Blog | Light Lives Here Book

I'll See You in my Dreams

When someone we love dies, dreams can take on an entirely different meaning. Dreams can become one of the few places where the person we miss is still able to walk through a doorway that feels very real. And when we wake up, for just a moment, we may forget that they are gone. For me, dreams of my mom are something I both hope for and worry about. I want to see her. I want to hear her voice and look into her eyes and experience, even for a few minutes, the comfort of having

Michelle Zakula

Sep 2

Joy Still Lives Here

In February, our family lost our beloved golden retriever, Sadie. She deserves a post all her own, because she brought so much joy into our lives. Losing her broke our hearts. Anyone who has loved a dog knows that they are never just a dog. They become part of the rhythm of your home, part of your family, part of your heart. And when they are gone, the empty spaces they leave behind can feel surprisingly large. Then April brought the loss of my mom. June brought the loss of m

Michelle Zakula

Aug 25

I Just Want to Call my Mom

I Just Want to Call My Mom In a world where phone calls seem to happen less and less, and texts have become our main way of communicating, there is one person I will forever miss calling…my mom. Not because I have something earth-shattering to tell her, sometimes I simply want to hear her voice. It always happens on a long drive when I’m alone. “Drive safe, honey.” “Keep your eyes on the road.” I can still hear her voice saying those comforting "mom words". Sometimes it happe

Michelle Zakula

Aug 16

Anger Has a Place Here

Anger shows up in grief whether we expect it or not. Sometimes it’s quiet, more of an undercurrent than a wave. Other times it arrives all at once, sharp and undeniable. It can feel unsettling, especially if you’re someone whose faith has always been a steady place. Anger doesn’t seem to belong there. It can feel like something we should smooth over or explain away. But grief has a way of telling the truth, whether we’re ready for it or not. And sometimes the truth is that we

Michelle Zakula

Aug 13

The Sacred Work of Hospice

There are some roles in this world that feel less like professions and more like callings. Hospice work is one of them. For years, through my own ministry, I have had the privilege of walking alongside hospice workers—watching the way they enter into some of life’s most tender, fragile spaces. I have always deeply respected what they do. But this past year, with the passing of my mother in April and my mother-in-law in June, that respect deepened into something else entirely.

Michelle Zakula

Aug 7

The Power of Guilt...and JOY

There’s a quiet kind of guilt that can slip into the grief journey, so quietly that we may not even recognize it at first. It often shows up on the good days when the heaviness lifts just a bit. You laugh without forcing it. Something small, a memory or a moment of beauty, reminds you that life can still feel… good. And just as quickly as that feeling rises, something else follows close behind: How can I feel this way when they are gone? Is it okay to feel joy when such a

Michelle Zakula

Aug 3

The Loneliness No One Talks About

There is a moment in grief that often comes quietly. Following the funeral there might be a rush of activity. Flowers arrive, calls and texts flood in and casseroles fill the freezer. And then something changes without warning, and things get very quiet. The texts slow down. The check-ins become fewer. The name of the person you lost is spoken less often. People assume you’re “doing better”, not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know what else to do. And ther

Michelle Zakula

Jul 31

A Good Day and Then...

It was a good day. The kind where the sun shows up just right and the summer flowers are in full bloom. The kind where dinner feels simple and good, sweet corn on the cob that's perfectly in season. The kind of day where you think, maybe I’m okay today. And then… I was going through a few of my mom’s things after work when I came across a sweater. Cornflower blue, the exact shade of the famous blue crayon. I had picked it out for her. I remember imagining how beautiful that b

Michelle Zakula

Jul 29

The Prettiest Cardinal

I know that not everyone believes the same things about what happens after we die. I hold that with a lot of respect. Grief is already heavy enough without feeling like we have to explain or defend what brings us comfort. So I never want to assume, or insist, or make anyone feel like there is only one way to make sense of loss. But I do want to share this: My faith has become an anchor for me in grief. Not in a way that erases the pain, or wraps everything up neatly, but in

Michelle Zakula

Jul 24

A Small Window Into My Book

This book was born from the power of staying. From years of sitting with people in their sorrow. From witnessing the quiet courage it takes to keep going when life no longer looks the way you thought it would. And from my own experiences of learning that grief is not something we move past, but something we learn to live alongside. What follows is an excerpt from my book on our inclination to rush grief: Why We Rush Grief We live in a culture that is deeply uncomfortable wit

Michelle Zakula

Jul 22

The Moment I Didn't Expect

Our beloved Sadie taken in 2021 We just returned from our annual family vacation, a place that feels less like a destination and more like a part of who we are. At any given time you can find three generations of our family filling the lake with laughter that echoes back to us. It is, in so many ways, sacred ground for us. Every year, there are memories I quietly tuck away; photos of the kids, the crafts we made, their first time tubing, the ordinary and extraordinary all wov

Michelle Zakula

Jul 20

The Work that Found Me

I didn’t set out to work in grief. If you had asked me twenty years ago what I thought my life would look like, I might have given you something tidy. Something with clearer edges. The former teacher in me would definitely appreciate a plan with milestones you could point to and say, there—progress! But grief doesn’t follow plans. And neither, it turns out, does the work of the soul. It began quietly, the way most meaningful things do. A conversation here and a loss there. Si

Michelle Zakula

Jul 19

Hope in the Valley

I’m Michelle Zakula, a pastoral associate, writer, wife, mother, and grandmother.

For years, I’ve walked with individuals and families through some of life’s most tender and difficult moments. And more recently, I’ve found myself walking that road in a new way, through the loss of my own mother.

Light Lives Here was born from both ministry and lived experience,
from sitting beside others in grief, and from learning how to carry it myself.

I don’t believe grief is something we “get over.”

I believe it is something we learn to carry; with care, with compassion, and with hope.

And I believe we were never meant to carry it alone.

This site is the home of my book "Light Lives Here: Finding Hope in the Valley of Grief". It also offers personal reflections through my personal blog. I hope that it brings you peace.

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Light Lives Here

I'll See You in my Dreams

Joy Still Lives Here

I Just Want to Call my Mom

Anger Has a Place Here

The Sacred Work of Hospice

The Power of Guilt...and JOY

The Loneliness No One Talks About

A Good Day and Then...

The Prettiest Cardinal

A Small Window Into My Book

The Moment I Didn't Expect

The Work that Found Me

Hope in the Valley

My Book

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