From the moment I was born you were mine. My parents had chosen you to be my godmother, a duty which you took very seriously. When I look back you were always there for every one of my milestones; my Baptism, my first few words, my first steps, my first haircut, my Confirmation and First Communion, my high school graduation. You were even there when I got my acceptance letter to St. Joseph’s College. When I moved into St. Joe’s you took me under your wing and made sure I always knew that I had a safe place to go when I wanted to get off campus. You enjoyed spending time with me and even invited me on outings like going blueberry picking with you, your daughter, and your granddaughter. You became my second mom when my mom was 7 hours away.

And then unexpectedly you passed. There was no warning. There was no chance to say goodbye. You were gone. I remember where I was when I got the call. My entire floor had just gone to a trampoline park and we were hungry so we went to get ice cream. I saw my mom had texted me but thought nothing of it when she said “call me.” My sister texted me and told me to call mom. I texted back “why? Is it an emergency?” She responded “yes.” I excused myself from the group and ran to my RA’s car and called my mom. I could hear on the other end she was crying. She told me that you had passed and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I crumbled in a ball. I remember my mom asking “Hannah are you ok?” I don’t remember what I said. I remember my RA, a guy I didn’t know very well, and the girls on my floor coming back to the car and finding me weeping. My RA asked what was wrong and all I could get out between sobs were “SHE. IS. GONE.” It didn’t take long for denial and then shock and then loneliness to set in. I remember after the funeral we walked the middle aisle to the back of the church as a family. I remember everyone grabbing onto each other’s hand, but I had one hand free. The hand that you would have held if you were still alive. I didn’t know how I was going to live one day without you, let alone 8 years.

Grief still steals the air right out of my lungs sometimes, but I like to think that since you have gone I have been managing my grief and learning to breathe again. In the 8 years since you have been gone I have been working to build and live a life that you would be proud of. There are so many life milestones that I wish you could’ve been here for. Still I have to believe that you’ve seen them or at least know about them. Let’s start from the beginning. I graduated from St. Joseph’s with a bachelor’s degree in theology with minors in secondary education and psychology. From there I moved to Southern Maine and started my first job working for the Diocese. 4 years later I am still working there and I love what I get to do and who I get to meet through this job. Shortly after I graduated undergrad I decided to apply for grad school and was accepted to Felician University’s Master of Arts in Religious Education program. In the middle of this the pandemic happened. I began counseling in order to heal wounds from the past. And oh what a year 2022 was. I graduated with my Master’s and our family had a party to celebrate. I know you would’ve been there if you could’ve been. Family was your number one priority. I also went on a service trip to Kentucky to work with the Christian Appalachian Project in honor of you and all my loved ones who have passed away because you all were people who served others with love. We were doing home repair. And oh my gosh that trip was probably the best thing I did this past summer. I learned and experienced so much. I know if you were here today we would’ve gotten together to discuss it over coffee and donuts. I am so grateful to God for giving me that opportunity. I have no idea what 2023 holds (maybe you do….I don’t know how that works), but I hope that each day I do something that makes you proud.

This letter is getting long, so I’ll conclude with some things that I always want you to know.

I celebrate because you lived.
I still grieve because you died.
I am still impacted by your love and kindness.
I will always remember you.
I wish you were here.
I love you still.

Love,

Dear Father-In-Law,

I have had the pleasure of spending the last 11 years with your son as my life partner. We have had our ups and downs, that has not stopped us from enjoying our lives together. When I walked into your son’s life there wasn’t much he would talk about with me when it came to you because he was still in pain. I know it must have been hard knowing you were leaving him and your wife so soon in life.

While I know you only got to spend 9 years with him physically, I know you have been here for his whole life. I want to thank you for giving him something I never had the pleasure of experiencing, what a father is supposed to be. When he and I met I had children already and your 22 year old son took them as if they were his! He has given our children the best gift possible, the gift of having a father, something every child should have.

He has spent majority of his life going to school and building a career and he is excelling even beyond his expectations. He now has a Masters in Financial Analysis. He has become a major asset within the company he works for in FinTech. FinTech, is a major player in todays world and it is 100% where you would want him to be! Your son has the potential to run this world if he truly wants it.

