Grief changes the way you see the world.
It can make ordinary moments feel heavier. It can make celebrations feel incomplete. It can leave you wishing for one more conversation, one more hug, or one more chance to say what you did not know would be the last goodbye.
After losing my dad, Glen, in 2019, grief became part of my life in a way I never could have fully understood before.
There was no simple way through it.
There was only learning how to carry it.
Over time, I began to realize that grief and purpose can exist together. The pain does not disappear, but it can become part of something meaningful.
That realization became one of the foundations of the Glen Adnam Cancer Comfort Basket Foundation.
Grief Does Not Follow a Straight Line
There is no perfect timeline for grief.
Some days feel manageable. Other days, a memory can bring everything back at once.
Grief can appear during birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, family milestones, or quiet moments when you least expect it. It can return when your children do something you wish your loved one could see. It can show up when you reach a goal and immediately think of the person you wish you could call.
For me, grief has often lived beside joy.
In the same year that I lost my dad, I became a mother for the first time.
I was learning how to welcome a new life while grieving someone whose life had ended.
That experience changed me.
It taught me that the heart can hold more than one feeling at once.
You can be grateful and heartbroken.
You can be proud and still feel the absence.
You can build a beautiful life while deeply missing someone who should have been part of it.
The Desire to Do Something Meaningful
After losing someone, there can be a strong desire to keep their memory alive.
You do not want their life to be reduced to the fact that they are gone.
You want their name to continue being spoken.
You want their values, their love, and the way they made people feel to remain part of the world.
For me, that desire became action.
I wanted to create something in my dad’s name that could offer support to others facing cancer.
I knew I could not change what happened to our family.
I could not rewrite his diagnosis, his treatments, or the loss we experienced.
But I could choose what I did with the love and grief that remained.
I could use it to make someone else feel less alone.
Where Purpose Began
The comfort basket project began with a simple idea: gather thoughtful items that could bring some comfort to people facing cancer.
A basket cannot take away a diagnosis.
It cannot remove fear, pain, or uncertainty.
But it can create a moment of care.
It can remind someone that their community is thinking about them.
It can offer warmth during treatment, something practical for a long appointment, or a small message of hope on a difficult day.
That may seem simple, but simple acts of kindness often matter more than we realize.
The first comfort basket event showed me what was possible when people came together with a shared purpose.
It showed me that grief did not have to remain something I carried alone.
It could become the reason I reached out to others.
Purpose Does Not Erase Pain
Turning grief into purpose does not mean the grief is gone.
It does not mean every difficult feeling has been resolved.
It does not mean I no longer wish my dad were here.
Purpose is not a replacement for the person we lost.
Instead, it becomes a way of carrying their memory forward.
The foundation gives my grief somewhere meaningful to go.
Every basket packed is a reminder of why this work began.
Every patient supported is connected to my dad’s story.
Every caregiver remembered, family comforted, or healthcare worker appreciated becomes part of a legacy created from love.
There are still days when the grief feels heavy.
But now, alongside that grief, there is also direction.
Building Something That Lasts
The Glen Adnam Cancer Comfort Basket Foundation is being created with a long-term vision.
I want it to support adult cancer patients, children, caregivers, grieving families, and healthcare teams.
I want it to bring together local businesses, volunteers, donors, artists, photographers, writers, and community organizations.
I want it to grow throughout Southeast Saskatchewan and eventually reach more communities across the province.
I also hope to establish an annual Glen Adnam Day as a way to bring people together through remembrance, kindness, and cancer support.
These are big goals.
They will take time, planning, partnerships, and many helping hands.
But meaningful work often begins with a personal story and one decision to begin.
The Strength Found in Community
One of the greatest lessons I have learned through grief is that people need people.
Cancer can feel isolating.
Grief can feel isolating.
Caregiving can feel isolating.
Even when others care, it can be difficult to know what to say or how to help.
The foundation creates practical ways for people to show up.
Someone can donate an item.
A business can sponsor a basket.
A volunteer can help pack donations.
A photographer can document an event.
A writer can help tell a story.
A community group can organize a fundraiser.
A person can simply share the foundation’s message so it reaches someone who needs it.
Not every act has to be large to matter.
Purpose is often built through many small contributions made by people who care.
Giving Grief a Place to Grow
I once thought grief was only about what had been taken away.
Now I understand that grief is also evidence of how deeply someone was loved.
That love does not end when a person dies.
It changes.
It becomes memory.
It becomes the lessons they left behind.
It becomes the way we raise our children, care for others, and choose to live.
Sometimes, it becomes a mission.
The Glen Adnam Cancer Comfort Basket Foundation is one of the ways my love for my dad continues to grow.
It gives his name a place in the future.
It allows his story to become part of someone else’s moment of comfort.
It reminds me that even after tremendous loss, something meaningful can still be built.
From Pain to Compassion
I would never say that everything happens for a reason.
Some losses are simply devastating.
Some experiences leave questions that may never have answers.
But I do believe we can choose what we create from what we have lived through.
I choose compassion.
I choose community.
I choose to remember my dad by helping others.
I choose to build something that reflects the love he gave our family.
This foundation was born from grief, but it is being built with hope.
It is proof that pain and purpose can exist together.
It is proof that love can continue long after someone is gone.
And it is my way of carrying my dad’s legacy forward, one act of comfort at a time.
