By: Yhaimar Barile

I’m a nurse. I’m a writer. And I’m a mom who lost her son.

Last year, shortly before his eighteenth birthday, my son Gabriel died unexpectedly. Everything changed after that. Life split into a clear “before” and “after.” The world around me kept moving, but mine stopped. Nothing looked or felt the same—not my family, not my work, not even myself.

Grief changes everything.

Nothing prepares you for the kind of loss that tears through every part of your life, including your work. I believed, like many others, that after a few weeks of grieving, I could go back to nursing. I thought life would find a new rhythm, even without my child. What I didn’t expect was how grief and trauma would reshape how I could (or couldn’t) show up for myself and for my patients. I wasn’t a nurse grieving a loss; I was a mother reckoning with the trauma of losing her son.

It soon became clear that returning to bedside nursing was impossible for me in that season. That realization marked the beginning of a profound and seemingly permanent shift in my path and identity. Nursing was my calling, but now I am rethinking how I can care for others, contribute, and find purpose despite losing my son.

Grief reshapes you. I was still a nurse—but I was also a mother in mourning, learning to survive something that felt impossible. Healing started there. It didn’t come from answers or quick fixes but from learning to treat myself with kindness.

Healing is being gentle with where I am.

Healing starts with gentleness. It means meeting myself right where I am, day by day. Healing from trauma and grief means knowing what my mind, body, and spirit need. Some days, that means moving my body or nourishing myself as best I can. Other days, it means resting or letting creativity speak through writing or art.

Healing is work, but not the hustle kind. It’s being intentional in caring for myself, trying when I can, and not judging myself when I can’t. Honoring even the smallest act of self-compassion is essential. This is how I rebuild, one gentle step at a time. In these small steps, I find the quiet strength of hope.

Hope is the act of showing up.

Hope, for me, doesn’t arrive with fanfare. It’s often quiet—the choice to keep showing up for myself and my family, despite my imperfections. Right now, hope means reaching for a new purpose: health content writing, connecting with those who understand loss, or honoring Gabe’s memory in ways that feel true.

Most days, hope means allowing the possibility of meaning to return, even in small moments. It’s trusting that my life and work can grow and change, and that honoring my grief is compatible with helping others.

If you’re walking through the trauma of grief, please know healing may feel like work, because it is. But it’s work that starts with gentleness and self-compassion. Hope doesn’t have to be grand. Sometimes, it’s simply the act of showing up. That is enough. You are not alone.

About Yhaimar Barile:

I’m Yhaimar Barile (she/her), a nurse, writer, wife, and mother learning how to live after the loss of my son Gabriel, who died unexpectedly just before his eighteenth birthday.

Born in Venezuela and now living in Atlanta, I run Legacy Nurse Writer—a name that carries Gabe’s spirit and my hope to keep helping others in his memory. Grief changed everything, including how I care for others, how I work, and how I move through the world.

I’m raising my son David alongside three incredible stepboys. Most weekends, I’m at the soccer field, cheering on with quiet pride. Our Boston terrier, Luna, is always nearby, sensing when I need a nudge, or a reason to smile.

Lately, I’ve found comfort in glass fusing—turning broken pieces into something whole and beautiful. It’s become a kind of language for everything I can’t quite say.

What gets me through? Gentleness. Storytelling. Connection. I believe healing doesn’t mean moving on. It means carrying love with us and finding meaning in the process. Some days, just showing up is enough. And on the hardest days, I remind myself: even quiet hope counts.