August 8, 2025 • 14 mins
Grief shatters us in ways we never imagine possible until we're standing in its wreckage.
When Marty died suddenly, almost 2 years ago, on August 13, 2023, I found myself navigating the rawest form of pain while thousands of miles away in Greece with my children. The frantic journey home, the 17 days by his hospital bed, and the impossible decision to let him go fundamentally altered who I am.
Grief doesn't follow stages or timelines.
Grief needs witnesses, not wisdom; space, not sermons.
Through this experience, I've discovered that grief carves out places within us we never knew existed—spaces that can eventually be filled with new forms of love and purpose. The loss that broke me also built the foundation for who I've become. It led me to my fiancé James, a love that wouldn't have been possible without everything I walked through first. For anyone currently drowning in grief, please know this isn't the end of your story.
Hope returns, not as a roar but as a whisper, a flicker, a reminder that pain transforms but doesn't define us.
You're not broken—you're human, and you are not alone. There is life after grief, not in spite of it, but because of it.
Thank you for listening to Hope Comes to Visit. If this episode resonated with you, please follow, rate, and share the show — it helps others find their way to these conversations.
New episodes drop every Monday and Friday, so you can begin and end your week with a little light and a lot of hope.
For more stories, reflections, and ways to connect, visit www.DanielleElliottSmith.com or follow along on Instagram @daniellesmithtv and @HopeComestoVisit
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:06):
Welcome to Hope Comes to Visit a place for soft
landings, soul, truth and theunedited middle.
I'm Danielle Elliott Smith andtoday's episode is an invitation
into one of the most tender,transformative chapters of my
life.
There are things I neverimagined saying I lost the man I
love.
He's not coming home.
I watched him slip away onebreath at a time, but I have
(00:29):
said them now.
I've lived them and thisepisode is my offering for
anyone who has walked throughloss or sat beside a hospital
bed praying for a miracle, orwoken up and realized your world
has shifted forever.
Let's take a quick moment tothank the people that support
and sponsor the podcast.
When life takes an unexpectedturn, you deserve someone who
(00:50):
will stand beside you.
St Louis attorney Chris Dulleyoffers experienced one-on-one
legal defense.
Call 314-384-4000 or314-DUI-HELP, or you can visit
DulleyLawFirmcom that'sD-U-L-L-E lawfirmcom for a free
consultation.
(01:11):
In August of 2023, the man Iloved, marty, died.
It was sudden, cruel,unfathomable.
I was in Greece on vacationwith my kids and my ex-husband
yes, my ex-husband.
He and I are very good friends.
In another episode, I promisewe will talk about successful
co-parenting, but Marty was athome.
An urgent call from his sonleft me stunned my dad's in the
(01:34):
hospital.
He's not okay.
I think he's had a heart attack.
There are no words for the hoursthat followed, the frantic
packing, the 26 hours of travel,the way my body shook from
adrenaline and panic and love.
I remember begging the skies tohold the planes to fly, the
hours to pass quickly.
(01:54):
I just needed to get to him andI did.
I walked into that hospitalroom in the middle of the night.
I touched his face.
I told him I loved him.
I made good on my promise.
I came home.
I stayed with him for the next17 days.
I cried, I held his hand.
I covered his room withphotographs begging the doctors
(02:17):
and nurses to see the man, thefather and son, the friend
beneath the ventilator and theIVs.
But the love and hope andwhispered prayers from all of us
couldn't change the fact thatthe damage to his brain was
irreversible.
I continued to believe in thepossibility of a miracle,
mentally preparing to help himheal, if only he was granted the
(02:40):
chance.
But sometimes belief isn'tenough to bend the laws of this
world and eventually I and hisfamily had to do the impossible.
We had to let him go.
At the time it was as though Ihad lost the ability to breathe.
Grief is not tidy, it's notpoetic, it does not come in
(03:05):
stages.
It is a thunderclap and awhisper, a wave and a void, a
scream in the night and silencethat lasts for days and weeks.
And the things people say, theymatter.
Some words land like a lifeline, others like a slap.
(03:26):
You're so strong, he's in abetter place.
Everything happens for a reason.
These phrases, thoughwell-meaning, can feel like
being kicked.
