'Holding space' means leaving your agendas behind and genuinely listening and trusting that the griever has the resources within themselves to find their way, even when they feel empty and lost. When I meet someone for the first time, I silently offer this prayer: 

 

“Allow me to hold this person, so they can find what they need inside to heal.”

 

I remember walking into Ben and Alyssa Genshaft’s home for the first time after their 17-month-old son, Max, died unexpectedly in his sleep. Driving to their home in Snowmass Village, I said a simple prayer: “Please help me to be there for them in the way they need.” Supporting someone through profound loss requires humility and a complete emptying of oneself. Ben and Alyssa’s world had shattered, and what they needed wasn’t words or platitudes — they needed me to sit with them, honor their pain, and allow them to fall apart.

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Over the months, their grief evolved, and so did my role in their grief journey. As the shock wore off, the full weight of their reality set in. They questioned every detail of Max’s last days while anger and vulnerability surfaced (emotions I welcome in grief work because they signify movement through pain). When these raw emotions rise to the top, I always want to understand what they mean and what they are trying to communicate. For the Genshafts, their anger and pain were screaming, “This is wrong! It is unfair. Our son deserved to live. Why him? Why us? What did we do to deserve this?”

 

In my opinion, this marked the beginning of their healing. Turning toward our pain, acknowledging it, and saying it out loud opens the door to the impossible task of building a life without the one we love.

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Sometimes, Alyssa would vent, and I would simply hold space — listening deeply, holding her, or letting her release what she needed. These conversations inspired me to create tools for grief. One of them, the memory tree exercise, invites people to imagine a tree and carve their loved one’s name into its trunk, along with a word or phrase that best describes them. The tree’s roots represent what they will miss most about their loved one, while the branches reflect the gifts their loved one gave them and how they showed up in their life. This exercise emphasizes the idea that those left behind are the keepers of the memory. Their role is to keep their loved one’s essence alive. They do this by honoring the pain of loss, allowing it to move through them, and carrying their loved one’s gifts into the world. For instance, if a loved one was known for their laughter, the griever can choose to bring more laughter into their own life. Or, if a loved one embodied freedom, the griever can find and embrace that same freedom. When Alyssa and I did this exercise together, I witnessed a noticeable shift in her. 

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Ben and Alyssa honor Max in countless ways, leaving a lasting mark on the community in his name. Alyssa works tirelessly for Pathfinders and the Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood Foundation (SUDC), and together, she and Ben give back to the community by mentoring other parents who have lost a child. By showing up for others in the most difficult times, they continue to honor Max’s vibrant spirit, ensuring his memory lives on in the love and support they extend to others.   

 

Max was a loving, energetic boy who lived life big. Ben and Alyssa have processed their grief, honored their loss, and found ways to move forward by living big for him. It hasn’t been easy or perfect, but he lives on through them because they are the keepers of the memory.

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Allison Daily is the Executive Director and Head Grief Counselor of Pathfinders.