Lessons About Grief and Moving Forward
What Cambodia Taught Me About Living After Trauma
In February 2020, we had planned a trip to Cambodia and Vietnam, but the world changed almost overnight, and COVID-19 forced us to cancel and rebook a last-minute Caribbean cruise. February 28, 2020, is the day we lost Kevin. The idea of returning to a journey that had once been planned in that season stirred something in me. It wasn’t just about travel. It was about stepping back into a space connected to loss, memory, and everything that followed. I struggled with the decision to go. It came with hesitation, with quiet questions, and with many prayers. In the end, I chose to trust God—to trust Him with our safety, with our hearts, and with whatever this journey might bring. And now, as I reflect on this trip, I realize it became more than a visit to another country.
When I arrived in Cambodia, I was unprepared for the profound impact its history would have on me. Visiting places like the Choeung Ek Genocidal Center felt less like a simple act of learning and more like stepping into a space of shared sorrow. The silence there is heavy, settling into your being, lingering long after you leave. It's a place where the past feels achingly close, where the reality of the Khmer Rouge regime isn’t just written in books but is etched into the very ground beneath your feet.
As I walked through the memorial, I found myself moving slowly, trying to absorb the weight of what I was witnessing—not only with my mind but also with my heart. The stories of loss, of families shattered and lives abruptly taken, are almost too immense to grasp fully. Yet, amidst that heartache, I felt a quiet connection. Although my experiences are different, I recognized the shared depth of grief. Having watched "The Killing Fields" the night before added to the sense of profound pain and empathy I felt for the families who suffered. It served as a poignant reminder that while our individual stories may vary, the burden of loss is a universal experience that we all come to understand in our own unique ways.
And yet, just beyond that stillness, life was unfolding in a beautifully different way. While I was there, Cambodia was celebrating its New Year—the Sangran Festival—infusing the air with a sense of joy and renewal. The contrast was striking. Where silence had reigned, now music, laughter, excitement, and movement burst forth, filling the streets with vibrant energy. Families gathered, children played, and water splashed freely as part of this joyous occasion. As we wandered through, we found ourselves drawn into the celebration, unexpectedly soaked and sharing smiles with strangers, feeling a sense of connection in that moment.
There was a lightness in the air, particularly among the younger generation. Their carefree joy felt almost surreal, especially in contrast to the heavy emotions I had just experienced. Yet, it was genuine, a testament to the resilience of life. This joy existed alongside the stories of loss, the quiet memories carried within the community, and the strength that allows them to continue moving forward, even here. That poignant contrast stayed with me, reminding me of the complexity of human experience and the ability to celebrate and mourn simultaneously.
Our tour guide shared pieces of his story. He also carried a weight that was impossible to ignore. He has family members who lived through the aftermath of the Khmer Rouge regime, and like so many others, his family had experienced profound loss. There was no anger in the way he spoke, no bitterness in his tone, but only a calm honesty and the desire to live with more meaning. He told us that his family had made a choice. Not because the pain was small, but the burden of hatred can be overwhelming, especially when combined with the weight of grief. It’s understandable to want to choose peace and forgiveness instead. “We will never forget,” he said, “but we choose not to live in hate.” Those words resonated deeply within me; they were not an expression of weakness but a testament to strength, one that acknowledges the past without allowing it to dictate our future.
His message lingered in my mind, prompting me to reflect on my own grief and what it truly means to move forward. Losing Kevin altered everything for me. There isn’t a single day that goes by without feeling the quiet ache of his absence. I understand all too well what it means to carry pain that seems never-ending, to present a steady exterior while feeling shattered inside. Yet, amidst that pain, I also recognize the incredible courage it takes to keep going and to choose, in small and sometimes fragile ways, to stay present, to love, and to engage with life, even when it feels burdensome.
Listening to our guide, I realized that healing does not mean forgetting or diminishing our losses. It’s about how we choose to carry those memories and experiences. There is profound strength in opting not to be consumed by our hurt, in creating space for grief and gentler emotions to coexist. I am still navigating what that looks like in my life, learning how to embrace both sorrow and grace in the same breath.
My experiences in Cambodia, from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh, are etched in my heart, each moment imbued with meaning. I witnessed a place where joy and pain intertwine, where history is held with reverence rather than forgotten. The celebration of the Cambodian New Year brought this duality into sharp focus. The music, the dancing, the laughter, the gentle smearing of face powder, and the playful splashing of water fostered an atmosphere of connection and lightness. It was a celebration bursting with life, yet beneath it all, I felt the weight of what had come before—the stories, the losses, the trauma still lingering in the air.
What I witnessed was a generation that chooses to rise above its past rather than allow it to define them. They learn from their experiences and carry those lessons forward while embracing the beautiful complexity of life. There’s an unspoken understanding among them that life is fleeting, and perhaps that’s why they approach it with such care, presence, and deep gratitude. My time in Cambodia left a profound impact on me; I still hold my grief close, but I’m slowly learning to navigate it with more grace and openness. As I completed my journey, I took away valuable lessons that enriched my perspective, and I feel truly blessed to have had the chance to experience a country that has endured so much yet continues to thrive.
If you are carrying grief of your own, I see you. I carry mine too, as Kevin is always with me in ways both quiet and profound. Moving forward doesn’t mean leaving our loved ones behind. It means learning, slowly and imperfectly, how to live with their absence while still allowing love to remain. If this spoke to you, I hope it reminds you that you are not alone.
Chano, my friend, this is such a beautiful reflection. So much sorrow and grace. I see you and feel for you. Send you a hug and much love. ❤️🙏
Embracing both sorrow and grace. Yes. This.