The Messy Truth About Grief for Teens
A book for teenagers who've lost someone — and can't find language for what that actually feels like. Honest, not clinical. Real, not polished. Written by someone who's been there.
No spam. Just a note when the book releases.
Most books about grief for teenagers are written by adults who studied loss. This one is written by an adult who lived it — at 14, when my father died — and I've spent more than 20 years figuring out what that actually meant.
The Other Side of This doesn't offer a five-step plan. It doesn't promise you'll feel better by chapter three. It tells the honest, messy truth about what grief actually feels like — the feelings nobody talks about, the mask you wear, the search for home, and what the other side of all this can actually look like.
Seven chapters. Real language. No inspirational-poster endings.
"Your loss is part of your story. It's not the end of it."
Whether you just lost someone or it happened years ago and you're still trying to make sense of it. You don't have to be ready. You just have to be here.
A book you can read alongside your teenager, or hand to them when you don't have the words yourself. Because sometimes you need someone else to say it.
A companion for grief conversations in schools, churches, and support groups that want something honest — not clinical, not polished. Real.
The last ordinary morning. What shock actually feels like. Why your brain protected you from the worst of it — and why that's not weakness.
Relief. Jealousy. Anger at them for leaving. The longing. Laughter. Every feeling that doesn't fit the picture — and why every single one of them is normal.
Going back to school. The mask you wear. What "I'm fine" actually means. And why the kid who looks like they have it together is carrying something you can't see.
You don't need someone who understands your grief. You need someone who gives you a break from it. What real friendship looks like in the middle of loss.
Grief doesn't just take the person. It takes the whole world built around them. The search for somewhere that feels safe — and what home actually means.
A zipper book in a plastic bin. The smell of a truck. An airport window. What it means to carry someone forward — and why the physical things are just containers for something that never leaves.
It's not a finish line. It's not the day the grief stops. It's a Tuesday afternoon playing catch with your kid. Full, messy, ordinary life — with the grief woven into it, not gone. Just carried differently.
Not homework. Not grades. Just something small to do with what you just read — when you're ready.
The book releases Spring 2027. Sign up and I'll send you a note when pre-orders open — and maybe a chapter or two along the way.
No spam. Just a note when it matters.