A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I woke up this morning and checked facebook, just the same as any other morning. The first thing on my newsfeed hinted at a tragedy- a shooting of some kind. My heart sunk. Not again. How do people do this? The world is so broken.

And then I notice the hashtag. #Vegas.

Las Vegas. My hometown. Where I lived out my entire childhood. Where I learned how to walk and read and ride a bike. My parents are there. Are they safe? My sister is there. How is she doing? I quickly find more details about the incident. It was on the strip, after a country concert. My family never told me they were going out last night, and that doesn’t seem like their type of event. I hoped and prayed that they were safe in their beds.

Las Vegas. Where I went to middle school. Where I learned algebra and history and the Spanish that I can never remember. Where I sat in school cafeterias year after year after year. Where I learned to drive. Where I graduated high school. Two thousand people went to my high school, and many of them are still there. Are they okay? Were they on the strip? Facebook tells me 110 friends haven’t marked whether they are safe or not. *Gulp* What’s happening with them? Some of them could have easily been at that concert.

I continue scrolling through my newsfeed.

“Thank goodness we left the event early. Praying for everyone…” one status reads.

“Just got home after being on lockdown at the Luxor,” another friend states.

“STILL on lockdown at Mandalay Bay. Safe but scared.”

Wow. This is really happening. This incident hit home in a very real way. My family was only minutes away and some of my friends were actually there.

Tragedy feels different when it hits so close to home.

My body feels paralyzed with fear and heartache. I know I need to get out of bed, but I don’t see how I can. This cuts too deeply.

It reminds me of something. I’ve felt this gut-wrenching, sick-to-my-stomach, can’t-get-out-of-bed feeling before. It was the last time when tragedy hit home.

Last year, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. While this event didn’t make the news, it was still a tragedy. And it affected MY family. Much like some of the Vegas shooting victims, my husband’s life was in danger, and he needed immediate medical attention. He needed doctors. He needed blood transfusions. He needed life-saving medical interventions. And he needed prayers.

Before his diagnosis, I knew that cancer was happening around the world. Before the Las Vegas shooting, I knew that acts of violence happened in other places. Hearing about previous attacks made me sick. Reading about illness and death made my heart ache. But until these things threatened MY home, it felt just a little bit easier.

Now that the tragedy is banging on MY back door, I feel more scared. I feel angrier. I feel more devastated. I know that I should feel these things no matter where the suffering is happening, and on some level, I did. But I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the reality. These things were happening to “other people.” But now they are happening to MY people, and that hurts on a deeper level.

But it also makes me more eager to do something. It makes me anxious to help. It makes me realize that no matter where tragedy hits, it’s home for somebody. I’m more aware of the hurt in the world, and I want to make it stop. Yet I know the suffering will go on. But maybe, just maybe, I can make some small impact on our hurting world. Maybe I can bring joy to someone who is having a bad day. Maybe I can donate blood, food, or toiletries to someone in need. Maybe I can give money or time to a charitable cause. Maybe I can be a good neighbor and friend. Maybe I can visit the sick or the lonely.

When tragedy hits home, it really hurts. It’s a tougher pill to swallow, and it elicits more emotion. It’s normal to be upset when the devastation affects your friends, family, or hometown. But we should use those emotions to create something positive in the world. Make your neighborhood just a little bit brighter. Make your family just a little bit happier. Combat the evil with good.

Be the good in the world that it’s so hard to see.

_____________

My heart and prayers go out to everyone in Vegas. Please keep marking yourselves safe, and let us know how you are doing. Love you, friends!

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Julieann Selden

Julieann Selden is a chemistry graduate student and non-profit volunteer. Her husband, Ken, is recently in remission from sarcoma cancer. On her blog, contemplatingcancer.com, she examines the thoughts and emotions of life through the lens of an aggressive cancer diagnosis.