Because strength wasn't achoice, because there is no
better place than here, besidethe people we love, and because
sometimes there is no betterplace than here, beside the
people we love, and becausesometimes there is no reason,
(03:48):
only heartbreak.
What helps is presence, sayingI don't know what to say, but
I'm here, showing up withouttrying to fix it, asking how
someone is and meaning it,offering food, rides, silence, a
hand to hold.
Grief needs softness, notsolutions, witness not wisdom,
(04:14):
space not sermons.
If you don't know what to say,say that.
If you want to help, just stayclose.
People say you're so strong,but strength wasn't a choice, it
was survival.
I kept breathing, I kept showingup for my kids.
I kept putting one foot infront of the other, not because
(04:37):
I knew how, not because I wantedto, but because love of others
kept me upright.
There were days I couldn'tspeak, days I screamed into
pillows and made sounds I didn'trecognize, days I sat still for
hours, and others when it wassimply impossible to sit.
(04:58):
I've learned this kind of grief.
The grief that guts you is theonly universal experience we all
share.
Not everyone will have children, not everyone will get married,
not everyone will find theirdream job or live in their
favorite city, but every singleone of us is going to lose
(05:19):
someone we love desperately,someone we can't imagine living
without desperately.
Someone we can't imagine livingwithout.
And yet somehow it's the onething we are the least equipped
to handle for ourselves and foreach other.
We fumble, we avoid, we rush,we say the wrong thing or we say
nothing at all, because griefis uncomfortable, it's
(05:41):
inconvenient and it doesn't comewith a finish line.
I worked with a grief therapistwho shared something fundamental
with me.
She said, danielle, this ismore than grief.
Your whole world is beingrearranged.
Everyone, you know, is brokenup into three buckets the people
who disappear during this time,the people who show up a little
and try to be there for you butaren't entirely sure how.
(06:03):
And those who are your people.
The challenge is, everyone issomewhere new.
So many of the people youthought would show up.
They're gone Because they areuncomfortable.
Your grief is too big or toohard for them.
And those, the people who arethere for you, they're mainly
the ones who have experiencedthis pain and truly understand.
(06:26):
Years ago in my early momblogging days, a young mother in
our community lost her youngdaughter.
That little girl was the sameage as my daughter, delaney.
Our community called andmessaged and wore purple and
released balloons anything tolet the family know we were
there, that we remembered.
In the months following, thatmother wrote about her grief and
it has always struck with me.
(06:48):
She thanked everyone for thecalls and the messages and the
emails.
She said she couldn't respondto many of the messages, but
hearing them kept her afloat.
However, the loudest noise itwas all of the people who didn't
call because it was too hardfor them.
At that moment I vowed to be oneof the people who called.
I frequently let people knowthey don't have to call me back,
(07:10):
but I want them to know I'mthere for them, I'm thinking
about them.
They are loved and it ismessages just like these that
kept me here in the moments whenI wasn't sure I could go on.
It was the 2am Facebookmessages, the random texts, the
notes and the calls and thevoicemails.
It was the people who refusedto let me sit in the dark alone,
(07:33):
the ones who did not barge inturning every light within reach
, demanding I get up, get in theshower and feel better.
It was the ones who let me knowit was okay to take my time to
move when I could, to sit when Ineeded to cry, if I felt it
coming to sleep, if my bodycalled for it to talk to a
(07:55):
therapist, if I was able to letgrief visit, sit, stay, be and
move through me at a pace thatfelt right.
If we let it, grief can be agreat unifier, a doorway to
deeper presence, deeper empathyand deeper love.
It invites us to stop lookingaway, to show up not with
(08:18):
answers but with open arms, tostop trying to patch pain with
platitudes and instead just sitin it with someone.
Grief humbles us.
It reminds us how fragile weare and how sacred every single
connection can be.
It strips away small talk andpretense and offers something
(08:39):
deeper humanity in its rawestform and maybe, just maybe, if
we were taught how to hold grief, we'd be better at holding each
other, not to fix, not to rush,but simply to stay until breath
returns and color comes backand laughter feels possible
again.
Grief won't be solved, but itcan be softened by love, by
(09:05):
presence and by the sharedknowing that we will all walk
this road someday.
