shared GRIEF
There are moments in parenting when we're asked to hold space for our children's grief while carrying our own.
It's one of the hardest things we do.
We comfort, reassure, and make room for their sadness.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, we realize we're grieving too.
Just a few days ago, we had to put down our beloved senior dog, Hugo. He was just a few weeks away from turning 16 years old, and no doubt lived a long and happy life. He made his transition peacefully at home with all of us surrounding him. It was the best possible goodbye we could have given him - beautiful and heartbreaking, all at the same time.
As you can imagine, this is a very tender and grief filled time for our family. We are all devastated by the loss of our four legged family member, and are missing him terribly.
And as parents, we're somehow expected to comfort everyone else while carrying our own sadness. Their grief becomes our grief.
Their transition into life without their furry companion becomes our transition into life without him.
Lately I've been thinking about how often this happens in parenting.
Our children move through a transition, and we move through one right alongside them.
They're becoming.
We're letting go.
Ayurveda teaches that life moves in cycles - birth and death, summer and winter, holding on and letting go. Nothing in nature remains the same forever, but knowing this doesn’t take away from the pain of loss.
Remembering this doesn't erase our pain, but it reminds us that grief isn't something to fix - it's something to move through.
Grief has its own rhythm.
Modern life often encourages us to move on quickly, stay busy and get back to normal as soon as possible, where Ayurveda offers something quieter and softer. It invites us to pause and notice what’s here in this moment.
Don’t just ask yourself, "How do I help my child through this?" but also ask yourself, “What do I need as I move through this, too?”
Even in grief, life keeps asking us to keep going. School still starts, dinner still needs to be made, the laundry still piles up. It's easy to slip back into our usual pace before our hearts have caught up.
But what if we gave ourselves a little more spaciousness during seasons like this?
What if dinner was simpler?
What if there were fewer activities?
What if we made more room for rest, long hugs, quiet walks, or simply being together?
What if we really leaned into what this season of grief is asking of us?
One book that has left an impression on me is Wintering by Katherine May. It's not really a book about winter, but about those seasons in life when we're invited - or sometimes forced - to slow down, retreat, and let healing unfold in its own time.
The main message is about how not every season is meant for productivity. Some seasons are meant for healing.
Just as we wouldn't expect spring to arrive overnight, we can't expect our hearts to move through loss on a schedule.
I can't take away my children's sadness, just as I can't take away my own.
What I can do is make room for both.
I can sit beside them, listen to their stories, cry when tears come, and laugh at the memories that make us smile.
And trust that healing comes, not because we rush it, but because we give it the time and space it needs.
Like every season in nature, grief unfolds in its own rhythm.
With love & luminosity,
Shannon
Newsletter - July 28th, 2026