Our Love Shared

  • Home
  • Our Love Shared

Our Love Shared Voicing the unspoken emotions of many. Please, Follow, Like & Share—all intellectual property, copyright protected, L. Fuqua.

25/08/2026

During the first few years of grief, I often found myself sitting on the floor of my closet, clutching a pillow to my face to muffle my screams.

It became the one place where I didn't have to be strong. Behind that closed door, I could fall apart without anyone hearing the sound of my heart breaking.

I cried until there were no tears left. I screamed into that pillow because there were emotions too painful for words. And somehow, when I finally opened that closet door, I found enough strength to face the world again.

Grief taught me that sometimes surviving doesn't look like strength.

Sometimes, surviving is sitting on a closet floor, crying and screaming into a pillow—and eventually finding the courage to stand back up.
~becky fuqua-spuhl



Rebecca Fuqua

23/08/2026

🌹🌹🌹

Rebecca Fuqua

23/08/2026

SPEAK THEIR NAMES...
💜🩶💜

THE FIRST STEP IS TO BELIEVE IT CAN HAPPEN TO YOUR CHILD.

The second is understanding that life can bring regrets beyond anything a parent could ever imagine.

After losing a child to substance use, many parents learn more about the disease of addiction than they ever knew while their child was alive. And with that knowledge comes hindsight—the painful questions of what we should have known, what we could have done differently, and whether somehow we could have changed the outcome.

Grief has a cruel way of turning what we know now into grief-stricken perceived failures of what we did then.

That is one reason grieving parents speak out. We tell our children's stories, share what we have learned, and have conversations that are often incredibly difficult—not because we can change what happened to our children, but because perhaps what we know now can help another family before they are forced to know this kind of loss.

We cannot go back and give ourselves the knowledge we have today.

But we can give it to someone else.

Talk to your children. Talk to the people you love. Learn about substance use and the disease of addiction before you believe it could ever become part of your family's story.

Because sometimes the most meaningful thing we can do with our hindsight is turn it into someone else's foresight.

We speak their names. We share their stories. We speak out so another family may never have to.
~becky fuqua-spuhl

I See You!!!
Jena's Mom 💋💋💋




Rebecca Fuqua

19/08/2026

The travesty of addiction is that it can take a human life long before the heart stops beating.

It steals dreams, fractures families, and convinces people that someone struggling is somehow less worthy of compassion.

And when another heart finally stops because of addiction, the devastation doesn’t stop with that one life. It ripples through every person who loved them.

Addiction may break hearts, but it should never be allowed to harden ours.
~becky fuqua-spuhl

Rebecca Fuqua

18/08/2026

Joining a circle nobody ever wants to be part of is a journey no mother expects. To all the grieving moms out there holding space for love and loss, you are never alone.

Rebecca Fuqua

18/08/2026

Grief is unreasonable.

It does not care how much time has passed, how strong you have become, or how many good days you have managed to string together.

It does not follow rules, respect schedules, or arrive only when it makes sense.

Grief can find you in the middle of an ordinary day—a familiar song, a photograph, a scent, a memory—and suddenly the distance between yesterday and today disappears.

That is why trying to reason with grief can become exhausting.

We tell ourselves, I should be doing better by now. We wonder why something that happened years ago can still hurt as though it happened yesterday. We try to convince our hearts of what our minds already know.

But grief was never meant to be reasonable because a calendar doesn't measure love.

Healing does not mean grief disappears. It means that, little by little, we learn that we do not have to surrender every day to it.

There will come a time when grief knocks on the door, and you realize you don't have to invite it in and give it the entire day.

You can acknowledge it.

You can feel it.

You can carry the love behind it.

And then you can choose to keep living.

Someday, perhaps without even realizing how far you have come, you will feel grief beginning to pull you back into that familiar darkness—and something inside you will finally be stronger than the pull.

And you will say:

"Not Today."

Not because you have stopped grieving.
Not because you have stopped missing them.
And certainly not because you have stopped loving them.
But because you have learned that loving someone who died does not require you to stop living.

Grief is unreasonable, so stop attempting to reason with it because there will come a day when you will be strong enough to tell it, "Not Today."
~becky fuqua-spuhl



Rebecca Fuqua

16/08/2026

Everything in life has its trails.

