The Power of Tribe

When you’re raising a child with developmental disabilities, especially while navigating your own grief, your tribe matters more than ever. It’s not just about friendship. It’s survival.

I didn’t know what I needed until I was in it. Until I was sitting in the doorway of Dance Xplosion, right before Tessa’s class, trying to hold it together. (Okay, I wasn't holding it together. I sat there and watched Tessa dance with tears streaming down my face. I couldn't breathe.) Jason had just been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer, and they were admitting him to the hospital. My daughter was across the room dancing, completely unaware of the weight that had just landed on my chest. I was frozen, going through the motions, but inside, I was breaking.

One of my friends at the time, Tisha, was sitting next to me. She looked at me and said, “What do you need? Who’s your support?” I gave her the names: Deepa and Donella. That was the start of something sacred. Between the three of them, they took over. They made sure Tessa was safe, loved, and supported, so I could go be a wife to my dying husband. I don’t know what I would’ve done without them.

Those women were everything in that moment. They knew Tessa. They knew her food quirks, her triggers, her routines. They were the reason I could leave and trust she’d be okay. I didn’t have a big family stepping in. I had them. My tribe.

Jason passed away in June 2020, during the height of COVID. In the days leading up to it, I had to send Tessa away so I could focus on being present with him. He was at home, under hospice care. Keeping her there watching her daddy leave this Earth would have triggered an explosive meltdown. And that would’ve broken her… and me. Letting her go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I knew she was safe, surrounded by the women who knew her inside and out.

When he passed, I didn’t fall apart all at once. I thought I could keep going. I thought that if I just poured myself into helping others, it might help me heal. But instead, I ended up lining myself up with people who weren’t truly for us. People who used our pain, who smiled in our faces and then chipped away at our spirit behind closed doors. And that’s what finally broke me. I didn’t see it then, but I was stacking grief on top of grief, until my body and my soul couldn’t carry anymore.

But that’s also when the real tribe emerged.

Some were new. Some had been waiting quietly for me to see them. And slowly, they helped me start again. Not with grand gestures but with the small, solid kind of love. I remember standing outside on moving day, tears rolling down my face, thinking, 'How the hell am I going to get through this?' I felt completely alone. And then the next thing I knew, the cavalry showed up. They brought boxes and trucks, packed up my entire life, and unpacked it again at the new house. They didn’t just move my things... they carried my broken pieces too, and stayed long enough to make that house feel like home. They didn’t need recognition. They just showed up.

And here’s the thing that still stings: even those women who saved me in that first season? They’re no longer part of my life. Isn’t that wild?

It doesn’t mean they didn’t matter. They did. They saved us. But not everyone is meant to stay. Some people are only built for a chapter not the whole story. That’s hard to accept, especially when their presence held so much weight. But I’ve learned that letting go doesn’t erase the love they gave when we needed it most.

There’s a pain in realizing that even your rescuers can leave. That sometimes, you’re just… too much for people. Too emotional. Too intense. Too blunt. Too real.

But the ones who are still here? The ones who never made me feel like I had to apologize for the way I show up in this world? They’re my true tribe. They’re the reason we’re still standing.

That’s what Part 3 of this grief series is about. The power of the tribe.

The ones who show up. The ones who stay. The ones who love your child like their own, even when it’s messy. Even when it’s heavy. Even when it’s hard.

Because when the bottom falls out, that’s when you find out who’s truly yours.