This morning I had the privilege of attending the monthly grief support group hosted by our hospice chaplain, Doug Varnado. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but life has a way of getting in the way. Between travel and long weekends on hospice call, by Monday morning I often feel like I’ve poured every last drop of myself into caring for others. Today, though, I was able to be there.
What I expected was a conversation about grief. What I experienced was something much deeper—a quiet reminder that grief touches every single one of us, often in ways we don’t even recognize.
Doug shared a story about one of his grandchildren drawing a picture that reminded him of what grief looks like. As he spoke, a memory I hadn’t thought about in more than forty years suddenly came rushing back.
I was about five years old when my parents separated. Like many children, I didn’t have the words to explain what I was feeling. My mother took me to see a therapist, who handed me a piece of paper and asked me to draw.
There weren’t houses or flowers or smiling faces. There were jagged lines. Swirls. Scribbles. Different colors colliding with one another. Complete chaos.
I remember giving my drawing a name—something silly that only a five-year-old could invent. I can’t even remember exactly what I called it now, “crinkle, crackle, something or other”… But I remember how proud I was of it. My mother framed that picture and hung it above my bureau in my childhood bedroom. To me, it was a masterpiece. And to her, it was too.
Looking back now, I realize I wasn’t drawing a picture at all. I was drawing grief.
Because grief isn’t linear. It doesn’t move neatly from one stage to the next. It loops backward. It doubles over itself. It catches us off guard years later when we hear a song, smell a familiar scent, or listen to a story that unlocks a memory we thought had long been tucked away. Grief is jagged. It’s messy. And yet, somehow... it’s beautiful.
Not because the pain is beautiful, but because of what grows from it.
We also talked today about writing. About telling our stories. About how sharing our experiences is not simply cathartic for us—it can become a lifeline for someone else.
I’ve often wondered why I’m so drawn to writing. Why I feel compelled to tell my stories, even the painful ones. Today reminded me why.
We never know who is quietly carrying the same burden we’ve carried. Who might need permission to cry. Who needs someone to say, “Me too.”
Adversity has a way of becoming the author of some of life’s most beautiful and meaningful compositions. The chapters we’d gladly skip often become the pages someone else desperately needs to read. Our stories were never meant to stay trapped inside us.
Another thought that stayed with me came from a simple analogy. Someone once told Doug that life is like a roll of toilet paper. At first, I laughed. But the more I thought about it, the more profound it became.
When you first start a new roll, it’s slow. Sometimes it’s stuck. The paper tears into tiny pieces, and you’re fumbling just to get it started.
Isn’t that how life begins? Everything feels slow. Messy. Uncertain.
But once life gets rolling, it seems to pick up speed. The years begin passing more quickly. Children become adults, parents begin growing old, friends become memories. And before we know it, the roll seems to spin faster and faster. I suspect anyone over fifty understands exactly what that feels like.
Grief isn’t reserved for funerals.
Yes, we grieve the people we’ve loved and lost. But grief reaches far beyond death. It quietly finds its way into the many endings we experience throughout our lives.
We grieve the career that once gave us purpose. The dream that never unfolded the way we imagined. The home that held our family’s laughter. We grieve our health when it begins to fail, our independence when we can no longer do what once came so easily, and the strength we once took for granted.
Sometimes, perhaps most unexpectedly, we grieve the versions of ourselves we’ve had to leave behind. The younger self who believed life would look different. The healthier self. The stronger self. The carefree self. The person we were before loss, trauma, illness, heartbreak, or hardship reshaped us.
Grief has many faces. It isn’t confined to the end of a life; it accompanies the many endings we experience along the way. And perhaps that’s why it can catch us so off guard. We think we’re mourning one thing, only to realize we’re also mourning the pieces of ourselves that changed in the process.
Yet even there, in those quiet places of loss, God continues His work—gently reminding us that while some chapters come to an end, He is never finished writing our story.
Sometimes we don’t see how our stories are connected until years later.
One of the things that touched me most during today’s grief support group wasn’t something that was said during the discussion. It was remembering how God quietly wove Doug’s story into mine long before either of us could have imagined where those threads would lead.
Several years ago, Doug was the pastor at Community Church here in Hendersonville, where he faithfully served for more than three decades.
One week before my husband Billy went home to be with the Lord, he made the decision to be baptized. Our hospice chaplain arranged that beautiful moment of faith, and Doug was there that day, quietly standing in the back, witnessing Billy’s baptism. He later shared with me how that experience stayed with him.
Through Billy’s hospice journey, Doug came to know our hospice chaplain and, in time, felt God calling him into hospice ministry himself.
Think about that for a moment.
Billy’s final earthly act of obedience to Christ became part of someone else’s calling.
