Living Between Two Worlds: Grief, Connection, and Moving Forward

Living Between Two Worlds: Grief, Connection, and Moving Forward

In this heartfelt episode of The Real and Rooted podcast, Lori Kendall shares her deeply personal journey of navigating grief after the loss of her child, Kole. She explores the emotional space between past memories and future hopes, emphasizing the importance of grace, connection, and carrying loved ones forward in many forms.

Key Topics:

•  The emotional landscape of grief and living between two worlds

• How community and space foster healing during difficult times

• Practical ways to honor loved ones and keep their memory alive

• The significance of self-compassion and understanding in grief

• Recognizing and embracing the duality of love and loss

• Moving forward with intention while carrying loved ones in heart

• The impact of vulnerability and authentic connection in healing

• Tools for grounding during emotional crises

Timestamps:
00:50 - Introduction: The importance of facing grief authentically
1:21 - The concept of living between two worlds after loss
2:05 - How identity shifts after grief—what remains and what changes
3:05 - The power of community and space to process grief
4:51 - Sharing Kole’s story: struggles and moments of pride
6:34 - The significance of witnessing moments of pride and loss
8:50 - The importance of giving grace to oneself and others during grief
9:36 - Deciding to step away from a familiar environment to heal
11:23 - Living in parallel realities—the external world vs. internal experience
12:25 - Being present in grief while remaining connected to love
14:07 - Reframing the idea of moving forward—integrating the loved ones we carry
15:40 - The power of safe spaces to grieve and feel seen
16:32 - Questions for self-reflection: who allows you to be real?
17:28 - The importance of keeping loved ones’ names and stories alive
18:35 - Personal rituals and symbols to honor Kole’s memory
19:18 - Embracing the ongoing presence of loved ones in daily life
20:14 - Focusing on the next right step in moments of overwhelming emotion
21:32 - Grounding techniques to manage grief’s intensity
22:08 - Living more in the moment post-loss, less planning ahead
23:15 - Carrying loved ones with us—music, photos, shared moments
24:19 - Challenges of fully living after loss and honoring their memory
25:16 - Resources and support for navigating loss and military transitions
26:16 - The ongoing journey of carrying loved ones into the future
27:36 - The importance of support and being space-holders for those grieving
28:12 - Honoring the balance of strength and vulnerability in grief
29:17 - Closing thoughts: embracing the non-linear nature of grief and love

Resources & Links:

• The Power of Vulnerability by Brené Brown

• Supporting Grief and Loss Resources

• Military Transition Resources

Connect with Lori:

• Facebook

• Website

Keep in mind that grief is non-linear. Remember, you are not alone in this journey, and every step, no matter how small, is part of healing.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:03

