My name is Christine. I recently lost my dad to Parkinson's and 20 years prior I lost my mom to colon cancer.

My wife passed away December 8, 2021 from Medesthetic Press Cancer. Just a month shy of our 18th anniversary together.

My name is Holly. I lost my partner Liam. I lost 20 years this April.

I just want to share her with the world. I'm really struggling now. So having this message and being able to leave something right now feels really helpful.

My dad died when I was 11. My brother Randy when I was 23. My husband Steven was murdered in the 9-11 attack.

I lost my 18 year old daughter. I expected Liam a car accident. It was so vibrant, beautiful, and full of life.

My name is PJ. Two years and three months ago I lost my husband of 35 years.

My last my brother Bernie in 1984. I lost both my parents within six months of each other.

I lost my son Kyle. He was 18 years old. I lost my daughter at 27.

My husband died by suicide and January of 2000. My pain of pH of 67. His name was Victor.

My love one. It's my mom. My heart is Kaplan. My brother's name was Wayne Dodge. His name was Oliver Patrick.

My name was Fralcon. My name was Paul.

In the last lines of a book about his own death, Harold Broadkey wrote,

I'm standing on an unmoored raft, a pond moving on the flexing flowing face of a river. It is precarious, the unknowing, the taught balance, the joltz, and the instability spread and widening ripples through all my thoughts.

Peace? There was never any in the world. But in the pliable water under the sky unmoored, I'm traveling now and hearing myself laugh at first with nerves and then with genuine amazement.

It is all around me. This is all there is.

There's no guest with me here this episode, our final episode, at least for this season. You, in a sense, are my guests today.

Wherever you may be in the world or in grief, whether it's on that precarious unmoored raft moving on the flexing flowing face of a river

or in your home drinking coffee or out for a walk. This past week I've been listening to you. I've been traveling in airports and cars and a hotel room and Los Angeles, back in my home in New York and between my other jobs and being with my kids.

I've been listening to your grief and to the names of your loved ones and to what you've learned and to how you've survived.

I asked for you to leave voicemails with something that you'd learned about loss and you did that. I've heard hundreds of your voicemails and I've heard the pain and I've heard your grief.

But what I heard over and over wasn't just about loss. It was about love. That is what so many of you spoke about. All of you spoke of love.

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