I assumed the day my dad died would be the worst of my life. But when, three months later, my beloved brother also died, I felt beyond repair. In the beginning, I didn’t even realize one of the hardest truths: sorrow doesn’t go away. It becomes something you carry. It took me years to work up the courage to name concepts like grief, or even mental health.

It felt strange to think one person could carry so much—and stranger still to realize that everyone walks around with their own invisible struggles. Their complicated histories with health, life, and loss were like little ghosts I sensed but couldn’t touch. 

When I started WRP, I wanted to speak directly to those ghosts. What began as a personal project grew into conversations around health, aging, and eventually death. Again and again, people told me they were searching for tools to navigate life—through the good times and the hard ones. It became clear that there was a real need to meet people where they are and speak directly to the topics that feel hardest to name.  It’s an odd feeling when grief leads to something positive. But I’ve seen firsthand how powerful those conversations can be.

What if we could see the stories we most need on the page of a simple magazine in spaces that otherwise feel intimidating or frightening? Maybe death can hold opportunities for growth. Maybe tending to mental health can be approachable—even enjoyable.

Maybe if we knew more about the joys of aging, we’d be more inclined to live life to its fullest. WRP began, as so many organizations do, from the need to turn something tremendously difficult into hope. Into a need to live.

And that’s what we hold onto today: life is not always easy, but we can live—and with support, we can live well. 

-Laura Jaye Cramer