Here's the thing Despite theepic levels of pain I
experienced, I wouldn't changewhat happened, not because it
didn't break me it did butbecause it also built the
foundation for who I've become.
That loss, as brutal andunwelcome as it was, it placed
(09:28):
me on the path I walk now withmore clarity, more compassion,
more purpose.
Loving Marty taught me abouttruth, about presence, about how
sacred and fleeting life reallyis.
He taught me to see the deepestlayers of myself, the parts I
had ignored, the ones I hadnever touched.
He showed me what I deserved inlove and what I would never
(09:50):
again tolerate or allow in mylife.
We loved each other in a waythat was fierce and flawed and
redemptive.
Ours was a chapter filled withboth tenderness and turbulence,
and in loving him I came to knowmyself in a way that was fierce
and flawed and redemptive.
Ours was a chapter filled withboth tenderness and turbulence,
and in loving him I came to knowmyself in a new way.
But what I see clearly now,from where I stand today, is
that this loss was not just anending.
It was a beginning, becausethat love and the grief that
(10:12):
followed carved out a space inme I didn't know existed, space
I now fill with something evenmore beautiful, more pure and
more honest the kind of love Ihave today with my fiancé James.
It's rooted in everything I'vewalked through.
It's kind, grounding, generousand true.
I couldn't have received thislove if I hadn't survived the
(10:34):
one that came before.
So no, I wouldn't change whathappened because it led me here.
If you're grieving for someoneyou loved, for a life you lost,
for a version of you that nolonger exists, I want you to
know something You're not broken, you're human and you're not
alone.
Grief has no timetable.
(10:55):
It doesn't demand that you moveon.
It asks that you carry loveforward, that you speak their
name, that you remember, thatyou allow joy to return, even
when it feels disloyal.
There is no right way to grieve, only your way and my way.
It didn't feel brave or poetic.
It felt jagged and raw andvulnerable and impossible.
(11:19):
It felt like being ripped openin a world that just kept moving
.
I didn't feel equipped to talkabout grief, I didn't feel
equipped to live through it andI certainly didn't feel equipped
to launch a podcast called HopeComes to Visit, not when hope
had gone missing for the firsttime in my life.
But it's in that veryunraveling that something began
(11:40):
to mend, slowly, quietly, not ingrand revelations, but in the
smallest of mercies a text froma friend, a hand on my back,
someone who didn't ask me to beokay.
Grief cracked me open and inthat cracking, light filtered.
Light filtered in hope returned, not as a roar, but as a
(12:02):
whisper, a knowing, a flicker, areminder that maybe, just maybe
, this pain wasn't the end of mystory.
If you're there now in thatdark place, please know I see
you, I've been you and I'll holdspace for you as long as you
need.
I carry Marty's memory with deepreverence, but I no longer live
(12:25):
in daily grief.
My heart has made room forsomething new, for someone new,
for a love that is expansive andsafe and soul level.
True James, he is the lightthat waited for me on the other
side of loss, and every day Ichoose this our life, our love
and our future.
But before I could say yes tohim, to us, there was a time
(12:48):
when I wasn't sure I'd ever findmy way again.
I was fragile, untethered,questioning my place in the
world and for the first time inmy life I wondered if I was done
, if there was anything left inme.
Through that deep valley ofgrief, there were friends who
never left, who sat beside mewhen I was shattered, who didn't
(13:09):
know what to say but said itanyway, who worried quietly and
checked in anyway, who held thevision of this life, this love.
Even when I couldn't see it,they believed for me.
When I couldn't, they trustedthat something beautiful was
still ahead, and they let mewalk my own way through the pain
to find it.
(13:29):
To them and to anyone holdinghope on behalf of someone else,
thank you.
That kind of faith is sacred.
That kind of love saves lives.
And to anyone listening, thereis life after grief, not in
spite of it, but because of it.
You're not broken, you're humanand you are not alone.
(13:50):
There is power in beingwitnessed, in naming the hard
things, in knowing someone elsemade it through.
Thank you for listening to HopeComes to Visit.
I'm Danielle Elliott Smith.
I'm so grateful you're here.
Please keep going.
(14:11):
I'm incredibly grateful to thepeople who support and sponsor
the podcast.
Sometimes life takes a sharpturn and when it does, having
someone steady in your cornercan make all the difference.
