When someone you love dies, you might feel as though you are the only person in the world feeling the way you do. The truth is that you’re not alone. Everyday, there are other kids who lose a brother or sister, a mom or a dad, a grandma or a grandpa…someone that they love. And even though no one’s feelings are exactly the same, you are all grieving.

"And in the end,
the love you take
is equal to the love
you make."

~ The Beatles

On September 4th, my dear friend Ellie, who has known me all my life, celebrated her 93nd birthday. Ellie has long been a surrogate grandma to Leela ("her parents pretty much gave her to me," to mentor as a grandchild), and the adopted mother of "lots of young people in their 50s."

Survivors of near-death experiences find comfort-and support-in sharing their stories.

They walk among us, seemingly normal but somehow different, having been changed forever by indelible memories of what they believe have been visits to the afterlife. They are survivors of near-death experiences (NDEs), and though skeptics tell them it's all been nothing more than a hallucination, a trick of the dying brain, there's a place in Broward County where they can tell their strange stories of angelic beings, lost souls and the landscapes of heaven without being ridiculed. On the first Friday of every month, the South Florida chapter of the International Association for Near-Death Studies (IANDS) meets in an annex of University Hospital in Tamarac to offer these survivors and other spiritual seekers a safe space to get support and inspiration.

What would it feel like to open our hearts to our pain? A grief counselor explains healing from long-standing grief.

Some years ago, sitting next to a fifteen-month-old child whose cancer had begun in her mother's womb, as I prayed for her life, something very deep inside told me to stop, that I didn't know enough to make such a prayer. It said that I was just second-guessing God. That I could not really comprehend what her spirit might have needed next, that only this pain in this fleeting body, which was being torn from the hearts of her loved ones, might teach her as she evolved toward her ceaseless potential. That she, like us all, was in the lap of the Mystery, and that the only appropriate prayer was, "May you get the most out of this possible!" 

What Tibetan Buddhist tradition can teach us about the profound privilege of caring for someone who is approaching death.

Every religion has rituals and liturgies or sacred texts intended to assist the dying and dead, which are also a comfort to the survivors. In traditional Judaism, for example, the dying are supposed to recite a prayer of confession and repentance, and others will help them to do so if they are incapacitated. After a death, the survivors periodically recite the Kaddish, a Hebrew prayer in praise of God's name. In Islam, people gather to offer their collective prayers for divine forgiveness of the deceased. In Catholicism there is the priestly sacrament of anointing a person on the point of death, prayers for the souls of the dead, and the funeral mass. Tibetan Buddhism, too, has a rich ceremonial tradition associated with death. 

Syndicated columnist and author Arianna Huffington helps women step into their full potential in her latest book.

For years I had longed to have children, so I was over the moon when, at 36, I discovered that I was pregnant. But night after night, I had restless dreams. Night after night I could see that the baby — which I was sure was a boy — was growing within me, but his eyes would not open. Days became weeks, and weeks turned into months. Early one morning, barely awake myself, I asked out loud, “Why won’t they open?” Michael turned and looked at me. “The baby won’t open his eyes,” I said. I knew then what was only later confirmed by the doctors. The baby’s eyes were not meant to open; he died before he was born.

What if you knew the baby you were carrying was fated to die at birth?

My husband and I learned before our baby was born that our baby was going to die. I was five-and-a-half months pregnant when I learned that my baby had a malformed heart, and the condition was fatal. That doesn't give away the end of the story. It gives away only the beginning.

Though words often fail us when friends or family face a terminal illness, they're often all we have left.

Words fail most of us when someone we love is dying. But beyond hugs, words are what we have left. The following was compiled with the help of several terminally ill friends and advice from others who work with individuals facing life's end.

Family and friends can help guide the dying in understanding the range of emotions they experience

Looking back at my father's death during my childhood, I recall the frustration of small town medicine: no specialists, and only occasional, mostly ineffective, visits from the local physician. I remember the courageous and dedicated behavior of my young mother as she attended to her husband in the last months of his life, and the simple, homemade methods she used to ease his discomfort. I recall, too, the anxiety in our home as my mother tried to respond to my father's unvoiced thoughts and anticipate his emotional needs. It was often difficult to tell whether he was gripped more by emotional suffering or physical misery. And during his quiet, reflective moments, he didn't reveal the degree to which he was accepting the inevitability of his death and mourning his losses. I know now that my mother was trying to read my father's grief.