So much can be conveyed in a simple physical connection. Oftentimes that connection is more powerful than any words could ever be.

Know that whatever you do, or say, will be seen through the lens of your true intention - of love, of compassion, of disbelief, of sadness, even of confusion or uneasiness. But it will be GENUINE. For me, that is the most important thing.

I am not perfect... I’ve known this pretty much my whole life.

I don’t want to be perfect... This is a new revelation for me.

It is a truth that I am both sure of and unsure of at the same time.
While I have always known that perfection is unattainable, this logic has not stopped me from trying to attain it, or something close to it. Only recently have I realized the cost of this goal.

I have lost moments. Moments that can never be recovered. Moments of celebration, tenderness, and joy. Moments even of frustration, fear and failure.

I have lost opportunities to show my children, or truth be told, myself, the value of a struggle, of humility, or the success that can be found in defeat.

Along my journey in grief, I have found some solace in my quest for perfection. This solace comes only because the quest is familiar. It’s an easy pattern of life on which I can lean. I don’t have to think about it. I don’t have to admit that I am sad, or just off. I simply put blinders on and travel that well worn path.... but I’m realizing more and more that it leads no where.

Lately, I’ve noticed more frustration in this quest for perfection than comfort. I find myself longing to blaze new trails - to pause and seek out moments like those that I’ve lost. I find myself looking out, straying off to uncharted territories, or at least wanting to stray, more and more.

If I’m being honest though, it’s terrifying - taking a leap from the well worn path to the great unknown. On one hand, it sounds beautiful; it sounds freeing, but it also sounds somewhat impossible.

The other day, I found myself caught between these two trails. The well worn path, where I am in control. The one where I can power through anything. And the little hint of a trail that could lead to something beautiful, but it could be quite ugly along the way. This trail was littered with overgrowth. It had branches that could smack me in the face, and leave scratches on my legs.

I started the morning off in my usual way. A workout, a walk with the dogs, packing my lunch and taking a shower. It started off they way I expected. Then suddenly, while in the shower, I became ‘not okay’. I was sad and overwhelmed.

Per my usual approach, I pep talked myself - told myself to ‘get it together’, scrubbed my face, reminded myself of all the things I had to do, and the expectations I had for myself and others had for me. I hiked up my proverbial boot straps and sought out that well worn path of perfection - living up to expectations, exceeding them. It lasted all of about 5 minutes until I was out of the shower and trying to find an outfit for the day. I fell apart again - over an outfit! Over the course of the next 20-30 minutes, I continue that cycle: pep talk myself - tell myself to power through - tell myself that falling apart over minor things was ridiculous. I’d pick myself up and keep traveling down that path to perfection in little increments only to be brought to my knees by the lack of being able to control my emotions and desires. Ziggy found me - held me and then I fell back on my path - apologizing for “not being able to hold it together”...

I continued trying to travel the well worn path of perfection and holding it together, only to be pulled by the desire to blaze new trails and just let go no matter how ugly it got, for a short time.

I never quite got the courage to completely stray from well worn path, but I off-roaded for a bit. I reached out to my teaching partner and asked for some time. I admitted that I was having a rough morning. She respond with unparalleled grace and support.

I fell into Ziggy’s arms and let him console me. As he held me, I found hints of the beauty in straying from the path. He reminded me that I don’t always have to have it all together. I realized that the world kept turning without me meeting my usual expectations.

Later in the day, after stepping back and reflecting, I realized that my pep talks weren’t really pep talks. If they had been, they would have encouraged me to be okay with not being okay. They would have encouraged me to sit in the emotions coursing over and through my body.

As I’ve been writing, I realize that I strayed enough from the perfection path to find some beauty. I didn’t sit for long in those ugly, branch scratching emotions, but I acknowledged them and took a few more steps into the great unknown. I acknowledged that I wasn’t “okay” and allowed myself to hear that I don’t always need to be.

There was beauty in me straying, even just a tiny bit, from the path. There was vulnerability and support from so many. There was also the revelation that I can’t, nor do I want to, strive for perfection.

​I may get scratched. I may trip and fall, but I think I’ll learn a lot about myself, my strengths and my weaknesses as I blaze new paths and seek out new truths. I will embrace that I am “perfectly imperfect”.

​28 days – it seems so short and so long, all at the same time.  It’s less than a month, but we all know when you’re waiting for something, it can seem like an eternity.
 
We spent 28 days in the hospital with Rylie. We spent 28 long days waiting for her to wake up – to see that fantastic smile.  At the same time, we only had 28 short days to hold her hand, to stroke her hair, to read The Just So Stories, to whisper in her ear.
 
On April 29th, it will be one year since the fateful day that changed our lives forever.  It altered our lives in unimaginable ways, but not all of them bad.  We have learned so much about ourselves, about the power of the human spirit, about the importance of connection.  We discovered that our daughter, at a mere twelve and half years old, shook the world in gentle ways.  She impacted so many through her kind, fun loving spirit.  Many of us never realized just how much impact she had, until she was gone. 
 
While those 28 days were both too long and too short, we know that it’s a magical number.  They say it takes 21 days to build a habit – so why not overachieve a little bit and go with 28 days?!? 
 
In honor of Rylie’s memory, we are embarking on a 28 day journey of kindness.  Each day, for 28 days, we will find a way to spread an act of kindness no matter how big or small.  We will hold the door for a stranger, make eye contact, and make conversation.  We will buy the cup of coffee for the person behind us.  We will make an extra dinner and leave it on the porch for our neighbor.  We will deliver a care package to someone less fortunate than us. 
 
It’s not about the cost in time or money, it’s about creating a ripple effect of kind acts that honor Rylie, her spirit, and her desire to make people happy.  It’s about building on that ripple and creating a kindness wave.  Imagine the potential… Join us! 
 
Let’s all start on April 29th.  Look for a way to touch someone’s heart, to brighten their day.  It’s not about the act; it’s about the IMPACT.  Let’s commit to 28 days of kindness together.  Who knows, we may very well build a habit that goes beyond that time – what an amazing tribute for a very special girl.  #28daysofkindness

It's been nearly a year since the accident that altered our lives.  Our lives changed in many unfathomable ways, not all of them bad.  We have been, and will continue to be tested, but that has made us stronger.  

We know that there is a choice in how we react to and accept the loss of Rylie.  We have consciously decided to CHOOSE HAPPY!  This is the way that Rylie chose to spend her days, and to honor her, it is the way we intend to spend our days.  

Rylie's ARK is a labor of love...
It is our chance to spread kindness.  
It is our chance to "gently shake the world".
It is our chance to grow. 

I am continually amazed when I hear of how Rylie touched so many people's lives in such a short time.  She had a knack for making people smile, making them feel loved, and brightening the world around her.  

Through Rylie's ARK we will work to spread kindness either through ripples or waves.