There are moments in life that split everything into “before” and “after.” Moments that shatter the world you thought you knew, leaving only fragments behind.
For me, that moment came when I lost my daughter, Lucy.
Just one week after her 7th birthday, Lucy’s life was taken in a tragic accident. One moment, she was here—snappy as a firecracker—the next, the world fell silent. The kind of silence that aches in your bones and echoes through your heart.
There are no words to describe the pain of losing a child. It defies language. It rips through every part of you, leaving nothing untouched. Grief, SHOCK, denial and disbelief take over. But beyond sorrow, another emotion crept in a powerful, heavy anger.
My Life As A Playlist
Music is part of my life. I wish I had been born with a talent to sing or be a tremendously talented musician, but I was born with just a love of music. Music plays morning and night in my little floating home now and when I was on land. During this time when all emotions were creeping in if I had a playlist going it would be my “Pissed Off” playlist. In fact, I have a play list that I used to hike to call Angry Playlist. I played it as loud as I could play it.
I was angry at life. At fate. At the person responsible. At the unfairness of it all. I became angry easily at a lot of things.
And yet, through the storm of emotions, and range of playlists one word kept whispering to me: forgiveness. One thought kept reappearing. Put on a nicer playlist!
Forgiveness Is for Me, Not for Them
I eventually learned that forgiveness isn’t about pretending everything is okay. It isn’t about excusing what happened or erasing the deep scars loss leaves behind. It isn’t even about the person involved in the accident.
Forgiveness, I’ve come to learn, is for me. It’s the only way to keep my heart from being swallowed by bitterness. Carrying that much anger on top of grief was too heavy. It suffocates any space left for love, healing, or peace.
But forgiveness doesn’t come easy. It’s not a decision made once, neatly wrapped up with closure. It’s messy. It’s painful. It’s ongoing. It is something that reappears and sometimes disguises itself in other forms.
Some days, I found space in my heart for forgiveness. Mostly sympathy. Other days, I could barely breathe. And that’s okay. Forgiveness is not a straight path. It’s more like a winding, uneven trail that I stumbled along, holding onto Lucy’s memory as my guide.
Lucy’s Legacy is Love, Not Anger
Lucy was light. Her smile could brighten even the darkest day. Her laugh was contagious. She was a funny girl, who was missing her front teeth and that made her pronounce words in that cute childish way. She had a heart full of wonder, mischief, and kindness far beyond her years.
I have learned to refuse to let the anger surrounding her death be her legacy. She deserved better than that. Which is why I founded Lucy’s Heart Rock Project. To give and help became much easier than anger.
In forgiving, I’m not forgetting Lucy, or what happened. I’m choosing to honor her the way she lived—with love. I want to carry her light forward, not be weighed down by the darkness that followed. I want to seek love in nature and just collect little heart shaped rocks all day. I want to see her love with me in another form.
Her short but beautiful life taught me that love is stronger than anger, even when the pain feels unbearable. Forgiveness doesn’t erase grief, but it keeps my heart open to the love that still remains.
For Those Who Know This Pain
If you’ve lost someone, especially a child—you know there’s no map for this journey. Grief is unpredictable. It’s overwhelming. It’s exhausting. It’s a bully that punches you in the dark.
Forgiveness may feel impossible. And that’s okay. Be gentle with yourself. Feel everything—the sadness, the anger, the love, the hope—there is no “right” timeline. Don’t do like I did and bury that with a smile followed by the words, “I’m fine.”
But when you’re ready, I want you to know this: Forgiveness is not weakness. It’s not forgetting. It’s survival. It’s how we keep living, even when our hearts are broken.
I will always carry Lucy with me—in every sunset, every rainbow, every cloud, every dolphin I see in the ocean and of course every heart-shaped rock. When her absence feels overwhelming, I have learned to get outside and look for the messages of love she is sending me in nature. And I will choose, over and over, to honor her memory with love, with light, and yes, with forgiveness.
Lucy deserved a world full of love and kindness. For her, I will do my best to create that world, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.