Chris Dulley is a trusted StLouis attorney who personally
guides his clients throughcriminal defense cases with
clarity, compassion andexperience.
From traffic violations toserious charges, he shows up
(14:33):
fully and directly.
Call 314-384-4000 or314-DUI-HELP or you can visit
DulleyLawFirmcom for a freeconsultation.
Welcome to Hope Comes to Visit a place for soft
landings, soul, truth and theunedited middle.
I'm Danielle Elliott Smith andtoday's episode is an invitation
into one of the most tender,transformative chapters of my
life.
There are things I neverimagined saying I lost the man I
love.
He's not coming home.
I watched him slip away onebreath at a time, but I have
(00:29):
said them now.
I've lived them and thisepisode is my offering for
anyone who has walked throughloss or sat beside a hospital
bed praying for a miracle, orwoken up and realized your world
has shifted forever.
Let's take a quick moment tothank the people that support
and sponsor the podcast.
When life takes an unexpectedturn, you deserve someone who
(00:50):
will stand beside you.
St Louis attorney Chris Dulleyoffers experienced one-on-one
legal defense.
Call 314-384-4000 or314-DUI-HELP, or you can visit
DulleyLawFirmcom that'sD-U-L-L-E lawfirmcom for a free
consultation.
(01:11):
In August of 2023, the man Iloved, marty, died.
It was sudden, cruel,unfathomable.
I was in Greece on vacationwith my kids and my ex-husband
yes, my ex-husband.
He and I are very good friends.
In another episode, I promisewe will talk about successful
co-parenting, but Marty was athome.
An urgent call from his sonleft me stunned my dad's in the
(01:34):
hospital.
He's not okay.
I think he's had a heart attack.
There are no words for the hoursthat followed, the frantic
packing, the 26 hours of travel,the way my body shook from
adrenaline and panic and love.
I remember begging the skies tohold the planes to fly, the
hours to pass quickly.
(01:54):
I just needed to get to him andI did.
I walked into that hospitalroom in the middle of the night.
I touched his face.
I told him I loved him.
I made good on my promise.
I came home.
I stayed with him for the next17 days.
I cried, I held his hand.
I covered his room withphotographs begging the doctors
(02:17):
and nurses to see the man, thefather and son, the friend
beneath the ventilator and theIVs.
But the love and hope andwhispered prayers from all of us
couldn't change the fact thatthe damage to his brain was
irreversible.
I continued to believe in thepossibility of a miracle,
mentally preparing to help himheal, if only he was granted the
(02:40):
chance.
But sometimes belief isn'tenough to bend the laws of this
world and eventually I and hisfamily had to do the impossible.
We had to let him go.
At the time it was as though Ihad lost the ability to breathe.
Grief is not tidy, it's notpoetic, it does not come in
(03:05):
stages.
It is a thunderclap and awhisper, a wave and a void, a
scream in the night and silencethat lasts for days and weeks.
And the things people say, theymatter.
Some words land like a lifeline, others like a slap.
(03:26):
You're so strong, he's in abetter place.
Everything happens for a reason.
These phrases, thoughwell-meaning, can feel like
being kicked.
Because strength wasn't achoice, because there is no
better place than here, besidethe people we love, and because
sometimes there is no betterplace than here, beside the
people we love, and becausesometimes there is no reason,
(03:48):
only heartbreak.
What helps is presence, sayingI don't know what to say, but
I'm here, showing up withouttrying to fix it, asking how
someone is and meaning it,offering food, rides, silence, a
hand to hold.
Grief needs softness, notsolutions, witness not wisdom,
(04:14):
space not sermons.
If you don't know what to say,say that.
If you want to help, just stayclose.
People say you're so strong,but strength wasn't a choice, it
was survival.
I kept breathing, I kept showingup for my kids.
I kept putting one foot infront of the other, not because
(04:37):
I knew how, not because I wantedto, but because love of others
kept me upright.
There were days I couldn'tspeak, days I screamed into
pillows and made sounds I didn'trecognize, days I sat still for
hours, and others when it wassimply impossible to sit.
(04:58):
I've learned this kind of grief.
The grief that guts you is theonly universal experience we all
share.
