First, Brush Your Teeth

A close-up of a tattoo of the words: "I love you mom. Chandler."

Coming…

February 17, 2022

My latest work, First, Brush Your Teeth: Grief and Hope in Real Time, is so named because in the days immediately following my son Chandler’s death, I reasoned that if I could just pull myself out of bed and get to the sink to brush my teeth, I would probably comb my hair as well and maybe get dressed. Then I might go downstairs and eat something before I sat on the couch to figure out how to go about my day knowing Chandler would not walk through the front door again.

This book is for anyone who has experienced loss.

You can pre-order the Kindle edition now. The pre-order for print will be available soon!

First, Brush Your Teeth is a safe haven where a grieving person can come each day to be reminded that he or she is not alone on this journey and that there is hope and joy to be found even in the midst of profound pain.

Preface

On December 15, 2018, my youngest son, Chandler, was hit by a car while riding his bike to work. He sustained multiple broken bones, a severed thoracic spine, and severe traumatic brain injury. . . .

After 18 days that seemed like several lifetimes, on January 1, 2019, Chandler took his last breath. He was 25 years old.

When you lose someone you love, it’s like you’ve been thrown overboard into a tumultuous storm. You wave your arms thinking someone will pluck you out and whisk you to safety. But you soon realize it’s just you. It is personal. Specific. You have to figure out how to weather this thing. There is a safe shore somewhere, but you can’t see it.

The only way to get to the other side, if there is such a thing, is to go through. There’s no shortcut or detour. It’s just…through. This book is my “going through” process. It is my day-to-day journey of figuring out how to go about my days, knowing that my son Chandler is not here any more. It is my journey of finding a new normal.

In the days following Chandler’s death, every movement was a monumental task. So the first step in my journey each day was simple — first, brush your teeth.

After Chandler passed away, I learned that he wanted to be a writer. I knew I had to keep writing. I decided I would write every single day for the first year. This was my process for healing, for honoring Chandler’s life and his dream, and for coming alongside so many other grieving individuals as a trusted companion on their own journeys.

The essays you are about to read have not been edited or revised since they were originally written. To change their content would be to alter the real-time chronology of my grief process. Your grief process will be your own. I do not offer these essays as a “how to” formula for finding your new normal, whatever that means for you. I offer them because, for me, hearing from others what their grief looked like one week, one month, six months, or a year later gave me hope. That is my desire for you — that even as you resonate with the acute pain of fresh loss in the beginning of First, Brush Your Teeth, you will see glimmers of hope. And that if you choose to skip forward halfway, or all the way to the end, to read one of the daily writings, you will glean more hope — that perhaps a day will come when the exquisite pain of your loss will not define every minute of every day.

I consider it a privilege to come alongside you on your journey.

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What Readers Say About First, Brush Your Teeth

“This speaks to me so much. Thank you for always sharing.”

“Wisdom that is hard-won and priceless.”

“You were created for writing.”

“Keep writing. It’s inspiring to all of us even if we have not been in your position.”

“I love your steps you take every day as you let it all in and let US all in as well. It’s very beautiful and brave, Lisa, just like you.”

“Your words are always so inspiring.”

“Wow, I’m in awe…this touched me deeply, and the way that you write, Lisa, is…there are no words to describe how beautiful your writing is and the way you describe things and make your writing come to life.”

“Lisa, your voice and writings bring light to grief and will be soothing to many hurting parents.”

“Lisa, thanks for your incredible honest vulnerability. You remind me of the importance of embracing the life and lives we’ve been given.”

“I have loved your writing since the snotty noses book. Vulnerable, authentic, and encouraging.”

“…Your words are healing to all of us who ride the gondola.”

“Thanks for the depth of your writing, the soul stirring comments and memories, and for your wit and humor!”

“I look forward to reading your posts every day! Something new and fresh sticks in my mind each time.”

“Your writing helps me be a better person.”

“Thank you for sharing honestly. Grief, the whole business of death, is very hard. It is a breath of fresh air to read your blog.”