He and I have been working on healing individually and together and you would be proud to know, that healing is trickling down the line. Our family has never been stronger! We are all learning to lean in and onto each other. I know the conversations you and your wife, him mama, my madrina, had in the past and I’m here to tell you she has kept every promise!

I know you moved into the spiritual world long before I came along but you have presented yourself to me before I even knew it was you. I know you walk closely to all of your grandchildren and you will never truly know how much that puts this mama bear at ease. Your grandson is named after you and he and Abualita are best friends! If you cant find one, look for the other.

Having the honor of watching him grow and be a small version of you and your son makes it me smile on the inside and out. I watch that little boy and get lost in how much I now know you because of him. Everyone tells me all of your traits they see in him; like when he walks around like El Hefe with his hands behind his back observing closely or when he puts his hand on his hips as if to show he is the man of the house. I know when your close because he will carry the same limp my husband’s siblings tell me you had.

Your money clip was given to my husbands brother when you passed because you two share a name. Well, he had your name taken off of the money clip and turned into a necklace for your grandsons second birthday. Your grandson, the opinionated boy he is, refused to wear it, so I wore it for a while. Thank you, the time I wore that necklace is the time I felt you the most. And during that time I felt like I was blessed enough to somehow get to know you the best.

It has been and continues to be an absolute honor being your sons wife and your grandchildren’s mother. I want you to rest easy knowing I’ve got them! I appreciate you continual protection and being there with them when I physically cant. Please know they are all safe and loved! Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to continue to remind them, especially your son, how proud you are of them!

You may be gone; however, you will never be forgotten. Take care of my Angel babies for me please.

With love and light,
Your Daughter-In-Law

Dear Sean,

Our friendship began the night we met. It was August 12, 2018 in downtown Cleveland. My friends and I ended up at a table at FWD nightclub with you and your friends. Thanks to your charm, and that handsome face, we immediately clicked.

In a short time, I realized there was so much more to you than your good looks and your sweet personality.

Over the next year, I got to know you pretty well. I opened up to you about my past. You were supportive and understanding. I shared with you the challenges I faced at the time, and you gave me strength, encouragement, and confidence. You also took me for sushi, became my pen pal (exchanging a billion texts a day), and helped me set the foundation for my business. Sometimes, I’d even get you to stop by my apartment just to give me a hug.

As our friendship evolved, you’d often share your wisdom and perspective with me.

Vividly, I remember you once telling me a lesson you learned while serving in the military. You told me you were pushed so much physically in the military that you realized that the moment you feel like giving up – the moment you feel like you have nothing left in the tank – you always have a bit more fight left. You can always go more.

I left Cleveland in June of 2019. You came over and said goodbye to me. You told me we’d see each other again in Miami or when I returned to Cleveland. Little did I know that would be the last time I’d ever see you.

About two months later, you texted me, “I have a miracle.”

You proceeded to tell me, in text, about how a week earlier you had a seizure while home with your daughters. Your daughters called for help and got you to the hospital, where they found a tumor in your brain. You sent me videos and an actual picture of the tumor inside your brain. It was too much for me to absorb over text, and I asked you to call me, which you did.

At that point, you still didn’t know if it was cancer, but you told me, “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, I will be OK.”

When you officially told me it was cancer, I don’t think my mind could fully process the reality of the situation. In fact, I still don’t think I have fully processed it. As time passed, I checked in on you here and there, and we chatted about life and other things.

When I first launched The Unsealed, you read nearly every letter, and signed up as one of my very first members.

After I thanked you for signing up, you said, “Your stories are helping people, Lauren. Your strength/story is touching.”

You made me believe that this lofty dream I was pursuing was not only possible but worthwhile.

While we didn’t talk much about your cancer diagnosis, and you certainly never told me your prognosis, you did tell me your circumstance taught you that no matter what, you always have to look at life from a positive perspective. When I told you I felt like I hit a wall with my business, you told me to be thankful I am here to hit that wall, reminding me that each day is both a blessing and an opportunity.

I used to tease you that you were a feminist, but you truly were, believing that women, including me, could be or do anything they so choose. I remember you even spent time on a weekend, helping teach young girls how to code.

