You are not behind.
You are not broken.
You are grieving
And I know exactly what that feels like
If you've lost your person and you feel like you're floating through your days, like nothing is attached to anything, like you've gotten very good at looking okay on the outside while quietly falling apart on the inside, I want you to know something.
That feeling has a name. It's called untethered. And it means you loved him deeply.
I know because I've been exactly where you are.
My story.
My husband Robert died on December 2, 2024. He was 66 years old. We had been together for almost 20 years and our love story was, as I like to say, magical. We fell in love and we meshed our families and we built a life together, he was my forever. I couldn’t imagine life without him.
And then I had to.
In those first days and weeks and months, I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't know what to do with a whole Saturday. I ate the same salad every day because deciding felt impossible. I slept on his side of the bed because I couldn't bear to sleep on mine. I texted my kids every time I got home from anywhere, just so someone knew I was okay. Because he always knew. He always knew where I was, what I was doing, how my day had gone.
And when he was gone, I felt invisible in a way I didn't have words for.
I went back to work. I showed up. I smiled when I was supposed to smile. And inside I was free falling, completely untethered from the life we had built together.
Nobody told me that was normal. Nobody told me there was a name for it. Nobody told me I wasn't behind, or broken, or doing it wrong. Nobody told me that grief isn't something you get over, it's something you learn to carry. And that carrying it, and carrying the love alongside it, is not just possible. It's the way through.
I had to learn that on my own. And I don't want you to have to.
“Learning to build a new life, one small win at a time.”
How I found my way and why I do this work
Grief taught me things I couldn't have learned any other way.
It taught me that being witnessed, having someone truly hear your story, without trying to fix it or rush it or wrap it up neatly, is one of the most powerful things one human being can offer another. I found that in a grief community called Tender Hearts, guided by world-renowned grief expert David Kessler. And it changed everything.
I learned that my grief was mine. That there was no timeline. That the waves would come, sometimes out of nowhere, like a tsunami, and that when they did, the only way through was to feel them. Name them. Let them pass.
I learned that moving forward is not moving away from him. That I could carry both the grief and the love, and that Robert gets to come with me, everywhere I go.
I also learned something else. Something that surprised me.
I was already doing this work.
As a nurse and chronic care coordinator, I had spent years holding space for people in pain, sitting with them in their hardest moments, listening without judgment, helping them navigate the impossible. And when I realized that everything I was learning about grief could help my patients too, that I was becoming better equipped to witness their loss because I was living my own, I knew.
This is what I'm supposed to do.
I completed David Kessler's Grief Educator certification program and became a Certified Grief Coach. Not to fix anyone's grief, because grief cannot be fixed, and you are not broken. But to sit beside you in it. To hold space. To witness your story. And to help you learn, the way I had to learn, that you can carry both.
A little more about me.
I'm Bari. I'm 63 years old and I live in St. Petersburg, Florida, where I moved last summer to be closer to my daughter Casey, my son-in-law Jonathan, and my granddaughter, who is pure magic.
I play mahjong every week. I've learned to play pickleball. I go to book club. I have a puppy named Max who makes me go outside even on the days I'd rather not, and who has helped me more than he will ever know.
I still sleep on Robert's side of the bed. I still text my kids when I get home. I still have his ashes in a beautiful marble urn that I touch sometimes and tell him how much I love him.
I am not at the beginning of my grief anymore. But I carry it with me, every day, as a companion. And I have learned, really learned, in my bones, that grief and love are not opposites. They are the same thing.
That's what I want to help you find.
My training and Background.
I bring both professional credentials and lived experience to this work because I believe you need both.
Certified Grief Educator by David Kessler, grief.com (January 2026)
Certified Grief Coach by IPHM & ICAHP Accredited (February 2026)
Certified Life Coach by IPHM & ICAHP Accredited (February 2026)
Licensed Practical Nurse and Chronic Care Coordinator over 30 years of experience holding space for people in their hardest moments
Member, Tender Hearts grief community
Widowed December 2, 2024
If anything on this page felt true , if you recognized yourself in even one sentence, I made something for you.
It's free. It's called Nobody Told Me. And it's 18 things nobody names about early grief, written for widows who are surviving but still feel completely lost.
It's the thing I wish someone had handed me.