The Alchemy of Grief

"I have been thinking about my life and it is not complete, but it is getting there. I thought about the things I have accomplished over the years; it has truly been a blessing. It just shows people when you put your mind to something you can make it happen. I still haven't accomplished everything, but I am working toward it and I believe if it is God's will, it will happen."

— Matt Garcia, August 2008

There are days when I feel strong—purposeful, grounded, even radiant.

As I write this, we are approaching Matt’s birthday, July 14th. He would be

turning 39. It’s hard to fathom that he’s been gone for

nearly 17 years. The last birthday we shared with Matt

before he was murdered was his 22nd. Edgar and Veronica

of Favela's Fusion graciously opened their restaurant to

host his party. Matt was so excited and happy that so

many people came to celebrate—not just his birthday,

but also the fact that he had been serving on the

Fairfield City Council for over seven months.

What we didn’t know then was that night, that

beautiful celebration, would be the last birthday

we would ever share with him. Just 49 days later, on

September 1st, Matt would be shot. And then

there are days when just getting out of bed feels like

a small act of courage.

I know I’m not the only one trying to make peace with the

unthinkable. So many of us are walking wounded—learning,

step by step, how to love life again after loss.

I see it every second Tuesday of the month, when the

chairs in our Homicide Survivors Support Group fill with

faces that carry unbearable stories. Some people speak.

Others sit in silence. But the energy in the room is always

the same: grief wrapped in love. Pain made softer by being

seen. We show up for each other because we understand

what it’s like to live in the aftermath. We are not just surviving—

we are learning to grow through the ache.

What’s been transforming for me is giving myself permission

to recalibrate, to let my light shine even in the shadows.

I used to feel guilty for smiling. For laughing. For feeling joy

again. But I’m learning that it’s not about waiting for the darkness

to pass—it’s about choosing to stand in it with grace and purpose.

And that purpose has become clearer to me over time.

I understand now that I’ve been called to something greater.

We all have. The difference lies in recognizing the

calling—and having the courage to step into it.

For me, that calling came wrapped in heartbreak.

My heart is still broken from the loss of my son, Matt.

That will never change. There isn’t a day that I don’t ache

for him. But there also isn’t a day I don’t feel him with me.

Matt taught me to live boldly, to speak truth, to serve.

I’ve discovered that I can help others and heal myself at

the same time. The two aren’t separate. They’re woven together.

And when I need to—I go to the closet, close the door,

and allow myself to cry, to grieve, to feel it all. That, too,

is part of the healing—and so is the love of my husband

Raymond and our daughters, Briana and TeaRae.

It is alchemy, turning pain into passion and purpose.

What I’ve come to know is that grief and growth are

not opposites—they are companions. And love—Matt’s love,

my family’s love, the love we share in that group and in this

life—is what binds it all together.

This is the alchemy of grief: we do not erase the pain,

but we allow it to transform us. We let it deepen our

compassion, awaken our purpose, and expand our capacity to love.

I used to think healing meant fixing the broken pieces.

Now I know it means learning how to live with

them—how to let light shine through the cracks.

And maybe, just maybe, healing means having the

strength to forgive… even when your heart still breaks.