Grief rarely arrives with warning, and it never follows your schedule. When Rebeka lost her partner Ryan to COVID in two weeks, the world didn’t pause—her son started school days later, bills still came due, and a house full of everyday artifacts turned into a living museum of memory. What followed wasn’t a dramatic “comeback” but a series of small, honest choices: spiral-notebook task lists, a friend who ran interference when words failed, a school counselor who checked in, and a resolve to keep showing up even when the feelings didn’t have names yet.

We sit with the details most stories skip. Rebeka shares how she left his beard stubble in the sink for months, why calendars and routines became a lifeline for a neurodivergent household, and how recovery tools—daily inventories, making amends, honest self-inquiry—translate into sustainable grief practices. She talks about parenting for two without pretending to be two people, inviting safe men into her son’s world, and using technology to keep a father’s voice alive. We dig into what helps the bereaved—specific offers, presence, community—and what harms: assumptions, timelines, and tidy clichés.

The conversation also flips the script as Rebeka interviews me about becoming “Dr. D.” It’s an unlikely path fueled by mentors, persistence, and the simple discipline of not quitting for long. From early coursework to a bruising dissertation phase, the lesson mirrors Rebecca’s: you can do hard things when your people hold you steady and you allow the plan to evolve. Together we map a humane blueprint for anyone facing loss, recovery, or a life that no longer matches the plan—feel what you feel, write it down, ask for help, keep the small promises, and choose meaning over avoidance.

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