Your daughters were your world, and you never wanted to miss a volleyball game or dinner time. If I called you while you were watching a movie with one of your daughters, you wouldn’t answer. Your time with your children was precious to you – and that was true from the moment I met you.

During your battle with cancer, you began to ride your bike – a lot. You decided to join the Great Cycle Challenge, aiming to ride your bike 200 miles in a month to raise money, not for yourself but for children battling cancer. You were among the top fundraisers in the country.

In the most challenging moment in your life, you devoted your time and energy to helping others that were suffering.

Sean, that is who you were. That is who all your friends and family know, love, and cherish.

A little less than a year ago, I asked you how you were, and you told me you were OK and that you were going to try some experimental treatments. Without going into detail, I knew what that meant. I didn’t hear from you much after that, and I feel sad that I didn’t reach out as I should have. I think, subconsciously, a part of me didn’t want to face the reality of losing yet another young person close to me. I am sorry I wasn’t there for you as much as I should have been these last few months. I promise, it wasn’t because I didn’t care.

A few weeks ago, I had a funny story I wanted to tell you – a mystery that I finally solved. When I texted you on your phone and Instagram and didn’t get a response, I knew it wasn’t good. Ultimately, your best friend and your mom filled me in. I am thankful I texted when I did, as I was able to send you cards and tell you how much you meant to me. Your mom even said that when you saw the card was from me, you had a huge smile across your face.

I am absolutely heartbroken right now. You were one of the good guys and didn’t deserve a battle with brain cancer. With that said, I want you to know that the man beyond the charm and the handsome face has left an indelible mark on my heart.

Because of you, I will keep fighting when I feel there is nothing left in the tank. I will keep pushing to build The Unsealed, motivated by the fact that I know it meant something to you and can and will help many other people. And I will always wake up every day with gratitude and a positive attitude.

While I am mourning the loss of your life, I will continue to celebrate you through how I live mine.

I miss you already. Thank you for genuinely caring about me. You will forever inspire me.

With love and lots of hugs,
Lauren

P.S. I heart you.

support brain cancer research disease by donating to:
https://virtualtrials.org/strother.cfm or http://www.childrenscancer.org/seanstrother

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@delanomassey @shelleybrill @kayjahlorde @mehraslam @amazz94 @abbiegwrites @bigstudbundy @lostone89 @willardogan @wilparker1 @andbrill @zaysmith1 @gabriellebeth @ashley_topham @asyk @hue-jackson @dsenlightenededits @jerricaconley @jsimon @johncarubbagmail-com @qcurtis @redskinsjjv84 @okiwa002 @vbrooks884 @oneturbobenz @writingsfromthegarden @jcbcle77 @yourbabydaddy @zuckerman @corriefergusonbooks

Dear Ashley @ashley_topham,

I read your story about the rainbow and your father. It is such a beautiful memory. Sometimes, I think the universe implants these memories in us so when are loved ones leave us, they have ways they can send us little reminders that they are still with us.

My grandfather always said that rain was good luck. Since I was little girl, I was very athletic and I wanted to be a sportscaster. My grandfather was the only other athletic one in our family, so we both knew I had his genes, which gave us this special connection. I used to wear his the number 15 in sports because his birth was August 15th.

Unfortunately, he died when I was 13. When I was 25, I was up for my dream job, a sportscaster in Buffalo, NY. When I went up for my interview, the new director gave me a lot of constructive criticism. I didn’t think I got the job. After two weeks of waiting to hear back, I got on call on August 15th – my grandfather’s birthday. It was from the News Director in Buffalo. I was at the dentist, but I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to get rejected on my grandfather’s birthday. That day was sacred to me. But the news director left a message and said it was important that I call back ASAP. So, I didn’t want to be unprofessional.

I called and he said, “Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you. I had to explain to corporate why I wanted to offer you the job. You aren’t as experienced as our other candidates, but I told them someone like you is not going to come across my desk twice.”

I tried to so hard to hold back my tears. But after I got off the phone, I walked outside of the building to head home and it was pouring out. As soon as I saw the ran, I burst into tears. My dream came true on the day of my grandfather’s birthday in the pouring. I knew he was watching over me.

