Today we are honored to be joined on the blog by Kevin Crowe. Kevin is the founder of Give A Mile, an amazing charity that works to ensure that the cost of a plane ticket is never the reason that someone dies alone. We invite you to hear from Kevin's personal experience in grief, and join us in supporting the essential work at Give A Mile.

I founded a charity that provides flights for people to be with a loved one in their final moments. We’ve now provided over 1,400 of those flights. But this work didn’t start as a charity. It started with loss. With my own grief.

And over the years, talking to families, listening to final conversations, watching reunions that happen just in time… I’ve witnessed grief in its rawest form. Not polished. Not poetic. Just real.

Grief is something all of us will carry at some point. And strangely… the more we love, the more connected we are, the more grief we will eventually face. That’s the quiet cost of a full life.

People ask me this all the time.

“What do you say?”

The truth is, it’s not about what you say. It’s your presence. The most powerful thing you can offer someone at those moments is your presence. To sit. To listen. To not try to fix anything. Just to be there.

There’s a piece of writing by Deirdre Sullivan called “Always Go to the Funeral.”

Her father taught her something simple but profound: Always go. Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s convenient. Because it matters. It’s never about having the perfect words. It’s about showing up.

Sullivan shares a story of going to her fifth-grade teacher’s funeral as a teenager. She didn’t know what to say. She barely got out an awkward, “I’m sorry.” Twenty years later, the teacher’s mother still remembered her.

Not because of what she said, but because she came. That’s what presence does.

Sometimes it’s not a grand gesture. Sometimes it’s holding a door. Sending a message. Sitting beside someone in silence. And they carry that with them longer than you’ll ever know.

Grief Comes in Waves

There’s a piece of writing I often return to called Grief Comes in Waves.

Because that’s exactly what it feels like. At first, the waves are relentless. They crash into you without warning, one after another, leaving no time to catch your breath.

A smell. A song. A place. A date on the calendar. And suddenly, you’re right back in it.

Over time, the waves may soften. They may come a little farther apart. But they don’t disappear. And that’s not a failure of healing. That’s a reflection of love.

Remember, You’re Not the Only One Feeling This.

There’s a Buddhist story about a grieving mother who lost her child. In her desperation, she went to the Buddha and asked him to bring her child back. He told her: “Bring me a mustard seed from a household that has never known death.”

So, she went door to door. And at every home, she heard the same thing: “We’ve lost someone too.” A parent. A sibling. A partner. A friend.

By the time she returned, something had shifted. Not because her grief disappeared but because she realized she wasn’t alone in it.

Grief isn’t something to solve.

It’s something we learn to carry. And in that process, it quietly teaches us things we never asked to learn:

• How deeply we are capable of loving.
• How fragile and fleeting life really is.
• How much the small moments actually matter

I’ve seen people try to outrun grief. I’ve seen people try to bury it. But the people who find some sense of peace… Are the ones who allow themselves to feel it, without rushing the process.

There’s no clean ending to grief. No moment where you wake up and it’s “over.” But there is a shift.

Where instead of fighting the waves, you begin to recognize them.

• “This is a wave.”
• “It will pass.”
• “I can stay afloat.”

And sometimes in the middle of that wave you might feel something unexpected. Gratitude. For having loved someone enough that their absence still echoes.

The people we lose don’t disappear from our lives. They change form.

They show up in:

• the way you laugh
• the values you carry
• the memories that surface when you least expect it

Grief doesn’t mean something is broken. It means something mattered.

If you’re in the middle of it right now The waves. The heaviness. The moments that hit out of nowhere.

Just know this:  You're not doing grief wrong. You're human. And you're not alone.

One of those waves recently carried Jason across the country.

From Boston, MA to San Francisco, CA

Jason is the kind of person who quietly carries the weight of the world for others. A hardworking father from Maine, he works two jobs while raising his two young daughters. But when he learned his own father was nearing the end of his battle with blood cancer in California hospice care, nothing mattered more than being there.

Not for a perfect conversation. Not for closure wrapped neatly in words. Just to be present. To sit beside the man who taught him to dream under the Pacific sky. To hold his hand. To remember.

Their relationship was built in moments: Walking California beaches together. Laughing beneath the towering redwoods. Watching the Pier 49 seals bark and tumble into the water.

And in the middle of grief, those memories become anchors.

Thanks to donated miles through our charity, Give A Mile, and the generosity of people who believe no one should say goodbye alone, Jason was able to make that final journey from Boston to San Fransico to have a final goodbye with his dad.

Because sometimes the greatest gift we can give someone is simply showing up.

laurelbox has taken on being a Give A Mile Flight Hero helping turn donated miles into final reunions, last hugs, and moments that matter most.

Through this program, you have the opportunity to donate unused Air Miles to Give A Mile to support their mission of ensuring that the cost of a plane ticket is never a reason someone dies alone. Every mile donated to laurelbox's Flight Hero campaign helps someone like Jason get to a loved one in their final days.

If this story moved you, please consider supporting laurelbox’s Flight Hero page and helping another family reach the people they love when it matters most.