Not everyone will have children, not everyone will get married,
not everyone will find theirdream job or live in their
favorite city, but every singleone of us is going to lose
(05:19):
someone we love desperately,someone we can't imagine living
without desperately.
Someone we can't imagine livingwithout.
And yet somehow it's the onething we are the least equipped
to handle for ourselves and foreach other.
We fumble, we avoid, we rush,we say the wrong thing or we say
nothing at all, because griefis uncomfortable, it's
(05:41):
inconvenient and it doesn't comewith a finish line.
I worked with a grief therapistwho shared something fundamental
with me.
She said, danielle, this ismore than grief.
Your whole world is beingrearranged.
Everyone, you know, is brokenup into three buckets the people
who disappear during this time,the people who show up a little
and try to be there for you butaren't entirely sure how.
(06:03):
And those who are your people.
The challenge is, everyone issomewhere new.
So many of the people youthought would show up.
They're gone Because they areuncomfortable.
Your grief is too big or toohard for them.
And those, the people who arethere for you, they're mainly
the ones who have experiencedthis pain and truly understand.
(06:26):
Years ago in my early momblogging days, a young mother in
our community lost her youngdaughter.
That little girl was the sameage as my daughter, delaney.
Our community called andmessaged and wore purple and
released balloons anything tolet the family know we were
there, that we remembered.
In the months following, thatmother wrote about her grief and
it has always struck with me.
(06:48):
She thanked everyone for thecalls and the messages and the
emails.
She said she couldn't respondto many of the messages, but
hearing them kept her afloat.
However, the loudest noise itwas all of the people who didn't
call because it was too hardfor them.
At that moment I vowed to be oneof the people who called.
I frequently let people knowthey don't have to call me back,
(07:10):
but I want them to know I'mthere for them, I'm thinking
about them.
They are loved and it ismessages just like these that
kept me here in the moments whenI wasn't sure I could go on.
It was the 2am Facebookmessages, the random texts, the
notes and the calls and thevoicemails.
It was the people who refusedto let me sit in the dark alone,
(07:33):
the ones who did not barge inturning every light within reach
, demanding I get up, get in theshower and feel better.
It was the ones who let me knowit was okay to take my time to
move when I could, to sit when Ineeded to cry, if I felt it
coming to sleep, if my bodycalled for it to talk to a
(07:55):
therapist, if I was able to letgrief visit, sit, stay, be and
move through me at a pace thatfelt right.
If we let it, grief can be agreat unifier, a doorway to
deeper presence, deeper empathyand deeper love.
It invites us to stop lookingaway, to show up not with
(08:18):
answers but with open arms, tostop trying to patch pain with
platitudes and instead just sitin it with someone.
Grief humbles us.
It reminds us how fragile weare and how sacred every single
connection can be.
It strips away small talk andpretense and offers something
(08:39):
deeper humanity in its rawestform and maybe, just maybe, if
we were taught how to hold grief, we'd be better at holding each
other, not to fix, not to rush,but simply to stay until breath
returns and color comes backand laughter feels possible
again.
Grief won't be solved, but itcan be softened by love, by
(09:05):
presence and by the sharedknowing that we will all walk
this road someday.
Here's the thing Despite theepic levels of pain I
experienced, I wouldn't changewhat happened, not because it
didn't break me it did butbecause it also built the
foundation for who I've become.
That loss, as brutal andunwelcome as it was, it placed
(09:28):
me on the path I walk now withmore clarity, more compassion,
more purpose.
Loving Marty taught me abouttruth, about presence, about how
sacred and fleeting life reallyis.
He taught me to see the deepestlayers of myself, the parts I
had ignored, the ones I hadnever touched.
He showed me what I deserved inlove and what I would never
(09:50):
again tolerate or allow in mylife.
We loved each other in a waythat was fierce and flawed and
redemptive.
Ours was a chapter filled withboth tenderness and turbulence,
and in loving him I came to knowmyself in a way that was fierce
and flawed and redemptive.
Ours was a chapter filled withboth tenderness and turbulence,
and in loving him I came to knowmyself in a new way.
But what I see clearly now,from where I stand today, is
that this loss was not just anending.
It was a beginning, becausethat love and the grief that
(10:12):
followed carved out a space inme I didn't know existed, space
I now fill with something evenmore beautiful, more pure and
more honest the kind of love Ihave today with my fiancé James.
