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Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom


As a pediatrician, married mom of three biological children and one foster son, my life was busy, rushing off to my office four days a week, seeing patients for three and working as a medical director of a local physician organization for one. I balanced this with rushing off to shuttle my kids to after sports and other after school activities. All of this changed one day in August of 2018 when my 14 year old son, Andy, was killed in a car accident. I felt like my life was over, and in some ways it was over, and a new life was forced to begin in its place. 

Grief is seldom discussed openly in our culture, and the death of a child makes people feel even more uncomfortable. On this blog and podcast, ‘Losing a Child: Always Andy’s Mom’, the topic is approached openly and honestly, speaking to people who have lost loved ones and experts who help care for them. Whether you are a parent experiencing loss or someone who wants to support another going through this tragedy, this blog and podcast strives to offer hope and help.

May 14, 2026

Say my child's name.

It sounds like such a simple thing. And yet for so many grieving parents, it is the thing people around them are least willing to do. They look at you with that familiar expression, the one you can see right through, and they stay quiet, thinking their silence is a kindness.

Cindy knows that look well. And it is exactly where everything began.

Abbie was Cindy's youngest, born in November of 1993, the kind of little girl who arrived like a force of nature. Full of energy, full of heart, always wanting to give of herself to everyone around her. She had ADD, a heart of gold, and a cosmetology license she worked hard to earn. She was also someone who carried a great deal quietly, and when her best friend died by suicide in junior high, something in Abbie shifted in ways that would take years to fully understand.

Abbie's road was not a straight one. There were struggles with addiction, a stint in rehab, and a season of sobriety so joyful that Cindy wrote to the judge and district attorney just to tell them she had her daughter back. That season was real. It was precious. And then Abbie relapsed, and on the night it happened, the heroin her friend had purchased was one hundred percent fentanyl.

Abbie was gone. And Lily, her little girl, was there when Cindy found them.

In the years since, Cindy turned her grief into something. It started with wristbands and a name she registered: Say My Child's Name. It grew into a child loss grief group, and then into a vision for something much bigger.

A remembrance memorial. A beautiful park-like space in Stowe, Ohio at Adele Durbin Park, with wind chimes and benches and dedications and a nook full of mental health resources for grieving families. Not a cemetery. A destination. A place where anyone who has lost a child can come and simply be.

Seven area mayors are on board. A grandmother donated $20,000. The community has raised $45,000 toward a $200,000 goal. And it is only just beginning.

Cindy will tell you she is doing baby steps. But from where I am sitting, what she is doing looks a whole lot like something sacred.

To donate or learn more, reach Cindy at saymychildsnameAbbie@gmail.com, or give directly at smfcommunity.org/mychild.