I Thought Healing Meant Going Back….It Doesn’t

People ask me how I’ve done it.
How I’ve survived the unimaginable.

Some are just starting this brutal journey of grief and don’t know what comes next.
Others have followed along and say they’re inspired by what I’m building now.

The truth? It hasn’t been clean or brave or anything close to graceful.
I’ve hit the bottom. I’ve felt crushed by sadness. I’ve been angry. I’ve felt sorry for myself.

But I’ve also been carried. By people who showed up. By hope I didn’t always believe in.

If you’re facing this kind of pain. If you’ve lost someone and don’t know how to keep going. I hope this gives you something to hold on to.
Not advice. Just proof that even in the darkest grief, love can still shape what comes next.

And purpose can still pull you forward.

Even when you think it can’t.

My Ordinary World

I was a husband. A father of three. A business owner. My life had routine and structure. Work during the day. Family time in the evenings. Driving to school events and sports. Planning for the future. I believed that if I worked hard, provided stability, and stayed present, life would unfold in a predictable way.

I thought I understood what it meant to protect my family. I thought effort was enough.

The Unravelling

Things began to fall apart when I lost my business. It was more than a financial loss. It felt like losing part of my identity. I had built it over years. When it ended, I questioned my purpose and my value.

The breakdown of my marriage followed. The separation was difficult and emotional. Communication became tense and strained. Decisions were made in frustration and fear. Maddie was pulled into situations no child should have been part of. She tried to stay strong, but I could see the toll it took on her.

The home we had built no longer felt safe or steady. I was watching my family change and I did not know how to stop it.

The Night That Split My Life in Two

Then came the night we lost Maddie. She was 14. There are moments in life that divide everything into before and after. This was that moment.

The shock was total. The silence in the house was overwhelming. Days blurred into each other. There were long stretches where I did not speak. There were questions that could not be answered. The world felt unrecognizable.

Everything I believed about safety and protection fell apart that night.

I was Surviving, Not Living

I kept going for my sons. I made meals. I drove them where they needed to go. I attended appointments and meetings when required. On the outside, I was there. On the inside, I was disconnected from everything.

I was not living. I was surviving. I wanted the past back. I wanted to undo what had happened. I wanted to be the father who could fix things. I wanted to hold my daughter again.

I did not know how to move forward.

Searching for Understanding

I started to write because I needed somewhere to put what I was feeling. I read about grief and trauma. I went to therapy. I spoke to people who had lost children. I reflected on who I was and how I had changed.

I learned that grief is not something you get over. It does not fade. It becomes part of your life. It changes the way you think, feel, and move through the world. You learn to carry it. Some days the weight is heavy. Other days it feels lighter.

There is no finish line. There is only learning to live alongside it.

Stepping Forward to Speak

After some time, I made the choice to share Maddie’s story. I spoke to parents, students, and communities. I wrote about her life and her struggle. I wanted to reduce the silence around mental health. I wanted someone to hear the story and choose to ask for help. I wanted families to pay attention sooner.

I did not plan to speak publicly. I did not plan to write a book. I did not plan to become involved in advocacy. It happened because I could not ignore the need.

Sitting Close to the Edge

There were days I did not know if I could continue. I sat very close to the edge. I questioned whether life held enough meaning to stay. I questioned my strength and my capacity to keep loving.

During that period, I worked too fast and took on too much. I moved from project to project without rest. I believed that momentum could protect me from the pain.

I could not focus. I felt scattered and unsettled. Later, I learned that these were symptoms of trauma. My brain was reacting to the overwhelming loss. It was trying to keep me functioning.

I kept trying to return to the person I was before we lost Maddie. I believed that was what healing meant. But that person no longer existed.

Facing the Brutal Truth

The turning point came when I stopped trying to go backwards. I began to accept where I was. I allowed myself to feel anger, sadness, confusion, guilt, and love. I stopped pretending that I was fine.

Healing did not come from effort. It came from honesty.

The Shift Toward Forgiveness

Forgiveness changed everything. Forgiving others for their part in the pain. Forgiving myself for what I could not foresee or prevent. Letting go of the belief that I should have been able to stop what happened.

Once I released the idea of returning to my former self, I began to see who I had become. I was more patient. More aware. More open. I had a clearer understanding of what matters and what does not.

I became kinder in a way that was grounded, not forced.

A Different Kind of Peace

The grief remained, but it no longer overwhelmed every moment. I could look at photos of Maddie and feel warmth. I could speak about her without breaking. I remembered her laugh, her curiosity, her presence. I began to feel connected to her again, not only through pain, but through love.

My relationship with her changed, but it did not end.

Rebuilding Slowly

I rebuilt my life piece by piece. Not quickly. Not perfectly. I allowed myself to love again. I worked with greater purpose, not simply trying to be productive.

I learned that healing is not about moving on. It is about learning to live with what happened and still choosing to move forward.

Maddie’s Place in My Life Now

I no longer try to leave her behind. I walk with her. She influences how I speak, how I listen, and how I show up for others. She is part of every decision I make.

She continues to shape my life.

The Beginning of The MentorWell

The MentorWell grew from this place. It came from seeing how many young people struggle quietly. Not always with clinical illness, but with loneliness, pressure, and uncertainty. Many need an adult who listens without judgment. Someone steady. Someone who shows up consistently. Someone who believes in them.

I think often about how things might have been different if Maddie had one more supportive adult outside the conflict. Someone who could see her clearly. Someone she could lean on.

The MentorWell honours that need. It is built for teens who are doing their best to hold themselves together. It is built for parents who feel unsure of how to help. It is built for families who want to prevent crisis, not respond to it.

What MentorWell Means Now

The MentorWell is not a program to fix kids. It is a space for connection. It is steady support. It is practical guidance. It is presence.

It reflects who Maddie was.
It reflects who I am now.
It reflects the families who are still navigating pain and uncertainty.

What I Know Today

Grief does not end.
Love does not disappear.
Purpose can come from pain when given time and honesty.

I am still a father.
I am still learning.
I am still becoming.

And Maddie continues to walk with me, every step of the way.