The peace that leaves me with is immeasurable. 🥹🙏
I don’t believe that’s a coincidence.
It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom:
“All endings are also beginnings. We just don’t know it at the time.”
And another that has stayed with me for years:
“We are all connected. Nothing is accidental. You can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind.”
I’ve thought about those words often, but today they settled into my heart in a different way.
Billy’s story became part of Doug’s story.
Doug’s story has now become part of mine.
And together, by God’s grace, we now have the privilege of walking alongside countless other families as they write chapters of their own.
That’s the beautiful mystery of God’s providence.
We rarely see all the threads He’s weaving while we’re living them.
It is only when we look back that we begin to see the tapestry He was creating all along.
When I look back over my own life, I can see how grief has quietly shaped so much of who I am.
I think about walking away from a nursing career that I truly loved during COVID, not because I wanted to, but because my conscience wouldn’t allow me to stay. I think about standing beside Billy as he prepared to transition from this life to the next, and learning what it means to love someone enough to let them go. I think about losing my daddy and realizing that no matter how old we are, we are never prepared for this heartbreaking season.
Then there are the countless patients whose hands I’ve held as they crossed from this life into the next. Their names, their faces, their stories—they never really leave you. Each one leaves behind a lesson, a memory, a reminder that life is both incredibly fragile and unimaginably sacred.
None of those losses looked the same. None of them unfolded the way I expected. And yet, each one has become another thread in the tapestry of my life.
For a long time, I thought resilience meant somehow becoming strong enough that grief no longer hurt. Now I think it’s something entirely different. Resilience isn’t learning to stop grieving. It’s learning to carry our grief without allowing it to harden our hearts. It’s choosing to keep loving after loss, to keep serving after disappointment, and to keep laughing after sorrow. To keep hoping, even when our hearts have been unimaginably broken.
The older I get, the more convinced I become that grief and gratitude are not opposites. They are companions.
I’ve learned that you can ache for yesterday while still giving thanks for today. You can miss someone every single day and still smile when a beautiful memory finds its way back to you. You can carry scars that never fully disappear and still discover beauty in places you never expected to find it.
As I sat in that grief support group today, my mind wandered back to that little girl sitting in a therapist’s office, filling a page with jagged lines and colorful scribbles because she didn’t yet have words for what her heart was feeling. At five years old, I thought I had created a masterpiece.
Looking back now, I realize I had. Not because the drawing was perfect, but because it was honest. It captured the chaos, the confusion, the heartbreak, and somehow, even then, the hope. Maybe that’s the lesson grief has been trying to teach me all along.
The most beautiful works of art are rarely the ones made of perfectly straight lines.
More often than not, they’re created in the middle of the mess. And perhaps... by God’s grace... that’s true of us, too.
📍If you live in the Hendersonville area, I’d love to encourage you to attend a meeting. This beautiful grief support group meets on the first Monday of every month at 10:00 AM in the activities room at Vitality Assisted Living Facility, 419 East Main Street in Hendersonville. It is open to the public, whether you’re grieving the loss of a loved one, navigating another season of loss, or simply looking for encouragement, hope, and connection. I truly believe you’ll leave with something meaningful. 💖
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About the Author:
Kimberly Overton, BSN, RN, BC-FMP, is a Registered Nurse, entrepreneur, and fierce advocate for medical freedom and informed consent. With a background in critical care and acute patient management, she bore witness to the systemic failures of a healthcare system corrupted by profit-driven protocols—protocols that led to medical murders disguised as care.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, Kimberly made the bold decision to resign from traditional bedside nursing, standing in protest against coercive mandates, the unethical use of Remdesivir, and the rollout of dangerous, ineffective COVID “vaccines.” This defining moment propelled her to establish Nurse Freedom Network, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit dedicated to empowering nurses, safeguarding patient rights, and exposing corruption within the healthcare system.
Today, she continues her mission at the bedside as a Hospice nurse, where she brings dignity, presence, and compassion to the end-of-life journey—honoring the sacred transition and advocating for comfort, truth, and informed decisions. Her experience in hospice care further reinforces the importance of understanding every medical intervention and upholding the nurse’s role as a protector of patient safety and peace.
Expanding on her mission, she launched Remnant Healthcare, providing holistic, patient-centered alternatives that honor medical autonomy, informed consent, and compassionate care. As host of The Nurses’ Report on America Out Loud Talk Radio, Kimberly amplifies the movement for healthcare reform, medical freedom, and the unwavering defense of human dignity.
Originally from Boston, Massachusetts, and now residing in Hendersonville, Tennessee, her mission is to disrupt the broken system, hold the profiteers accountable, and reclaim healthcare on a foundation of truth, ethics, and respect for human life—restoring humanity to the healing profession.
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