The One Time Getting Ghosted Actually Led to Something Good: How Grief Led Me to Build Community & A Podcast

From the moment my dad died, I’ve said one thing over and over: “I never want anyone to feel the way I did.”

It’s the sentence that has shaped my entire life. When my dad, Jay, died of cancer, I was nine years old. At that age, grief isn’t something you understand. I felt lost, confused, and completely alone. None of my friends knew what to say. None of them got it.

For years, I carried that loneliness. Then, I found Experience Camps, a nonprofit that gives grieving kids a place to laugh, play, and heal alongside others who understand. For the past nine years, I’ve volunteered there every summer. It’s one of the greatest honors of my life. I get to help shape young minds and create the space I wish I’d had when I was their age.

At camp, I see what tragedy looks like beyond grief. Food insecurity, abuse, neglect, systemic inequities. These kids aren’t just mourning someone; they’re navigating hardships no child should have to face. And yet, they show up with open hearts, resilience, and joy. It reminds me that grief doesn’t exist in a vacuum. And the power of community, of being seen and supported, is often what helps people heal the most.

That’s where I first understood the healing power of connection. Talking about grief, crying, laughing, and remembering turn something isolating into something comforting. 

It’s been 18 years since my dad died, and I've now had Experience Camps in my life for half that time. I’ve had this place as long as I knew him. That symmetry feels significant. Like his way of continuing to raise me through the people I’ve met and the experiences I’ve had.

This year, that full-circle feeling grew even stronger. My brother is expecting the first grandchild in our family. At camp, one of our traditions is letter writing. Most people write to the person they’ve lost, but this year, my brother did something different. He wrote a letter from our dad’s perspective to his future grandson. It started with two words that broke me open in the best way:
“Dear Grandson.”

I wanted to turn it into something lasting, something my nephew could hold in his hands one day. So I decided to surprise my brother by turning the letter into a children’s book.

I took his words, added rhyme, worked with an illustrator, and brought the story to life. It became a book about Grandpa Jay, about love that outlives loss. Creating it was healing in a way I didn’t expect. I realized how many others might want to do the same, to honor someone they’ve lost, to share their story, and to keep their person’s memory alive in a tangible way.

So I started sharing the project on TikTok. I posted a poem about grief, and it kind of blew up. The comments were flooded with stories, names, and moments. People were grieving parents, partners, friends, kids, and pets. In the middle of the internet’s chaos, I was reminded how beautiful it can be when people show up honestly.

Strangers connecting over something heavy but universal. People listening, relating, healing each other.

And that’s when the idea for Ghosted was born.

I wanted to take that same feeling, the comfort of connection, the release that comes from saying someone’s name out loud, and build a space around it. 

Ghosted is a new podcast where I interview people about those they’ve lost. It’s a place to destigmatize grief and talk about it together. The goal is to make grief human. 

The name “Ghosted” came from the idea that grief is everywhere. It’s sad, yes, but also funny, complicated, and even joyful sometimes. Grief shows up in random songs, inside jokes, and all the ways people stay with us long after they’re gone. By calling the podcast Ghosted, I wanted to flip the script, to take a word that usually means rejection or silence and reclaim it.

Because when someone dies, it kind of feels like you’ve been ghosted. No text. No closure. Just silence. And that silence can be haunting.

Ghosted is my way of giving that silence a voice and giving people the space to make some noise together.

My entire life has been about giving back and finding purpose in loss. For a long time, grief defined me. It shaped how I saw myself, how I connected with others, and what I believed I deserved.

But somewhere along the way, that shifted. I realized that the life I’ve built, the friends I’ve made, the communities I’ve found, and the purpose I’ve discovered are all the things my dad would have wanted for me. It’s almost like this is his way of raising me. Every person I’ve met through camp, every story shared through Ghosted, they’re all little gifts from him.

My dad’s death didn’t just take something away; it gave me direction. It made me more empathetic, more curious, and more connected to the world around me. It turned me into someone who believes deeply in the power of talking about hard things and the power of connection.

Grief will never stop being painful, but it doesn’t have to be lonely.

If Ghosted can help even one person feel a little less alone, if one listener hears a story that makes them feel seen, or one guest walks away feeling lighter, then it’s all worth it.

Eighteen years later, I still talk to my dad all the time. But now, I get to talk about him with others who know the language of loss. And more importantly, I get to learn about their people. 

Together, we’re turning silence into sound. Because silence is haunting. And together, we’re going to make some noise.

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