It's rooted in everything I'vewalked through.
It's kind, grounding, generousand true.
I couldn't have received thislove if I hadn't survived the
(10:34):
one that came before.
So no, I wouldn't change whathappened because it led me here.
If you're grieving for someoneyou loved, for a life you lost,
for a version of you that nolonger exists, I want you to
know something You're not broken, you're human and you're not
alone.
Grief has no timetable.
(10:55):
It doesn't demand that you moveon.
It asks that you carry loveforward, that you speak their
name, that you remember, thatyou allow joy to return, even
when it feels disloyal.
There is no right way to grieve, only your way and my way.
It didn't feel brave or poetic.
It felt jagged and raw andvulnerable and impossible.
(11:19):
It felt like being ripped openin a world that just kept moving
.
I didn't feel equipped to talkabout grief, I didn't feel
equipped to live through it andI certainly didn't feel equipped
to launch a podcast called HopeComes to Visit, not when hope
had gone missing for the firsttime in my life.
But it's in that veryunraveling that something began
(11:40):
to mend, slowly, quietly, not ingrand revelations, but in the
smallest of mercies a text froma friend, a hand on my back,
someone who didn't ask me to beokay.
Grief cracked me open and inthat cracking, light filtered.
Light filtered in hope returned, not as a roar, but as a
(12:02):
whisper, a knowing, a flicker, areminder that maybe, just maybe
, this pain wasn't the end of mystory.
If you're there now in thatdark place, please know I see
you, I've been you and I'll holdspace for you as long as you
need.
I carry Marty's memory with deepreverence, but I no longer live
(12:25):
in daily grief.
My heart has made room forsomething new, for someone new,
for a love that is expansive andsafe and soul level.
True James, he is the lightthat waited for me on the other
side of loss, and every day Ichoose this our life, our love
and our future.
But before I could say yes tohim, to us, there was a time
(12:48):
when I wasn't sure I'd ever findmy way again.
I was fragile, untethered,questioning my place in the
world and for the first time inmy life I wondered if I was done
, if there was anything left inme.
Through that deep valley ofgrief, there were friends who
never left, who sat beside mewhen I was shattered, who didn't
(13:09):
know what to say but said itanyway, who worried quietly and
checked in anyway, who held thevision of this life, this love.
Even when I couldn't see it,they believed for me.
When I couldn't, they trustedthat something beautiful was
still ahead, and they let mewalk my own way through the pain
to find it.
(13:29):
To them and to anyone holdinghope on behalf of someone else,
thank you.
That kind of faith is sacred.
That kind of love saves lives.
And to anyone listening, thereis life after grief, not in
spite of it, but because of it.
You're not broken, you're humanand you are not alone.
(13:50):
There is power in beingwitnessed, in naming the hard
things, in knowing someone elsemade it through.
Thank you for listening to HopeComes to Visit.
I'm Danielle Elliott Smith.
I'm so grateful you're here.
Please keep going.
(14:11):
I'm incredibly grateful to thepeople who support and sponsor
the podcast.
Sometimes life takes a sharpturn and when it does, having
someone steady in your cornercan make all the difference.
Chris Dulley is a trusted StLouis attorney who personally
guides his clients throughcriminal defense cases with
clarity, compassion andexperience.
From traffic violations toserious charges, he shows up
(14:33):
fully and directly.
Call 314-384-4000 or314-DUI-HELP or you can visit
DulleyLawFirmcom for a freeconsultation.
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I’m Jay Shetty host of On Purpose the worlds #1 Mental Health podcast and I’m so grateful you found us. I started this podcast 5 years ago to invite you into conversations and workshops that are designed to help make you happier, healthier and more healed. I believe that when you (yes you) feel seen, heard and understood you’re able to deal with relationship struggles, work challenges and life’s ups and downs with more ease and grace. I interview experts, celebrities, thought leaders and athletes so that we can grow our mindset, build better habits and uncover a side of them we’ve never seen before. New episodes every Monday and Friday. Your support means the world to me and I don’t take it for granted — click the follow button and leave a review to help us spread the love with On Purpose. I can’t wait for you to listen to your first or 500th episode!
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com