The first weeks you are surrounded by people. Flowers. Food left at the door. Messages saying "I'm thinking of you." Family who won't leave. And then suddenly it all stops. Life goes on for everyone else. And you sit there with an emptiness that has no name.

What no one tells you is that the hardest part...

The hardest part comes on an ordinary Tuesday three months later. When you see something in a shop window and think "she would have loved this" — and in that exact moment you remember you can't call her to tell her.

Those are the moments that take your breath away.

I have learned to live with them. Not to get over them — I don't think that ever happens. But to live with them. To let them be there without letting them pull me under.

The Maine coast helped me with that.

There is something about an ocean that doesn't care about you. The waves break against the rocks no matter what. They don't stop because you are grieving. They just keep going. And somehow that is the most comforting thing I know.

You don't need to get over it. You just need to keep going. Like the ocean.

The pieces I design are not made to take your pain away. They are made to hold it — in a way that reminds you that you are strong enough to carry it.

Because you are.

— Susan