Video Filmed on December 28, 2024

Posted on 11/05/2026 by admin

This video was filmed on December 28, 2024.

None of us knew then that the clock was ticking. It was taken about an hour outside Kuwait City when Greg and Suha went to a farm to look for houseplants.

Greg loved nature. He was always searching for beauty, even in the desert. It wasn’t always easy to find, but somehow those two knew how to bring nature to them. They filled their home and their lives with growing things, creating little pockets of life and beauty in a place where both could seem scarce.

I’ve been told it’s important to speak about grief and loss. Not because we want to remain there, but because grief is the price we pay for love. Sooner or later, every one of us will walk this road. None of us is exempt. Love guarantees it.

When I watch this video, I don’t just see plants or a farm. I see two people building a life together. I see joy. I see hope. I see ordinary moments that later become priceless memories.

At the time, it was simply another day, another adventure.

Looking back now, it reminds me how sacred the ordinary really is. Greg loved finding beauty wherever he went. Whether exploring ancient ruins, walking through nature, or searching for houseplants with Suha, he never stopped looking for the wonder God placed in this world.

Watching this video reminds me of that part of him. Most of all, it reminds me of God’s promise. Hold your loved ones close. Say the words. Take the trip. Share the hug. Make the memory. Tell people you love them. None of us knows how much time we have. This place is not permanent. We are travelers passing through. Scripture reminds us that “here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come.” Hebrews 13:14.

As we move forward, may we remember that while life here is temporary, love is not. The people we cherish leave fingerprints on our hearts that time cannot erase.

And for those who trust in God, death is not the end of the story. It is the doorway home. Until then, we carry them with us, and we keep moving forward, grateful for the time we were given and hopeful for the day we meet again.

THE QUIET PART

Posted on 11/04/2026 by admin

People may say, “Greg would want you to be happy.” And perhaps he would. I know he wouldn’t want my heart to hurt.

But Greg also knew the depth of a mother’s love. He would understand that you don’t simply switch off a lifetime of loving your child because life keeps moving forward.

I will find my way to happiness again. But I will do it in my own time, on my own terms, without apologizing for the days when I miss him more than words can explain.

Greg isn’t a chapter I need to close. He’s a part of me I will carry forward, always. This is my grief. This is my love. And this is my journey. I Wish Death Would Take a Vacation: This Side of Heaven by Joy M. Mills.

MJM ™

Greg’s Story is Still Being Written

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

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Greg’s Story is Still Being Written…Eleven Months

I have never said Greg was perfect. He was human, as we all are. But he was mine, and I loved him with the kind of love only a mother can understand; and the more I learn about the life he lived, the more I realize Greg’s story didn’t end when his life on this earth did.

People mattered to Greg. Not just the people closest to him, but people all over the world. He cared about the things many of us take for granted, including something as fundamental as clean water.

Today, because of Greg, families and children in a Central Asian country have access to clean water. The first well was completed in his memory, and I can hardly put into words what that means to me. Something Greg was passionate about has become something real. Children can drink clean water. Families have a little more security. And somewhere, in a place far away, a part of my son’s heart remains. And there is more.

A second well is now being built near a school at the foot of the Himalayas. Greg lived in Turkey for a time, and there a group of his friends came together to raise money for this well. He had planned to travel there himself, but his life ended before he could make that journey.

He never told me about those travel plans. He knew his mother would worry. I imagine he thought he would tell me all about it when he returned, sharing the stories and details of another adventure. That was Greg. He had a world beyond the one I could see, and sometimes I learned about his plans only after the opportunity to ask had passed.

I wish I could have heard him tell me about that journey. I wish I could have watched his face light up as he described the children, the people, the school, and the mountains rising around him. Oh, how he loved mountains.

Now, when I think of Greg at the foot of the Himalayas, my imagination carries me somewhere else. I picture him safe in Heaven, climbing mountains greater than any he could have reached here. I picture him free, beyond pain and earthly limitations, exploring a world more beautiful than we can comprehend. It is an image that comforts me, even as my heart aches for all the earthly adventures he never got to finish.

I am proud of my son. I know he would be proud to see what his friends have accomplished in his memory. I wish he could stand beside that first well and see the second one taking shape. I wish he could know how far his story has traveled and how many lives a passion he carried in his heart has touched.

But perhaps this is what it means for a life to keep unfolding after death. We discover things we never knew. We meet parts of someone’s story that were still waiting to be told. We find evidence of love in places we have never been and in the lives of people whose names we may never know.

Greg is no longer here to tell me his stories, so I am learning to gather them wherever they appear. Each new discovery gives me another piece of the man he was, another glimpse of the life he lived beyond his role as my son. I will always wish for more time. More conversations. More questions answered. More ordinary days that I once believed I would always have. No well, no achievement, no beautiful story can fill the space left by losing your child. But these wells matter. These children matter. These families matter. And Greg mattered.

He was not perfect. He was my son, with his own struggles, dreams, friendships, plans, and passions. He was a man who cared about people, and that care is still reaching into the world.

