by David Fireman, LCSW
What a joy it was to come together and celebrate 40 incredible years of our counseling center’s service, heart, and impact. Thank you to each and every one of you who joined us and made the celebration so meaningful—whether you came for the heartfelt speeches, the delicious food, the silent auction, the music and dancing, or simply the chance to reconnect and reminisce. Your presence—your energy, generosity, and warmth—reflected exactly what has sustained our center for four decades: a caring community that shows up, supports one another, and believes in the healing power of connection.
It’s worth noting that we met our fundraising goal of $5000.00!
If you wish to add to our scholarship fund please consider a donation. Here is the link to our donation page.
Here is an excerpt from my speech that night:
One of our past fundraisers was a community event called “walking through grief together.” A group of 80 plus people came out on a sunny day to walk along the lakefront in honor of their lost loved ones. The day included the walk, conversation, and an art project painting river stones and casting them into Lake Michigan to symbolize the deceased and the holding on and letting go that grief is. The $ we raised from that event created our scholarship fund, which is used to either pay for or discount our therapy services for clients dealing with financial hardship. We’re here tonight to celebrate our 40 years of service and to raise more $ for our scholarship fund.
Now, as I reflect on forty years of helping people navigate some of life’s most unthinkable and impossible moments, I also have to acknowledge the context we find ourselves in today.
We’re living in a time of rapid change and increasing precariousness. Political divisions are growing sharper. Our institutions feel more fragile than ever. Our world feels sadder and more hostile. We’re witnessing collective grief on a scale we haven’t fully begun to process—from a global pandemic, to increasing social injustices, to the spiraling anxiety about our planet and our future.
There’s a weariness in the air. A kind of grief fog everywhere. And in our therapy rooms, we’re seeing how this larger climate of fear and loss intersects with personal grief in traumatic and complicated ways.
In our culture, we often speak of “moving on” as though grief is a task to be completed, a chapter to be closed. But anyone who has truly grieved knows this is a myth. Grief is not linear, nor is it tidy. It loops and folds back on itself. It upsurges in unexpected moments—a song, a scent, an anniversary. Grief resists closure because love resists closure. And so, recovery after loss is not about returning to what was, but about slowly finding a way to carry what is.
Over the years, we’ve seen how grief evolves. We’ve seen new kinds of loss—complex losses, collective grief, disenfranchised grief. We’ve held space for the trauma of school shootings, pandemic deaths, self-inflicted deaths, and the quiet ache of ambiguous loss—like the grief of a loved one who has dementia or an addiction. We’ve had to evolve, too. Our language, our models, our outreach.
We’ve helped both individuals and communities carry loss forward.
We’ve seen this in the parent who starts a foundation after the loss of a child. In the sibling who becomes an advocate. In the client who tells us, “I never thought I’d laugh again—but here I am, laughing.” In the school faculty that helps its student body cope with a shooting.
Looking ahead, I hope this center continues to evolve—not by chasing trends, but by staying deeply grounded in what we know: that healing happens through relationship. Through trust. Through a willingness to sit with what is hard, and human, and unresolved.
I imagine a future where this center expands its reach into new communities and new conversations. I imagine us continuing to train the next generation of counselors and clinicians—people who will carry forward this deeply relational work with integrity and heart.
And I imagine us always being a place where grief is allowed to be what it is: a part of life, not something to be rushed or silenced, but something that—when given space—can guide us toward deeper understanding and deeper care.
So tonight, we don’t just honor what we’ve built. We recommit to it.
Please raise your glasses:
To the next forty years of showing up for one another!
And…
Here’s to the next chapter!