Finding the Desire to Dream Again
A year after loss, a gentle trip became a turning point. This is the story of rediscovering joy, one butterfly, one dream at a time.
A little over a year after Gabby passed, one of our best friends said something unexpected: "Let’s take a trip back to Maui. Air prices are so good right now, let’s do it."
I froze. My first thought was, I can’t have fun. I’m still grieving. I’m not allowed to have fun. But somewhere deep inside, I felt a nudge, most likely from Gabby. And I thought, Maybe this would be a nice gift for Jeff since he’ll be retiring in a few months. So I said yes.
Before I could even overthink it, my friend said, "Cool. Just booked it. We’re all set."
It felt like an experiment. Can we still feel joy? Or will we just be sad the whole time? I honestly didn’t know.
Before Gabby died, dreaming was second nature to me. I used to love January. It was my time to make fresh lists, plan new projects, and outline the year ahead. I had just finished my goals for 2023 when, on January 8th, I got the call no parent ever wants to get.
Everything stopped. My life felt destroyed. Plans? Dreams? They meant nothing. All I wanted was my daughter back. The only things I was checking off were funeral arrangements, legal paperwork, and heartbreak I didn’t ask for.
Dreaming after that? Impossible. Grief told me I didn’t get to have dreams anymore. That my future was buried alongside Gabby. And for a while, I believed it.
But then Maui happened.
It was the first trip Jeff and I had taken since becoming grieving parents. We didn’t over-plan. We gave ourselves permission to be unsure. We were gentle with our expectations. Did we have moments of grief and cry? Absolutely. Did it take away from the beauty of the island? No. That’s because we knew Gabby was with us.
Every single morning on the lanai, I saw rainbows and butterflies. On one hike, butterflies followed us the entire way. And on the last day, a dragonfly hovered near me like it was saying, I’m here too, Mom.
That trip changed something. We realized we could still grieve and still feel joy. We could take Gabby with us. We could live.
Lately, some dreams have returned.
Jeff and I want to travel again, especially to Japan, where Gabby lived for a year. She loved it there and we want to walk where she walked, eat where she ate, see what she saw.
Before, we used to dream of selling everything and traveling full-time after retirement. That dream died with Gabby. I can’t imagine being far from our family now. But traveling in her honor? That feels right.
There’s another dream taking shape too: helping other grieving parents. I’m not sure exactly where it will lead, but I’m following the pull. Becoming a certified grief educator, starting a support group, and launching this Substack, these are all little breadcrumbs on the path. Gabby is leading me, and I’m trusting her.
Dreaming now looks different.
I used to be obsessed with productivity. Travel? Check. Financial security? Check. Always chasing the next goal. Now, my dreams are measured in meaning. Did I show kindness today? Did I touch someone’s life with love? Did I notice the beauty in the ordinary? Because the truth is, the ordinary is extraordinary. This life, even in its brokenness is still a gift.
And I ask myself often: If Gabby were grieving me, what would I want for her? I’d want her to live. To laugh. To take me along for the ride in her heart.
So that’s what I’m doing. I’m dreaming small for now. Starting with baby steps and heart-led ideas. I don’t know the destination, but I’m okay with that.
Because finding the desire to dream again doesn’t mean having it all figured out.
It just means saying yes to life, even in the midst of loss.
Even when it feels impossible.
If you're learning how to dream again too, I’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment or share this with someone who needs the reminder: you’re allowed to hope.