Grief’s Corner
Thoughts of a Bereaved Mom
This space was born in the aftermath of loss.
For the past 18 years, writing has been my sanctuary—prose and poetry shaped by the rupture of losing my firstborn son, Larry. Each piece is a step forward after many steps back… a promise that, though I will never “move on,” I will continue to move forward, carrying his memory with me.
Over time, some of these writings have found their way into visual form. Works like Storms of Grief are rooted in these pages—translations of language into image, where words were no longer enough to hold what needed to be expressed.
Here, you’ll find a raw chronicle of survival, remembrance, and the ongoing journey to live beyond loss.
If you have found your way here through grief, know this:
You are not alone.
This page is dedicated to my firstborn son, Larry Brown. 5/31/89 – 4/09/07
Larry Brown. My firstborn son – then, now, for always.
A Letter to the Newly Bereaved Mother
From a mom traveling this journey ahead of you.In the rawest days of grief, even breathing feels impossible. I’ve been there and I’m sending you much love, strength, and a reminder that you are not alone. This letter is written from one grieving mother’s heart to another’s, carrying both sorrow and survival forward.
Time, Dreams and Broken Stitches
A mother’s reflection on the day her world shattered, the promise that carried her forward, and the fragile rebuilding that begins again each time grief breaks open.
Mom
There are moments that shatter a mother at the cellular level. This piece captures the instant I learned of my son Larry’s death — not through words, but in the devastation written across his father’s face. It is the closest I can come to describing a grief that exists beyond language, beyond breath, beyond what a human heart is built to bear.
I Saw You Today
Sometimes grief isn’t a slow ache; sometimes it’s a sudden, breathless sprint. This piece was written from the raw heat of a chase where I thought, just for the briefest moment, that the world had given Larry back to me.
Time Traveler
I travel between two worlds a hundred times a day — the life that continues forward, and the place where your laughter still rides the currents and fills my heart full.
For those who wish to understand where this journey began…
This is the day Larry died—and the beginning of everything that followed.
My name is Tammy, and I’m a bereaved mother.
My firstborn son, Larry, died on April 9, 2007 — the day after Easter and one month before his 18th birthday. He was following behind our work van, as he had done nearly every day for a year, when his car malfunctioned and veered into oncoming traffic on Heckscher Drive in North Jacksonville. He collided head‑on with an SUV. His father, Darian, was looking directly into his eyes at the moment of impact. Larry died instantly.
While I was screaming into the phone with 9-1-1, Darian was fighting with everything in him to pull our son from the burning wreckage. He believed that if he could just get Larry free, the paramedics might be able to save him. But Larry was crushed and completely trapped. Ten men together could not have pulled him free of that mangled metal. Darian suffered third‑degree burns fighting desperately to do so. The images of that day will stay with us for the rest of our lives.
The years since have been long and brutal, but they have also been filled with connection. I’ve met bereaved parents newly shattered and others who have walked this road for decades. Our grief is deeply personal and often unbearably lonely, yet there are threads that bind us — thoughts we’ve all had, feelings we’ve all felt, truths we all carry.
Knowing you do not walk this path alone is essential to surviving it.
I’ve learned that if you choose to keep going — and work harder than you ever imagined a human heart could work — you can survive this catastrophic apocalypse.
I have also found that although the colors will never be quite as vibrant as they once were, the sun’s rays no longer embrace as warmly as they once did, and the fireworks have forever lost a bit of their magic, there is still life after the death of your son or daughter. There is even happiness to be found again as well… in your own time…