Bereaved But Still Me

A Conversation on Love, Loss, and the Life That Continues

Decades ago, I became a widow at nineteen when my husband, Brian, was killed in the Vietnam War. That sentence is simple, but the life within it was not at all simple.

Grief does not arrive as one clean chapter. It can enter the body like weather, shock the nervous system, rearrange memory, and change the way we love, trust, and continue. Some losses become part of the architecture of who we are. They don’t define us completely, but they shape the rooms we walk through.

I recently had the pleasure of being interviewed by Michael Liben on his show, Bereaved But Still Me. The conversation is about thirty minutes, and we spoke openly about the shock after Brian’s death, the depth of grief that followed, and the long, uneven path back toward life.

Listen here on Substack:

A gentle note before listening: this interview includes discussion of traumatic grief and the devastation that followed. I share it not to dwell in darkness, but because silence can make grief feel even more isolating. Sometimes the most honest stories are the ones that let someone else breathe a little more deeply and think, “I am not the only one.”

This conversation also touches the story I wrote about in my memoir, Love in the Shadow of Saigon, where I explored the love, loss, and aftermath of becoming a widow so young. I mention the book here as part of the deeper story behind this conversation.

I am sharing the interview freely because grief is not only sorrow. It can also become tenderness, depth, humor, compassion, and a deeper devotion to life. Not quickly. Not neatly. But sometimes, over time, the wound becomes a doorway.

And, here’s a short video clip from the actual wedding day on November 6, 1968, preserved from old family movies. Wedding Day

You can also listen on Spotify: Bereaved But Still Me