Some are beautiful—paths filled with love, laughter, memories, and moments we wish could last forever. Others challenge us, change us, and teach us things we never expected to learn.

And then there are trails no one would ever willingly choose to walk.

Losing a child is one of them.

If you knew me before my child died, I can say without a doubt—you don't truly know the person I am now. In many ways, I don't know her either.

Grief forced me onto a trail I never wanted to walk, without a map, without directions, and without any idea where it would lead. Along the way, I picked up the shattered pieces of myself and put them back together the best way I knew how.

But broken pieces don't always fit back together the way they once did.

Some have been picked at, reopened, and broken again. Eventually, you realize there isn't enough glue in the world to continually rebuild the person you used to be.

So you change.

You become more protective of your heart. You build walls where there once were open doors.

You become careful about who you allow close enough to touch the pieces you've fought so hard to hold together.

What remains of my heart is not cold—it is simply guarded. It still loves deeply, perhaps even more deeply than before, but that love is reserved for those who understand how precious and fragile it has become.

I have experienced enough pain and heartbreak in this lifetime to fill a million others.

This is one of life's trails no parent ever wants to experience. Yet somehow, we walk it—not because we chose the path, but because love gives us no other choice.

And every step we take carries the memory of the child who made our hearts whole before we ever knew they could break.
~becky fuqua-spuhl



Rebecca Fuqua

12/08/2026

In the first years of grief, I often think of climbing a mountain.

The higher you climb, the harder the wind seems to blow.

At first, simply getting out of bed can feel like a climb. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, songs, photographs, and unexpected memories become sudden gusts of wind that can knock you down without warning.

And just when you think you're getting stronger, grief can convince you otherwise. You climb a little higher, begin to find your footing, and suddenly the wind blows harder. You wonder how you can possibly keep going when every step forward seems to reveal another layer of the loss.

But somewhere along the way, something begins to change.

The mountain doesn't necessarily become smaller, and we never stop carrying the love and loss that brought us here.

We become stronger climbers.

We learn where to place our feet. We learn when to rest. We learn that being knocked down doesn't mean we've gone backward. And eventually, we discover that even the strongest winds cannot erase how far we've already climbed.

There will still be storms. There will always be days when grief finds the most tender places in our hearts. But there will also be days when the wind becomes a gentle breeze, and we suddenly realize we're breathing a little easier.

One day, we may even look back down that mountain and wonder how we survived those first impossible years.

But we did.

Not because we stopped missing them.

Not because we learned how to live without loving them.

But because, somehow, little by little, we learned how to carry their love with us instead of carrying only the pain of losing them.

So, to the grieving parent standing at the bottom of that mountain—or somewhere along its steepest climb—please hold on to hope.

You can deeply miss the life you had and still find beauty in the life that remains. Finding moments of happiness again does not mean you love or miss them any less. It simply means you are learning how to live while carrying them with you.

So keep climbing.

Rest when you need to. Hold tightly to the love that still connects you. And when the wind blows hardest, remember how far you've already come.

Perhaps the most beautiful part of this mountain is knowing that we aren't climbing away from those we love.

We are simply climbing through this life, one difficult step and one beautiful moment at a time, until the day our journey here is complete.

And somewhere beyond what our eyes can see, someone we love is waiting. ❤️
~becky fuqua-spuhl

Rebecca Fuqua

12/08/2026

I'll see you when I get there, Jena Marie 🐦

Rebecca Fuqua


05/08/2026

One of the greatest privileges of my life is standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the strongest people I will ever know—those who have transformed their deepest pain into a purpose that saves lives.

Our children's lives continue to teach us. They teach us to love more deeply, listen more openly, and speak more courageously. Their stories remind us that compassion—not judgment—is what truly saves lives.

A life well lived leaves behind lessons worth sharing and a trail of love that never fades. Sometimes that trail leads a grieving parent to become a voice for those who are still fighting, to prevent our pain from being experienced by others, ensuring that the immeasurable love we hold for our beloved children—not the stigma of addiction—becomes the legacy that changes lives.

May we always be remembered not by the tragedy we endured, but by the compassion we inspired, the lives we touched, and the love we left behind.
~ Becky Fuqua-Spuhl



Rebecca Fuqua

Address


Website

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Our Love Shared posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Shortcuts

  • Want your business to be the top-listed Media Company?

Share