Welcome to the Real and Rooted Podcast, where real stories mean grounded healing. I'm Laurie Kendall, founder of Reflective Roots, where I work as a grief navigator, a companion for the tough times in life, author of Missing Pieces, the Final Salute, and your host. Each week we'll explore the experiences, the losses, the breakthroughs, and the raw, honest conversations that transform who we are becoming. This is a space to reconnect with yourself, reclaim the pieces that you've lost along the way, and grow in ways you never thought were possible or expected. Let's get rooted and begin. Hello and welcome to the Real and Rooted Podcast. I'm your host, Lori, and I am so glad that you've decided to join us this evening. I know we're a little off schedule uh this week with our Sunday shoreline to our Wednesday dive-in. Yes, this is Thursday. Uh I don't want to go backwards, but uh I felt it was really, really important to talk about what we're gonna talk about this evening. Um I know we spoke about on the Sunday shoreline my recent trip with some other Coast Guard moms, and it really brought to light for me something that I I really want to discuss tonight, and uh that being the fact that when you lose someone you love, you're often f found or you find yourself caught between two worlds. Now it was nothing that the Coast Guard moms did or said or made me feel excluded, I just internally felt like I didn't know who or what I was to be. I question at times if I'm still a Coast Guard mom. And even though they say, you know, once you're a Coast Guard mom, you're always a Coast Guard mom. I just I think I was looking for a title of what of identification of what I am now. So I want to start a little differently today, just by talking to you. So there's no script. This show's not gonna come off as polished, maybe, as some of the ones that I have produced in the past. But the one thing that I really want it to be is just real. Because this past weekend, like I said, I found myself in a moment that perfectly captured what it feels like to live between two worlds. The women were incredible, they included me, they showed me love and support. So this is not anything that they they did or didn't do to um make me feel unloved or weird or something of the sort. But these women, these incredible, incredible women, they're strong. They're honest, deeply understanding in a way that didn't require a lot of explanation. They gave me space to share Cole's story from the time of recruitment that took us eighteen months to his struggles in Boston, my many trips up the East Coast, delivering whoopee pies and uh giving him a sense of home to share with his crew members. We laughed that I brought entirely too many bags of chips uh from a local restaurant here called Wild Annie's uh in his hometown. Him reminding me that his crew was the size of 25 on any given shift. I shared with them the fact that we put together 125 goodie bags for Christmas deployment. I shared with them the fact that I struggled. I struggled to read about parents talking about how their children were thriving, how they went in as a boy and or a young lady and came out of boot camp as a man or a woman. I struggled because I couldn't see the change. I saw a change. It wasn't the one they were explaining. I saw my son come out very broken from boot camp. One that at times was unable to thrive. Not that he didn't complete the work in a high standard, but emotionally he wasn't the same person. We restationed after a school to Southern Maryland. I thought we had turned the corner. He was thriving, he was creating relationships, he had friendships, and yet I think he was struggling internally, sharing that with others, not with me. We talked about moving in and out of an apartment into a camper and back to an apartment. We talked about the final decline. They shared tears with me. They could see and understand my pain. We spent time together in Cape May, and I walked on to the training center for the first time. The first time since we didn't get to experience graduation. There was pride, you could feel it in the air, and we thanked each and every recruit that was granted liberty for their service, for their commitment. And I couldn't help but wonder what it would have felt like to be able to watch my child walk out those gates, provided liberty, except it was COVID, and so liberty looked a little different. We laughed because Cole's champagne and caviar ended up being peanut MMs and a Mountain Dew. That pride that was in the air was a monumentous energy, a movement, some purpose. And then there was me standing in the middle of all of it, holding what should have been. And I could feel both the realities at that exact time. That's what the space is like. You're not just remembering the past, but you're standing in places where the past and present collide. At some point, the tears came. Not dramatically, not all at once, just quietly finding their way to the surface and trickling down my cheeks. And what stayed with me was the most real feelings ever. It wasn't just the emotion, it was what happened around it. No one tried to stop my tears. No one tried to redirect the conversation, and no one made it awkward. They just let me be there. They gave me grace, and if you've ever been given that kind of space in your grief, you know how rare and how powerful that is. So today I want to talk about this space that we live in, between what was and what the future holds, and how we move within it without leaving our children behind. Here of late, I have decided to depart my position in higher education. It wasn't an easy choice. I spent my entire career trying to make it to that point, to that industry. But I look at it as an opportunity, an opportunity to remove myself from the office where my tragedies started to unfold. A chance to not feel what I felt that night. A remarkable position to be in, quite honestly. I tell my coworkers, you know, I know the minute the first call came in, wondering where he was at. I know the exact time that I left my office that night. I know where I was when I called my sister asking if I was being a helicopter mom. I know where I was when the call came in to tell me that I needed to get there. And during that commute, I know where I was when I called my husband. I still get panic attacks entering the interstate at that very location. That is something I don't think will ever go away. And so I decided it was time to remove myself from the location and give myself an opportunity to find new wings. I think honestly, one of the hardest parts of this journey is realizing that you're living in two realities at the same time. There's the external world where life keeps going and people are moving and things are happening. And then there's your internal world where time doesn't move the same way. Being in Cape May made that so clear for me. On the outside, it was a weekend of connection, shared experiences, and even some laughter. But internally, there were moments where I was standing in what didn't happen. If I'm real, which I will be, there were times when I really felt like I was standing outside of my body watching the motions, watching my body move because the world kept moving and I needed to move with it. Emotionally, I was standing outside watching it happen. The ceremony that we didn't attend, the moment I did not get to witness. And here's the part that I want to say out loud because I think a lot of people feel this way, but don't always name it. You can be present and grieving at the same time. You can feel connection and absence at the same time. That doesn't mean you're stuck, it means your love didn't end. If you're listening and you've felt that pull, like part of you is here and part of you is somewhere else. That's not something to fix. That's something to understand. People will say things like keep going, move forward. In my instance, I've been asked a number of times of what would Cole want you to do. And I understand what they mean, and it can land wrong, and it has, for me at least. Because forward can feel like a distance. Like if you go too far you might lose them. But what I felt this weekend helped me reframe that. Sorry. I didn't leave him behind when I walked onto that base.

