What am I thinking about?

What am I focused on?

I ask these questions when I find myself in a dark place.

When I’m sad.

When I’m stuck in yesterday.

When the list of what I have lost seems way too long.

When my shattered dreams fill my head as the tears drip down my face.

David Glasser, my son, was a Phoenix Police Officer who was killed in the line duty almost 10 years ago.  Those of you who knew him realized he was unique – he had a high level of integrity and knowledge of what was right and wrong and he also loved people and loved to have fun.  His dad was one of his best friends. We lived 1 1/2 miles from Davey and his family the last 5 years of his life – we were very close.

Then, suddenly – without warning – Davey was gone.

For the last 10 years we have been discovering just how much of the light and joy in our lives went with him.

On Davey’s birthday 1 1/2 years after he was killed, a group of us visited his spot in the cemetery and released balloons into the sky.  Police Chaplain Bob Fesmire explained that this is a very old tradition reaching back to biblical times when incense was burned so it could combine with the prayers of God’s people as they floated up to heaven.

That’s when I realized God was speaking to me – telling me this was the direction I needed to focus on.

I needed to Look Up –

Look up to see the sun shining on all of my blessings that are still here.

Look up to remember that my prayers – our prayers – go to a God who loves us and who wants the best for us and who can do the impossible.

Looking up has been vitally important to me since Davey was killed. The title of the book I published on Amazon is “Then I Looked Up: Losing a Child, Finding His Legacy of Love”. It’s the story of Davey’s life, his death and my journey to find hope after losing a child. If you’d like to get a signed copy, please contact me.

As this first month of 2026 quickly comes to a close, I encourage all of us to “Look up” to God this year and let him fill our lives with joy, and hope and love.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

May 18, 2016.

David Glasser, my son, a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty on that day.

And everything in my world shook.

You cannot imagine what that feels like until it happens to you.  Because it wasn’t just my life – the tsunami of his death hit everyone who was close to Davey.

His children, my two little grandchildren’s world exploded.  My daughter-in-law’s world crashed.

My husband’s world shattered into tiny pieces.  Davey was his best friend and my husband’s father had just passed away 2 weeks before Davey was killed.  Too much.

My daughter’s world tilted sideways as all of her dreams and plans with her big brother crumbled.

Davey’s close friend’s and squad member’s worlds spiraled in various directions as each person felt the blow of Davey’s death.

The world shook.  It twisted.  It filled with unimaginable grief.  It emptied of joy and light.

I needed something solid to hold onto while everything around me smashed and rocked.  And I found the one thing that didn’t shatter, didn’t tilt, didn’t explode.  He was right beside me and he was Rock Solid – my Father God.  Always there, always loving us, always caring for us.

God has been with us every step of the way as we have each had to pick our way through the devastation Davey’s death had on our lives.  I am completely convinced that God is good and nothing that has happened to me changes that.

When my world stopped shaking, I realized it was in this new place, a new reality.  My head recognizes this place and knows I have to keep moving forward.  My heart is still regularly tugged back to a time when Davey was here, making me laugh and filling my life with his special kind of love…

before my whole world shook.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you.

Death.  Loss.  Serious illness.  Tragedy.

When it happens to someone we know, we often don’t know what to say.   We need to say something – it has to be acknowledged or it feels really wrong – the elephant in the room.

We should think about what we’re going to say ahead of time.

I know.  Many people have said weird or not-helpful things while trying to be nice to me since my son, David Glasser, who was a Phoenix Police Officer, was killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016.

When tragedy blew my life apart, many of the people I spoke to afterwards would say ‘So sorry for your loss.”  I used to think that this sounded unoriginal and trite but, after experiencing some of the other things people say, I realize it’s a good option.  When you say this, you are recognizing my loss and sharing an emotion.   I say it myself now.   Actually, I often just say “I’m so sorry” to someone who has just had a loss or tragedy.  They know what I’m referring to – it’s all they can think about.

It’s been over 9 years since Davey was killed and the things people say don’t hurt anymore. I just shake my head at the craziness. Recently, I was talking to a woman about Davey’s death and she said she understood. Her dog just died and it was horrible. Can you imagine my feeling of unbelief that she would compare my son’s death to her dog’s? I didn’t say anything. She just wouldn’t understand.

In the first year after Davey was killed people said some things that hurt. It felt like they were poking at my bruises. Saying these things to someone who recently experienced a tragic death can make a dark day worse:

“There’s always a reason.”  Really?   Am I supposed to be glad he’s gone because there’s a reason?  I should stop crying because it’s all working out great now?

“Time heals all wounds.” Really?  All of this pain and grief is going to go away?   It’s going to turn into a scar that doesn’t hurt anymore?  I  personally think ‘heal’ is the wrong word to use with loss and grief. It’s 9 years later and time has not healed all of my wounds. My heart is broken and I know it’s going to stay broken this side of heaven.

“He’s in a better place.”  My head knows that.  My heart has been shattered into a million pieces and it aches a little bit more when you remind me that he’s not here with us, with me.

What should we say?

“I’m sorry” works. And sharing a good memory of the person that passed or saying something positive about them can add a little ray of light to a dark day for the person you are talking to.

Here’s a great tip- those of us that are left behind love to hear the name of the one we lost. So say their name as often as you can.

Overall, the best advice I have read is in the Bible – Romans 12:15b –

“Weep with those who weep”.

Weep with us.

Weep with me.

Let your heart break for those who are heart-broken.

Hold tightly onto anyone is who is lost in pain and grief.

Give us grace when we are not gracious.

Forgive us when the anger boils over.

Be patient with us when our frustration shows.

Understand that it’s hard to focus sometimes when the emptiness is overwhelming.

Don’t ask us to let you know if there’s anything you can do – if there’s something you want to do, just do it.

Don’t tell us about a different tragedy – your’s or someone else’s.  We are struggling to deal with our own.

Don’t give us advice unless we ask for it.

You really don’t have to say much. Just love us unconditionally, no matter how we respond.

And weep with us.

Miss you, Davey.

Love you💙💙