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I became a mother again after my oldest son died. And sometimes, the child who came after him looks at me in a way that feels impossibly familiar. The same expressions. The same humor. The same presence. It is beautiful. And it is heartbreaking. It’s loving the child who is here, while being reminded — in the most intimate way — of the child who is not. Joy and grief sitting in the same room. Neither canceling the other out. I don’t know what to call this feeling. But I know I’m not alone in it.

I became a mother again after my oldest son died. And sometimes, the child who came after him looks at me in a way that feels impossibly familiar. The same expressions. The same humor. The same presence. It is beautiful. And it is heartbreaking. It’s loving the child who is here, while being reminded — in the most intimate way — of the child who is not. Joy and grief sitting in the same room. Neither canceling the other out. I don’t know what to call this feeling. But I know I’m not alone in it.

23.1K views4 months ago

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No matter how our children died, so many of us arrive at the same place: self-blame. We search for the moment we could’ve changed everything. We carry guilt that doesn’t belong to us. And we suffer quietly because we think no one else feels it too. Learning that we were never in control is not a one-time realization — it’s a long, tender process. One that’s easier when we walk it together. If you’re a bereaved mom and this feels familiar, you’re not alone. If you love one, please be gentle — thi

No matter how our children died, so many of us arrive at the same place: self-blame. We search for the moment we could’ve changed everything. We carry guilt that doesn’t belong to us. And we suffer quietly because we think no one else feels it too. Learning that we were never in control is not a one-time realization — it’s a long, tender process. One that’s easier when we walk it together. If you’re a bereaved mom and this feels familiar, you’re not alone. If you love one, please be gentle — thi

7.8K views4 months ago

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Something I didn’t know until five years after William died: not everyone gets an autopsy. When the medical examiner told us he died from blunt force trauma to the head and chest, we assumed that was an autopsy. It wasn’t. We were in shock. In a fog. We didn’t think to ask. It’s very likely William died in a skiing accident. But it’s also possible there was a medical event that caused him to go off the trail. I sit with those questions. I have that mom gut feeling. And I also know we’ll never tr

Something I didn’t know until five years after William died: not everyone gets an autopsy. When the medical examiner told us he died from blunt force trauma to the head and chest, we assumed that was an autopsy. It wasn’t. We were in shock. In a fog. We didn’t think to ask. It’s very likely William died in a skiing accident. But it’s also possible there was a medical event that caused him to go off the trail. I sit with those questions. I have that mom gut feeling. And I also know we’ll never tr

15K views4 months ago

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After William died on a family trip, travel became heavy in ways it never was before. Airports. Mountains. Hotels. They all carry memory now. And still, we don’t want fear to shrink our children’s world. We want them to be curious. To see beauty. To know that grief and living can coexist. This isn’t about being brave. It’s about being intentional. #childloss #parentingafterloss #griefandtravel #bereavementmom #continuingbonds #raisingchildren | Susan Shaw

After William died on a family trip, travel became heavy in ways it never was before. Airports. Mountains. Hotels. They all carry memory now. And still, we don’t want fear to shrink our children’s world. We want them to be curious. To see beauty. To know that grief and living can coexist. This isn’t about being brave. It’s about being intentional. #childloss #parentingafterloss #griefandtravel #bereavementmom #continuingbonds #raisingchildren | Susan Shaw

179.7K views5 months ago

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I wish this reel was just a joke. But when your child dies, strangers suddenly become experts. They say we should have never let him ski. That we were irresponsible. That they would never let their child die. As if any parent would. Most days I let it roll off. Sometimes it lands. So yes — I’m strengthening my “block and delete” finger. 💪 Because humor helps. Boundaries help. And protecting my peace helps. If you’re someone who leaves cruel comments on grieving parents’ pages — pause. You’re no

I wish this reel was just a joke. But when your child dies, strangers suddenly become experts. They say we should have never let him ski. That we were irresponsible. That they would never let their child die. As if any parent would. Most days I let it roll off. Sometimes it lands. So yes — I’m strengthening my “block and delete” finger. 💪 Because humor helps. Boundaries help. And protecting my peace helps. If you’re someone who leaves cruel comments on grieving parents’ pages — pause. You’re no

3.3K views3 months ago

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Susan Shaw | Actress

Susan Shaw | Actress

One of the most important things I did in my early grief was deceptively simple: I walked. Every single day. Before the house woke up. In the cold, the rain, the snow. Whatever the weather was, I met it. I put my body in motion when my mind felt completely stuck. I listened to podcasts—especially Terrible, Thanks for Asking—hearing other grieving parents speak honestly about loss so I wouldn’t feel so alone in mine. I listened to every episode. It felt like companionship when isolation was heavy