His life ended, but his story is still being written through the good he set in motion and the people who loved him enough to carry it forward.

And I, his mother, will keep telling it.

I will tell the stories I knew, and I will welcome the ones I am only now discovering. I will be proud of the good he did, grieve the time we lost, and love him through every chapter I have left to live.

I miss him more than words can ever explain. I miss the son I knew, the man he was becoming, and the future that should have been his.

And when I look toward those distant mountains, I will imagine my boy climbing higher than ever before.

Until I can hold him again, I will keep loving him here.

Because Greg was mine.

And he will always be mine to love.

MJM (TM)

The Green Umbrella

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

Greg Green Umbrella

Greg has been gone for almost 10 months.

I was always told there is a calm before the storm, and there was.

We had been in such a terrific place. None of us knew that summer would be the last summer of Greg’s short life.

Greg loved to travel. This video was taken on a trip he and his wife, Suha, took to Cambodia before he came home for a summer visit.

I can almost picture them there, the bright Cambodian sun, the heat of the day, ancient temples standing quietly around them, and the two of them taking it all in. They would climb into a rickshaw and leave the heat behind, heading into the forest where the air was cooler. The trees gave them shade, and they could breathe in that fresh air. They drank fresh coconut water to stay hydrated, finding little ways to enjoy and take care of themselves along the way.

That was Greg. He loved learning about the places he traveled to before he went, then experiencing them for himself. And Suha was right there beside him, sharing it all.

Those two made memories, big ones and little ones. Maybe that is what I love most when I look back. It wasn’t just the big adventures. It was the coconut water, the rickshaw rides, the shade of the trees, the temples, the laughter, and all those little moments that became part of their story.

And then there is that green umbrella.

I was with Greg when he purchased it. At the time, it was just an umbrella. Nothing special. Greg wasn’t wasteful; he always found a purpose for things. He bought it for the rain, but in Cambodia he found another use for it: to shield himself from that hot, relentless sun.

Now I watch this video and that green umbrella stops me in my tracks. What I would give to hear Greg tell me about Cambodia again. What I would give to see him walking around with that green umbrella, figuring out where his next adventure was taking him.

None of us knew we were watching the last summer of Greg’s short life. We didn’t know these ordinary moments would become priceless. We thought there would be more trips, more stories, more summers, more adventures.

Sometimes it’s the smallest things that bring someone back to you: a video, a familiar gesture, a green umbrella.

I love you, Greg.

And Suha, I love you too. You’re my girl.

The two of you made memories all over the world, big and small, and I am so grateful I get to see little pieces of them again.

MJM (TM)

The Journey Home

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

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The Journey Home – For Greg

This is a journey we all must take,

A road that calls each soul by name.

And though we walk beside each other for a while,

there comes a place where one must travel on alone.

Greg, you reached that place before me.

I stood on this side of heaven with a mother’s

heart still reaching, wanting one more conversation,

one more laugh, one more chance to say,

stay just a little longer.

But your road turned toward eternity,

and mine remained here.

You went where I could not follow – not yet.

And that may be the hardest truth of love:

that sometimes loving someone means

standing at the edge of the road and watching

them disappear beyond what our eyes can see.

But I do not believe you disappeared.

I believe you simply crossed into a country

I have not visited yet, where the horizon never

ends and every question finally has an answer.

You always loved the journey, Greg –

the mountains, the ancient places, the roads

that led somewhere new. Maybe heaven was the

one journey you never had to pack for.

So go ahead, my precious son. Walk those roads.

Climb those mountains. Stand beneath whatever

magnificent sky God has prepared for you.

And if a river is there, wait for me beside it.

Because this journey may be one we each must

ultimately take alone, but love does not end at

the crossing.

One day my road will meet yours again.

And when it does, I believe I will see you

waiting – that familiar smile, that beautiful

soul I would know anywhere.

Until then,

you walk your side of heaven, and I will walk mine.

And between us, love will keep building the bridge.

I love you fiercely, Greg.

I always have.

I always will.

MJM (TM)

Nine Months

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

Nine months without you, my precious son.

It’s strange to think that nine months was the exact amount of time it took to carry you, wait for you, and bring you into this world.

Now I have lived nine months without you, carrying a completely different kind of weight. I carried you beneath my heart for nine months, and I will carry you in my heart for the rest of my life.

I miss you more than words could ever say, Greg.

MJM (TM)

Eight Months

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

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Eight Months

It feels impossible that the calendar says eight months, because some days it still feels like yesterday. Other days it feels as though I’ve lived a lifetime without you.

The world kept turning after November 14, 2025, but mine never quite did.

I have learned that grief isn’t something you conquer. It becomes part of the landscape of your life. It sits beside me at the kitchen table, rides with me in the car, and slips into the empty spaces where your laughter used to live.

I miss the ordinary things the most. I miss hearing about your latest adventure. I miss your photographs from places I had only read about. I miss knowing you were somewhere beneath this same sky, loving history, chasing horizons, and finding beauty where most people would simply pass by.

