Years ago, Luna signed a letter to her son Hunter with words that stopped me in my tracks. The letter appears in her book, Look Mom, I Can Fly:
Love,
Your devastated, aching, flailing, vulnerable, wrecked,
and resilient Mama.
There may be no truer description of motherhood after loss.
Luna first joined Always Andy’s Mom in the earliest weeks of her grief, after Hunter died suddenly while he was sleeping. Even then, she carried an extraordinary clarity about grief—an ability to name what hurt without trying to fix it, to stay present without rushing herself forward.
Five years later, Luna returns for a new conversation, one shaped by time, lived experience, and the quiet work grief continues to do. This episode is not about closure or answers. It is about learning how to live inside the contradictions grief creates—how we can be devastated and resilient, wrecked and still breathing, aching and somehow growing.
We talk about how trauma settles into the body and how healing asks us to listen differently—to our limits, our needs, and our grief itself. Luna shares how she has learned to honor her emotions as they come, without judgment, and how moments of peace sometimes arrive in unexpected ways. Feathers. Hummingbirds. Small signs that do not erase the loss, but gently remind us that love remains present.
This conversation is also about what grief leaves behind—and what it slowly shapes. The ways it changes us. The ways it deepens compassion. The ways it invites us to live more honestly, even when that honesty is hard.
Luna closes the episode by reading her poem “Signs,” written from Hunter’s perspective. It is tender and powerful, and it holds the kind of love that does not end.
Grief does not ask us to become less.
It asks us to become more—more open, more vulnerable, more real.
Some things remain.
Some things grow.
Both can be true.
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