What leads someone to live perpetually in the world of grief as a grief coach? When grief enters our lives, most of us want to escape it as quickly as possible. Yet, I, Candice, have chosen a path where grief, sorrow, pain, and turmoil surround me every day.
One of the most common questions I receive is: What made you go into this field of work?
Honestly, when I hear this question, my body reacts before my mind can. I freeze. My words vanish. My heart races. My mind scrambles for an answer that is honest, but not so raw that it pushes people away—until now.
The truth I often share is that I experienced a significant loss and realized how essential it is to have someone by your side while grieving. That is accurate. But it’s not the whole story. And frankly, it’s not solely my story, which is why I have kept parts of it so close. However, through my own grief journey, I have come to understand that it is still my story to tell. It shaped me. It shaped my life. And I believe that speaking our stories brings healing and freedom.
The Event That Changed Everything
In 2019, my best friend, Tyler, shot and killed his pregnant wife, Veronica, before turning the gun on himself.
There is no delicate way to say that—just the cold, harsh truth.
I remember that day vividly. My husband and I had just finished a trail run when my phone returned to service. Suddenly, I was bombarded with missed calls and messages. One was from a mutual friend of Tyler’s, urging me to call him immediately.
I answered. And in that moment, my entire world collapsed.
Decades of friendship flashed through my mind—exploring NYC together as teenagers, helping him through breakups, him crashing on my couch, watching him evolve into a husband and father. But now, all of those memories were tainted.
What Grief Did to Me
I hate him for what he did—to Veronica, their unborn baby, their children, her family, his family, and to me. I cannot forgive him for that. But when I examine my feelings, I realize I still love the version of him I once knew. The 15-year-old Tyler who roamed New York with me, the Tyler who taught me about IRC, the man whose wife nominated him for Father of the Year—and won.
But the reality is, he will forever be defined by his final, horrific act.
After the tragedy, I spiraled into grief. Even with my husband, Mike, and my friends supporting me, I felt consumed by loss. The truth is, I still struggle. Grief never disappears—we grow around it.
We learn to walk beside it.
I am not a religious person, but after losing Tyler and Veronica in such a brutal way, I began to wrestle with the concept of forgiveness. Can something like this ever be forgiven? If not, what are the consequences beyond death? Does hell exist, and if so, is that where he is?
Grief is not logical. It is emotional.
And the truth is, I miss him. Some may judge me for that. But he was my friend, and I miss who he was—not the man he became in his final moments. For five years, I have kept this story close to my heart to protect those affected by this tragedy—Veronica’s family, their children, people I once knew and still love.
Yet, grief has taught me something profound: shame thrives in silence.
The Power of Connection in Grief
Grief isolates us. It tells us we are alone, undeserving of happiness, and better off withdrawing from the world. But that is a lie.
The way to reclaim life after loss is through connection, community, and support. I wouldn’t be where I am today without my support network. That’s why I do what I do.
As a grief coach, I help people process their loss, reconnect with themselves, and move forward—not by forgetting, but by learning to coexist with grief.
How This Loss Led to a New Life
You already know this event forever changed me. But it also redirected my life’s purpose. I became a grief coach because I lived through unimaginable grief and found a way to survive.
This experience made me more guarded—I don’t let people in as easily because I understand how painful it is to lose them. But it also made me more intentional. I tell people I love them more often. I show appreciation. I live with more presence and gratitude.
I wish I had done that more with Tyler and Veronica.
That is the story of how I became a grief coach. It is messy, complex, and painful. But it is my truth, and I believe that all of our stories hold power.
Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the families and children involved.