Just curious, have you ever seen a rainbow and thought it was your dad letting you know he is by your side?

To try to think of one particularly great story about my mom that really stands out..is kind of a challenge. That feels weird to write it, and said out loud its even more strange. I guess life with my mom was just an endless series of great moments, great days..a bunch of small every day things that comprised one amazing life.My mom passed away 18 years ago. Thats sometimes still very hard to believe. One particular moment stands out..and its a very sad one. But also just illustrates how strong she was and how amazing of a mother she was. I was working at my part time job one night. Mom had been declining..her years long battle with cancer was nearing its end. But I got a call from my brother or my dad at the restaurant I was working at- Mom wasnt doing well, and i needed to get to Mom and Dad’s. I left immediately and went to their house. When I got there Mom was at the bathroom sink, and maybe for the first time in my life I saw my mom scared. Uncertain. Not sure what was happening.I was upset. Dad went upstairs to get his keys and wallet, as we were gonna take Mom to the hospital. Dad asked me to get Mom to the couch and help her put on her coat and her shoes so we could go when he came downstairs. I got Mom to the couch, and I was crying a lot. I’d never seen my mom look this shaken,
and knew things weren’t good. I hugged her so hard I practically tackled her into the couch. i didn’t want to let go. But I had to help with her shoes. I sat up, and as I was trying to get her shoes on, I was struggling. The tears were flowing so much I could barely see what I was doing. Then, my mom did what she did for almost 34 years- she just made her baby (she called me that) feel reassured and better. Or tried to. She put her hand on my shoulder and my back, and said “Jimmy, it’ll be ok. Everything will be ok”. With who knows what going on in her mind, with her having to know that things weren’t going to be ok, with her maybe being scared of what was going on, her first thought was to take care of me, to protect me, to tell me everything will be ok. I will never forget that moment. As sad as it was, I dont want to forget it. because it just reaffirmed to me what I already know. That nothing mattered to Mom more than caring for and protecting her kids. That turned out to be the last day Mom spent at the house. She passed a couple weeks later. The little 4’10” Italian dynamo left us..but never left our hearts. There were far more happy memories: taking me to an Indians game on my 8th birthday. We took the bus because Dad was working second shift,and my brother had just started driving. But we hoppped on the bus and had a great time. There was the homemade pasta dinners for every holiday (even Thanksgiving had cavatelli..Italians lol). She’d make me pasta every night I had a little league game and tell me there was a double and triple in there. Like I said, the good memories were far more prevalent. But that night-as sad as it was- will stay with me forever. Mom took care of her loved ones, always put us first. Even when she had every right to put herself first. Thanks Mom. You’re the best 🙂

@theunsealed

It’s been almost six years since I lost my ex-boyfriend, Brian. He loved me with all his heart. And even though I broke his heart, he never stopped caring about me, supporting me, or cheering on my success. When he was alive, I spent years keeping him an arm’s distance away. At the time, I just didn’t want the same relationship that he wanted. But when he died, I almost fell in love with him all over again, or maybe I realized I never stopped loving him. At that moment, I remembered the roses he bought me for no reason, the times we ran around lower Manhattan going to psychics to see what they’d say, and the comedy shows where we laughed until our stomachs hurt. Brian never wanted to tell me “no” about anything. He always wanted to see me happy. I never really thought about how I’d feel if one day he was no longer here.

Before he died, he made me promise him that I would never settle for anyone who didn’t treat me the way he treated me. He literally made me look him in the eye and say, “I promise.” Now, when I date, and someone falls short of treating me how he wanted, it’s almost like I grieve him dying all over again. With each disappointment, I am reminded of him and how we really did have something special.

While I can’t turn back the clocks of time, I keep Brian close to my heart every day. And when I find that person who treats me how he wanted me to be treated, I will honor Brian’s life by meeting that standard as well.

Never again will I take anyone’s love for granted.

Anyone else have someone in their lives that they hold close? How do you guys deal with grief? Would love to hear from you guys <3

@amazz94 @bigstudbundy @zsigray81@delanomassey @josh-copeland @jim-c @fpjames7 @oneturbobenz @shelleybrill @telina27