One of the most important things I did in my early grief was deceptively simple: I walked. Every single day. Before the house woke up. In the cold, the rain, the snow. Whatever the weather was, I met it. I put my body in motion when my mind felt completely stuck. I listened to podcasts—especially Terrible, Thanks for Asking—hearing other grieving parents speak honestly about loss so I wouldn’t feel so alone in mine. I listened to every episode. It felt like companionship when isolation was heavy

4.2K views3 months ago

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Today, I feel like the only mom on this mountain whose son died skiing. We’re back because it matters to us that our living children don’t grow up afraid. I don’t ever want them to feel like life has to be lived inside a bubble, or that joy is something you lose forever after loss. And still — it’s really hard. It’s hard to stand here and watch happy families clip in and ski off, seemingly without a care in the world. It’s hard to feel the knot in my stomach as my own children push off, one by o

721.6K views4 months ago

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I never thought I’d return to the place where William died. For a long time, I believed the mountain was my enemy. But slowly, I found the strength to go back — and it ended up bringing so much healing to me and my family. William’s essence lives in those trees. His spirit is stitched into that mountain in a way I can’t explain, and I know not everyone will understand. But somehow, the place that shattered me has also become one of the places that holds me. I wonder what brings you comfort after

49.5K views5 months ago

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Seven years ago, William died here at Big Sky Resort. We feel deeply called to be back on this mountain—but we don’t come back the same. Not because we were careless then. We weren’t. But because grief teaches you things you can only learn by living through the unthinkable. So now, before skis hit snow, we slow down. We study routes. Our youngest goes to ski school so he’s trained, capable, and confident. We invest in safety—even when it’s expensive—because peace of mind matters. AirTags. GPS. P

79.5K views3 months ago

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Life is just so unfair and confusing sometimes. My son William was only nine, an incredible little ski racer with the most patient, thoughtful way of moving down a mountain. He had such potential. He loved the sport. And yet somehow, on a family trip to Montana, he died on an easy trail — all in a blur we still don’t fully understand. We just know he died doing the thing he loved most. Grief doesn’t always give us answers. Just the ache, the love, and the courage to speak the truth out loud. If

71.8K views5 months ago

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Grief math…..People don’t talk about this part of child loss. William was alive for 9 years and 2 months. And in April of 2028… he will have been dead longer than he was alive. There’s something so unbearable about that math — knowing the days without him will someday outnumber the days I had with him. But I keep saying his name. I keep telling his story. Because love doesn’t end, even when time keeps moving. If you’ve faced a milestone like this — or one you’re dreading — tell me in the comment

11.1K views6 months ago

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#wahala @BBC #adelayoadedayo #deborahayorinde #susanwokoma #genevievennaji

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Manchester City Women's Championship Homecoming

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I’ve given birth three times. William, Kai, Bodhi. And none of those experiences, not even all of them combined, comes close to the pain I’ve lived with since my son William died in 2019. This is not a comparison. It’s an acknowledgment. Grief after child loss is not just emotional. It lives in the body. It rewires your nervous system. It settles into places you didn’t know could ache. If this resonates, you’re not weak. You’re responding normally to something unbearable. Follow me and feel seen

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#boxer #stella #boxersoftiktok #cutedogs

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Susan Shaw jewelry all day everyday😍 #susanshaw #jewelry #trending #viral

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Sunday Casual Dinner Outfit

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I had just walked by the exact spot where William died, and my chest felt tight in that familiar, overwhelming way. The kind of grief that lives in your body. And then—on the walk back down the hill—my favorite song from my favorite movie came on in my headphones. And I lost it. I started singing at the top of my lungs. I didn’t care who heard me. I needed to scream, to breathe, to let it out. It felt like William sent me that song. Like a little nudge. A reminder. A wink. Grief is like that som

1.2K views1 month ago

TikTokbereavementmom

A haunted house, but my kid is dead. That’s the kind of horror bereaved parents live with every day. It’s scary to think about your child dying — and it’s scary for us to say those words out loud. But we have to. Because silence keeps grief in the shadows, and I’m done whispering about it. I want to make it easier for people to speak honestly about loss, and for grieving parents to feel seen instead of avoided. How do you feel about being more open and honest about how hard this really is? Could

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