15 Lessons from 15 Years

What loss has taught me about pain, rebuilding and being human

Today marks 15 years since my first wife Cindy died by suicide.

In honour of Cindy, and my daughter Chloe, here are some of the lessons I’ve learned, often the hard way, along the way.

They helped me. Maybe they’ll help someone else today. Or tomorrow.

• If you're in so much pain that you've convinced yourself your kids would be better off without you… they won't. Suicide doesn’t end the pain. It transfers it to the people you love most. Please, please keep fighting. ♥️

• There are countless ways to avoid the pain that rebuilding a life after trauma demands we face. They can make perfect sense in the moment—and always make things worse in the end.

• Grief doesn’t follow a straight line. It loops back. It sneaks up. It shows up in strange places. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re human.

• Life breaks all of us at some point. But like Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold, the healing doesn’t erase the damage—it honours it. What comes next isn’t the same as before. But it can still be beautiful.

• One of the most powerful gifts we’re given—and that no one can take away—is the ability to choose how we look at things: what’s happened to us, what’s happening now, and what we want for the future.

• Letting go of the emotional attachment to things that are out of your control allows you to bring your very best to what is in your control.

• Everyone is having their own unique experience all the time. Self-awareness is understanding your own. Empathy is understanding someone else’s. Master both, and every relationship in your life will get better. Including the one you have with yourself.

• What someone does or says usually makes perfect sense to them in the moment. If it doesn’t make sense to you—and even if it defies common sense—don’t dismiss it. Try to learn how it makes sense to them.

• If you’re going to make up a story about someone’s intentions or motivations, make it a generous one. It almost always leads somewhere better.

• Helping someone feel seen, heard, and understood is one of the greatest gifts one human being can give to another. And all it really requires is shutting up and listening.

• You don’t have to fully understand someone’s pain to be present with them in it. Trying to fix it can create distance. Sitting with them, without judgment or solutions, can build trust that lasts a lifetime.

• The words we use don’t just describe our reality—they shape it, reinforce it, and eventually become the lens through which we see everything. So choose them with intention. They’re building something, whether you mean them to or not.

• When someone you care about is grieving, it’s hard to know what to say. But if you’re unsure whether to reach out—reach out. Silence rarely helps. Presence almost always does.

• Change, even when it leads somewhere better, often asks us to let go of something. Great leaders have the empathy to see the loss, and the compassion to walk their people through it.

• The truth is, most people are waiting for someone else to go first. To be honest first. To be real first. When you go there, you open the door. And most will follow.

I could say I wish I didn't have to learn these lessons the way I did.

But that wouldn't be true. I've learned them and I'm grateful for that. And I'm curious about what I'll learn next.

Speaking of gratitude…I’m grateful I got sixteen years on this earth with Cindy and nineteen with Chloe. It’s not what I imagined but it’s a hell of a lot better than zero. ♥️