SPEAKER_00 14:15

He was there in every step I took, in every thought, in every moment that caught my chest. So maybe forward isn't about moving away. Maybe forward is about learning how to carry him. Not perfectly, not consistently, but intentionally.

SPEAKER_01 14:45

At the end of your day, ask yourself, where did I feel them with me today?

SPEAKER_00 14:54

Not where did I miss them? Not what hurt the most.

SPEAKER_01 15:02

Just where were they with you? Because that changes the relationship from absence to connection in a different form. I want people to go back to something from this weekend because it matters. The way those women held space for me, there's something that happens when you're around people who do not rush your grief, who don't try to clean it up, who don't need you to be okay for their comfort. They just let you be exactly where you are. That kind of space allows something in your nervous system to soften. It tells your body you don't have to hold it all together right now. And if you don't have that yet, I want to say this carefully but honestly. Not everyone will be able to be that person for you. And that's hard. But it also means you get to choose who feels safe enough to sit with you in this. I want you to go ahead and and give yourself a couple minutes. I want you to ask yourself two questions for me. Ask yourself who lets me be real without trying to fix me. Where do I feel even a small sense of ease? Stay close to that. One of the quiet fears that sits underneath all of this is that somehow over time their name will be said less. Their presence will feel further away. So we have to be intentional. Not in a forced way, but in a meaningful one. Carrying their name forward can look like this. Saying their name in a conversation even when it feels vulnerable. Share the stories. Share all the stories, the real ones, not just the polished versions. I don't mind telling you that Cole was lost. I don't mind telling you that I feel broken. I don't mind telling you that he was not thriving or that my children sometimes can't bear to hear his name because it hurts. I don't mind telling you that sometimes just talking about him can be crippling. It's not that we love him less. It's just that we miss him immensely. Write a letter to them when you need to say something out loud and you just can't. Create moments that include them even if no one sees it. I will often wear the necklace my friend provided me that houses his fingerprint. For me it's a way to keep him close to my heart. And for me, even being in that space this weekend, that was part of me carrying him forward with me. Because I allowed him to be part of it. Not hidden, not separate, but with me. I want you to try something for me. I want you to finish this sentence. My child's name lives on through. My child's name lives on through and finish it. Finish the sentence. Don't overthink it, just let it be honest. Let whatever come to the surface is gonna come to the surface. This space is not about something that you need to figure out, but there are ways to support yourself inside of it. The next right thing when everything feels too big is to bring it down. What is the next right thing for me to do today? Not the whole future, just the next step. I tell a story about Cole going through the TAP program, the transitional assistance program where military individuals are required, or at least supposed to, utilize the program to get ready to transition from the military to civilian life. I talk about the question that ultimately will never leave my mind. He was given a book, and the question that overwhelmed him, and quite frankly, what overwhelmed me is what does your life look like for the next 60 years? Could you imagine? I I barely know what's going on in the next six minutes, let alone 60 years. And we're not trying to get you to do that. I don't want you to look to next week. I just want you to look at right now what is your next step. When your emotions rise quickly, I want you to do something. I want you to look around. I want you to name five things that you can see, four things that you can touch, three things that you can hear, two things that you can smell, and one thing that you can taste. It helps you bring reality to the surface, it helps you bring back when everything feels too much. And give yourself permission without an explanation. You don't need to justify your grief or the moments of joy. You can hold both. If you want to sit with this a little more later, here are a few places to start. What did this loss change about how I see my life? I can tell you I live more for the moment and less about the future. For me, that was quite difficult. I've always had a plan. What's next? What's my five-year goal? What's my ten-year goal? I've always been able to do that. After this, I just I just want to get through today, honestly. And