There is an empty chair no one else can fill. You were my firstborn. My teacher. My encourager. My friend. No matter how old you became or how many miles separated us, you were always my little boy.

I still catch myself wanting to tell you something funny or ask your opinion. For just a fleeting moment, my heart forgets. Then reality returns, and I remember that heaven has you for now. But heaven doesn’t have my memories. It doesn’t have the little pieces of you that I carry every day. Your kindness. Your quiet strength. Your adventurous spirit. Your unwavering love for Suha. The way you loved so deeply and so completely. Those belong to us.

I have cried more tears than I knew a person could hold, yet somehow love keeps making room for more. That’s the strange miracle of a mother’s heart. Death may silence a voice, but it cannot silence love. I know this isn’t goodbye. It’s the longest “I’ll see you later” I’ve ever had to live.

So, until the Lord calls me home, I’ll keep looking toward the horizon, just as you taught me. I’ll keep telling your story. I’ll keep loving your beautiful Suha. I’ll keep living a life that would make you smile. And when my own journey is finished, I know you’ll be there. What a day that will be.

Until then…

I love you beyond words.

I miss you beyond measure.

And I carry you with me every single day.

I love you, Greggor.

Mom

MJM (TM)

Nepal

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

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This photograph was taken in Nepal, one of Greg’s favorite places on the planet.

There was something about this extraordinary country that settled deep within his soul. He loved its people – their kindness, humility, and quiet strength.

Greg was drawn to traditions that had endured for generations, to a way of life that honored both history and the present with grace. The breathtaking landscape left him speechless. The towering Himalayas seemed to reach into heaven, ancient temples whispered stories of centuries gone by, and every winding trail invited him to slow down and simply take it all in.

Nepal wasn’t just a place Greg visited; it became part of who he was. He found beauty in its simplicity, peace in its stillness, and joy in its endless wonder.

When I look at this photograph now, I don’t just see Nepal. I see Greg. I see the way he embraced the world with curiosity, gratitude, and a heart that was always searching for beauty.

He never rushed through the places he loved. He wanted to know the people, understand their traditions, and appreciate the stories that made each place unique. He traveled not simply to see the world, but to let the world change him.

The majesty of these mountains reminds me of the strength, gentleness, and wonder that lived within my son. Looking at this picture is both beautiful and heartbreaking because it reminds me of how fiercely he lived and how fiercely he is missed.

Not a day passes that I don’t wish he were still here to tell another story, plan another journey, or send another photograph from somewhere extraordinary.

This image is more than a memory of Nepal. It is a glimpse into Greg’s heart, a heart that found wonder in God’s creation, cherished people wherever he went, and lived with an openness that inspired everyone who knew him. Nepal was one of his favorite places on earth, and because he loved it so deeply, it will always hold a sacred place in mine.

I miss you beyond words, Greg. Thank you for showing me that the world is far more beautiful when we take the time to truly see it.

Until we meet again – every mountain, every horizon, and every breathtaking view will remind me of you.

MJM (TM)

How He Loved Me

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

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How He Loved Me

Greg gave the best hugs. When his arms wrapped around me, I always felt safe. His smile could light up the night sky.

We had been walking the River Walk together, talking and laughing as we always did. I didn’t realize our time was running out. None of us ever do.

I miss his stories. I miss his laugh. I miss the way he could make an ordinary day feel special. And now summer is coming, and for the first time, he won’t be coming home. God, I’m trying to understand.

He was every mother’s dream. Not because he was perfect, but because he was kind, loving, thoughtful, and fully present. We were both grown adults who understood how precious our relationship was. We appreciated what we had. How he loved me. And how I loved him.

Death may have changed many things, but it cannot change that. The love between a mother and her son does not end at a graveside. It does not disappear with a final breath. It lives on, carried in every memory, every tear, every smile, and every story.

How he loved me, and how I love him – that will never change.

MJM (TM)

Cedars of God

Posted on 10/24/2026 by admin

Greg’s Walk Video

Twenty-two days before Greg left this world, he was in Lebanon –

standing among the Cedars of God.

I’ll be honest, I was a bit alarmed when he told me he was headed there. That’s the mom in me. Always watching. Always wondering. Always wanting him safe.

But Greg…he had a rare soul. He loved history. Ancient places spoke to him in a way I could never fully understand…But I saw it in his eyes that day. The wonder. The reverence. The feeling that he was walking through something sacred and timeless.

He called it “the hike of a lifetime.” And for him, it truly was.

As his mom, it’s almost too much to hold…knowing now

that this would be one of his last great adventures.

There’s a moment I can’t shake. Someone is behind him,

filming…and Greg turns, just briefly, to look back at the camera.

And now, almost six months later, it feels like more than just a

glance. It feels like something deeper. Like a quiet, unspoken

goodbye…without ever knowing it.

Grief does this; it rewrites moments. It softens them and

shatters them all at once. But oh…how grateful I am that

he was there. In a place he loved. Doing something that

made him feel alive.

Twenty-two days later, my world changed forever. Six months

later… I’m still learning how to carry that.

I miss you, Greg. More than words will ever hold.

MJM (TM)