Stories of Light: Share Your Journey
Grief is deeply personal, yet it connects us in powerful ways. At The Emberline Foundation, we believe in the healing power of storytelling. Whether you're remembering a loved one, navigating loss, or discovering meaning through heartache, your voice matters.
If you’d like to share your story, send it to us at support@emberlinefoundation.org. You can write a letter, poem, reflection, or even share a photo with a few words. With your permission, we’ll post it here in our Stories of Light blog, a space for remembrance, resilience, and community connection.
Together, we carry the light of those we’ve loved.
In Memory of My Brother, Daniel: Submitted by “A Grateful Sister”
I never expected grief to feel both heavy and hollow at the same time. My brother, Daniel, had a laugh that filled entire rooms and a heart that absorbed everyone else’s pain. He struggled quietly, the way so many do. He didn’t want to burden us. He didn’t want anyone to worry. He just wanted to feel okay. On January 14th, he lost his battle with addiction.
On January 15th, I began mine, with learning how to live in a world he wasn’t part of. For months, I carried his memory like something fragile. I thought if I talked about him too much, the pain would break me open again. What I’ve learned, slowly and painfully, is that grief doesn’t go away when we hide it. It grows heavy in silence. But when we speak our loved ones’ names, when we tell their stories, when we keep their light alive, it does something miraculous. It softens the ache. Daniel loved late-night drives, old soul music, and cooking for people even when he barely ate himself. He would give away his last $5 if he thought it would help someone else. He wasn’t perfect, but he was deeply good. And that goodness didn’t disappear when he did.
I’m sharing this because The Ember Line Foundation reminded me that stories heal.
Not just for me, but for someone else who might read this and think, “Me too.”
If you’re grieving someone you love, I hope you know this: You’re not carrying their light alone. Posting his story helps to keep his memory alive; it’s one more reminder that love outlasts everything.
Thank you for giving me a space to speak my brother’s name.
Sincerely,
A Grateful Sister
For My Mother, Elaine
I used to think grief would feel loud, like sobbing, breaking, falling apart. Instead, it arrived quietly. It showed up in the moments I reached for my phone to call my mom, in the grocery store when I passed her favorite flowers, in the silence after saying her name out loud and realizing she wouldn’t answer. My mother was the kind of person who made space for everyone else. She remembered birthdays, checked in when something felt “off,” and somehow always knew when I needed her voice. She carried strength so naturally that I never questioned it, until it was gone. She died unexpectedly last spring, and with her went the version of the world where I could always go home and be held together by her presence. I didn’t know how to grieve at first. I tried to stay busy. I tried to be “strong.” I tried not to talk about it too much, afraid that if I let the sadness surface, it would swallow me whole. What I’ve learned is that love doesn’t disappear with loss, it asks to be carried differently. Now I carry her in the way I speak gently to myself when I’m overwhelmed. In the way I show up for others without needing recognition. In the small rituals, lighting a candle in the evening, cooking her favorite meals, saying her name so it doesn’t fade into the past. Sharing her story feels like an act of love, not of pain. The Emberline Foundation reminded me that grief is not something to “get over,” but something to honor. We remind each other that loss is not weakness, and remembering is not something we have to do alone.
Thank you for giving me a place to remember my mother, not just as someone I lost, but as someone who still lives on through me.
Forever and always,
Your Daughter