then we'll talk about tomorrow in the morning. Now it doesn't mean that I don't tell my husband or family, hey, I have plans Saturday, this is what I'm doing. But when those plans arise, I'll be where I need to be. But I'm just gonna let the day unfold how it unfolds. Where do I still feel connected to my child? Everywhere. It's hard for me to bake anymore because that was something him and I shared together. He was always more than willing to be my taste tester, loved bringing treats to the station. But he is with me everywhere. In the car when a song comes on. In my photos of my phone that I will oftentimes post. He lives constantly in my thoughts and will never leave there. What feels hard about allowing myself to live fully? I want you to ask yourself that. Why can't you live fully anymore? What's holding you back? I get it, the loss of a child is hard. And I know I'm between what was and what is. But it doesn't mean that I don't try and live every moment, every waking second, fulfilling what I feel he would have wanted. I work hard to give resources and families a better outcome than what I may have had myself. I want them to stay connected to the resources or at least acknowledge the resources that they have in front of them. I want to be able to tell parents where to find and locate those resources. When we started the nonprofit, my one goal was to be able to be present at a graduation, to tell parents, here are a few resources, here's a guide that I will give you. And this is where you can find my story. Not to sell my book, but I want them to have a different outcome than what I had. The opportunity to access those resources and the places in which they can locate them. And next week I'll start the project in which will allow me to help carry him forward. I'm gonna put together a small resource guide. Pointers, tips, how to survive the military life, and ensure parents realize that when their child stood there on that platform or on the floor of their MEP station, poised, ready, and right hand in the air, they too stood beside that child, taking that same oath. They just didn't do it formally. Now I want you to take your time, because for these questions I'll also post in the show notes, but there's no time limit. There's no timeline here when you should arrive at answers. But if you're living between two worlds right now, you're not doing it wrong. You're just doing something incredibly hard. Learning how to exist in a reality that you did not choose. It's moments like this weekend that reminded me of something very, very important. You don't have to walk this path alone. There are people who will sit with you in it. Myself is one. I I I don't need to know your full story. I don't even know need to know you personally, but I will sit in your story with you. Ask yourself again, who will give you space when the tears come? Who won't ask you to be anything then other than who you are. And you are allowed to keep carrying your child with you into whatever comes next. Not as something that you're leaving behind, but as something who you are bringing with you. Because I'm tired. I'm tired of being the strong one. I'm tired of wearing the mask, and I am so tired of people asking me to be more than what I can. I just want to be who I am in this moment at this time, and maybe I am, maybe I am straddling who I was before and who I am going to be now. But I need to be that person that turns to them and say, It's okay. I'm okay to be a little in the past and a little in the future. Because there is no timeline for grief and it comes in waves. There may be times when you're fine and times when you won't be, and that's okay. When you love someone so deeply, it should be expected. If this episode resonated with you, please share it. Because oftentimes we just need to know that somebody else understands. Even if that somebody else is me. Thank you for joining us this evening. I appreciate each and every one of you, and I hope that you have a great rest of your week. And I'll meet you here at the end of the weekend for the Sunday Shoreline. Have a great night. In Missing Pieces, The Final Salute, a Mother's Journey through service, sorrow, and survival, you'll walk through my story of preparing for the service of grief, of resilience, and rediscovery. And along the way, I hope you find space for your own story. This book isn't about being perfect. It's about becoming whole again, even when some pieces feel forever changed. Order your copy of Missing Pieces today on Amazon or at MissingPiecesbook.com. Join other readers who are finding their own story, encapsulated within the pages. Gain insights and learn more at Real and Rooted Podcast, where real stories take root and healing grows. Missing Peace is the final salute, a mother's journey through service, sorrow, and survival. A story of love, loss, and becoming whole again.