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

In: Grief
Woman holding fish

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I found that to be most true when my grandma passed. Like many grandmas, she was the best. She was kind and tender, but firm when she needed to be. She gave her time freely and used her baking talent to bless others. She had little and needed little, yet she had a way of drawing people together. There wasn’t a day I can remember when someone didn’t call her or stop by. She seemed to have all the answers and somehow knew how to fix almost any problem....

Keep Reading

My Parents Will Never See This Face

In: Grief
Woman with sunglasses shown in rear view mirror

You’ve had that moment, right? That moment when you don’t recognize the woman standing in front of you. Her hair is grayer. The skin around her eyes is a bit darker. Even without noticing the small details, that face is different. It’s aged. And as I stared at her yesterday afternoon, all dolled up and nowhere to go, it dawned on me: My parents will never see this version of me. My mom will never get to see hands that look like hers. She’ll never recognize the wrinkles or the sun spots. My father-in-law joked about gray hair with my...

Keep Reading

The Due Date that Never Comes

In: Grief, Loss, Miscarriage
Woman walking down path

It is not often talked about. I completely understand why, but when going through something so heartbreaking and devastating, women shouldn’t have to suffer alone or in silence. If you’ve gone through it, you probably already know what I’m referring to – miscarriage. It is the reason many couples don’t tell people they are expecting until after the first trimester. It is so unfortunately common that one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime. According to the National Institutes of Health, 15-20 percent of pregnancies will end in miscarriage, and it is the most common pregnancy complication...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living
Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

In: Grief
Woman with mother smiling in older photo

Recently, whenever I look in the mirror, I see a strong resemblance to my mother.  People always said I looked like her, but I never really saw it until now. I think it may be because you always think of your parents as being older than you are. At the age of 61, I am now only two years away from the age my mother was when she died. The only good thing about dying young is that everyone will remember you that way.  I have only known my mom as the vibrant, personable, and active woman she was. Well,...

Keep Reading

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Woman and young daughter smiling

Editor’s note: This post discusses child loss Child loss changes Mother’s Day. My 19-month-old, Julia, died suddenly on Mother’s Day in 2024. Three months later, her autopsy revealed she had B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (B-ALL, also known as SUDNIC). Julia died a week after we did an embryo transfer at an IVF clinic in an attempt to have a second child. We found out three days after Julia’s death that the embryo did not make it either. Six months later, we did another embryo transfer that succeeded, and I now have an 8-month-old daughter, Lucy Mei (“Mei Mei” means “little...

Keep Reading

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief
Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading

What No One Tells You about Losing a Sibling

In: Grief

Nobody tells you that when you lose a sibling, your entire childhood flashes before your eyes. There’s no better witness to what you experienced growing up than that one person who was standing nearby for all of it. And when they’re gone, a part of that childhood and a part of that story goes with them, because it was only ever known between the two of you. There’s no last chance to say, “Remember when?” or to laugh about the things that made you laugh to tears together, a million times at the kitchen table. There’s no last conversation about...

Keep Reading

Grief Didn’t Break Me, It Rearranged Me

In: Grief
Sad woman looking off to the side

I survived losing my father after his long, grueling battle with cancer. It was one of the most difficult seasons of my life. I had a front row seat to watch cancer pick him apart piece by piece. When you lose a parent, you lose a part of yourself. They say time heals all wounds, but you never stop missing the good ones, and there are days when it feels like it just happened. By the grace of God, I survived, but I will always miss my father. Then, almost a decade later, I lost the career that helped me...

Keep Reading

I’m Learning To Be Soft and Strong

In: Grief
Woman sitting and crying on floor

During the weeks we cared for my grandmother in hospice, survival mode felt necessary. There were medications to track. Visitors to update. Logistics to manage. I remember sitting on the couch that served as my makeshift bed and listening to the rhythmic hissing and puffing of the oxygen machine one night. While my mom showered off the day, I texted my sister updates and sent my husband a quick message of love. I could still smell the lavender candle we had lit earlier in the day to mask medical scents. The house was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. I was...

Keep Reading