Opening Chapter Sneak Peek of Katie Jo's Upcoming Book 2025

Chapter One Sneak Peak by Katie Jo:

This was the moment everything shattered, and the moment I began the lifelong path of truth—of learning who I really am and daring to live it.

 

So much of the way I live now traces back to the day my son died—and the world that ended with him.

When the ER doctor opened the door and told our waiting family my child was gone, something in the universe tore wide open. Everything that once felt steady, good, and solid split apart in an instant. Every part of me—every thread that had been lovingly woven into the identity of “Katie Jo”—was shredded. The warm tapestry of self-awareness I had built over a lifetime ignited in the wildfire of that pain, reduced to ash and silence.

I remember seeing her from above—this woman below me, screaming like an animal. Her wail ripped through dimensions, echoing across all that is, as though her voice alone might lasso her child’s soul and call him back. That woman was me.

The grief had pushed me out of my own body. It took a moment to realize the scene I watched unfold from above was mine.

“She’s making a ruckus,” I said quietly to the Being of white light standing beside me.
“She can,” the Being replied. “Her baby just died.”

In the room below, my mother-in-law wept. “No,” she cried. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Yes,” the Being said simply. “This was the plan.”

And just like that, I was pulled back into my physical body—into Katie again. The pain slammed into me like waves of molten stone. I could hardly breathe beneath its weight.

March 28th. The day everything changed. The day the world shattered, and the day I began the long, painful process of putting myself back together.

Every broken shard of who I thought I was had to be found and pieced back. Some were too sharp to hold. Some turned to dust. The mirror will never reflect the same image again—but it is still a mirror. It is still me.

This week, as I packed boxes to move, I found old photo albums—pictures from the before. Jonah as a baby in a carrier. His chubby legs in the summer grass. I sat down and wept.

Later, I realized I couldn’t remember what I’d packed. The fog had come in again. The autopilot that helps me function when the edges of grief get too sharp to touch. I retreat into a deeper place, where everything is muted, safer, less raw.

People tell me I’m grounded. They call me brave—for speaking, for starting over, for loving again, for leaving what no longer fit. But the truth is: I’m more afraid than most. I’ve seen the monster. I know what’s behind the door. And I know it can open at any moment.

Death changed everything. But it also became the beginning of something sacred.

The moment the world I knew was destroyed was also the moment I began the journey of living my truth. Of seeking what is real. Of asking what’s left from the refiner’s fire when everything else is burned away.

This is the path I walk. One foot in the mystery, one hand on my heart.
Learning. Remembering.
Choosing—again and again—to live.

………………………..

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