It was about a year after Charles died, and I was walking in my neighborhood after a rainstorm when I saw a little boy plop down on his stomach in a puddle in his underwear with his raincoat and galoshes.

He splashed and kicked like he was having the best time of his life while his mom watched and his baby brother slept in a sling. I stopped and watched, smiling with tears in my eyes, and I took this photo.

I savored those rare moments of joy when every day hurt so much still.

I tucked that moment away in my memory bank to retrieve later, when I needed a reason to smile.

Some people think happiness is a destination—as though one day you arrive and stay rooted in joy. But happiness is more often built from small moments we notice, enjoy, and savor. It’s the idea behind “stop and smell the roses.”

Savoring had always been something I did occasionally, but after I lost my son, Charles, it became more intentional and eventually more automatic. Getting through the day and doing ordinary life was still hard. I had to find moments of joy wherever I could.

But first, I had to allow myself to see them.

Never again would I take those moments for granted.

What is savoring?

It can mean different things to different people. But to me, savoring after devastating loss is the intentional practice of allowing yourself to fully experience moments of comfort, beauty, connection, or joy without guilt.

It is not about moving on or diminishing the love you have for your child or loved one. Rather, it is a skill that allows sorrow and joy to coexist safely in the same space.

Without guilt.

That part was especially hard for me because my son had to be in immense pain when he took his life. Feeling happiness afterward felt disloyal at times.

I had to give myself permission to savor these moments.

There’s a moment with my book club friends on the deck where everyone is chattering and laughing. It’s a beautiful day and we’re having dinner together. I go quiet and take it all in.

The voices mingle. I close my eyes and file the moment away while I thought:

I feel happy right now.

I don’t have expectations for tomorrow or next week. I’m just present, enjoying where I am and who I’m with.

Savoring isn’t always about extraordinary experiences

More often, it’s the puddle after the rain. The conversation on the deck. The moment you stop long enough to notice that, despite everything, you are here and something good is happening.

Profound loss did not make me happier.

But it did deepen my capacity to savor.

And once I learned to recognize those moments, I stopped assuming they would always be there.

I started collecting them instead.

AnneMoss Rogers

AnneMoss Rogers is a leading wellness and suicide education expert and one of the top mental health speakers and suicide prevention speakers. Known for her powerful, motivational keynotes, AnneMoss combines her personal story of loss with proven strategies to help organizations build a wellness culture that drives results and saves lives.  She speaks at conferences, workplaces, K-12 schools, and universities, delivering impactful presentations that inspire change and promote mental health awareness.
AnneMoss does this work in memory of her son, Charles, who struggled with anxiety, depression, and addiction, and died by suicide at age 20 in 2015.