Guest Blog by Corey Thornton Sr. Essay #2

Conquering My Grief and Healing With Grace by Corey Thornton Sr. (Written in 2025)

Grief doesn’t come with a manual. It doesn’t follow rules or timelines. It hits you like a freight train, and just when you think you’ve caught your breath, it hits again.

I’ve lost two of my children, Autumn Rose Thornton on July 9, 2011, and Corey Thomas Thornton Jr. on March 7, 2022. Saying their names still hurts. Writing this feels like ripping open wounds that never healed. But I need to tell this story. Because grief is not something you get over. It’s something you carry. Every single day!

Autumn Rose was my sunshine. Her smile could light up a room, and her laugh was the kind that made you believe in something bigger than yourself. Losing her felt like my world had collapsed, and that life without her was no longer imaginable or possible. I

didn’t know how to breathe without her. I didn’t know how to be a dad to a child who wasn’t there anymore. And just when I thought I had learned how to live with that grief and pain and how to carry and manage them without letting them crush me, my son, Corey Jr., passed away.

Losing Corey Jr. to murder broke my spirit in a way I never imagined. It isn’t just grief I deal with every day of my life without him. It is the rage of losing another child. And the news that he is dead because another human being murdered him exacerbated the grief. It is the kind of pain that makes you question your faith in God, your life,  your purpose and your sanity.

I felt sooooo helpless!

I remember thinking, “This is it. I can’t do this again.” 

But I did and do every day!

Because I must!

Because I taught my kids to never give up. I need to be a role model for them and not the man who gave up on life, even when it felt as though life had given up on me.

Some days, I wake up, and the weight of it all is so heavy I can barely move. And, the truth is, some days I feel like I want to die.

Nevertheless, I wake up every morning and fulfill my responsibilities as the dad and provider of my family, and march on to work. When I return home, I spend time with my lovely wife, Andrea, and our kids, Maddie and Sydney.

I also spend time on self-care. My happy place is the backcountry, where I fish, hunt, and find solace that lets me take a break from grief. When I shoot my guns and rifles, it bleeds out the tension and anxiety of grief with every bullet that catapults out of the barrel.

Nature is my therapy and happy place. The silence of the forest, the rhythm of the river—it’s where I feel closest to my kids. It’s where I talk to them. It’s where I cry without anyone seeing.

I’ve made changes in my life for the better since Autumn on July 9, 2011, and Corey Jr. on March 7, 2022. It has been a tumultuous roller coaster ride, but one in which I eventually learned to manage and endure in a healthier, more productive way.

I stopped smoking.

I stopped drinking.

I gave up sugar and carbs and live an all-meat lifestyle that helps me feel healthier physically and mentally and stronger. I feel more committed and dedicated to my family and career. I make every decision with purpose. To help me stay on track, I think about my grandma, whom I admired when she was alive. She was the sweetest, resilient and courageous soul I’ve ever known. When I’m faced with a difficult choice in managing my grief and daily life, I ask myself, “What would Grandma Eve do?” And then I do my best to live as she did with kindness, love, and grace.

I know people are curious to know how I’m doing. When people do ask, just like every human being, the first word that flies out of my mouth is “Okay.”

But I’m not okay!

I’m not going to pretend to be okay. And it’s “okay” to "not be okay.”

What is important is to fight and fend off the anger, pain, fear, sadness, and the turmoil that accompany grief. Every day, it feels like I’m fighting and climbing an uphill battle with broken legs and a shattered heart. Nevertheless, I march on like a soldier.

Why?

Because my mission in life as a husband and father is to “Love” life, “Love” my wife, Andrea, and  “Love” my kids Brady, Madison, and Sydney.

And to also“Love” Autumn Rose and Corey Jr. with every fiber of my being because I refuse to let Autumn’s and Corey’s memory fade.

I refuse to let grief win!

I try to be the best dad I can be. Not just for the kids I still have, but for the ones I lost. I want them to be proud of me. I want them to look down and say, “That’s my dad. He didn’t quit.” I live for them. I breathe for them. I carry their names in my heart like a heavy Elk being carried out of the woods.

Grief is a lifelong struggle. It doesn’t go away. It changes you. It makes you see the world differently. It makes you appreciate the little things—a hug, a laugh, a quiet moment. It teaches you that love is stronger than death. Those memories are sacred. That pain can be a form of love.

I’m the strongest person I know. Not because I don’t feel pain, but because I feel it every day and still keep going. I’m already broken. I can’t break again. So I fight. I live. I love. I remember.

This essay isn’t just about loss. It’s about love and resilience. It’s about being a father who refuses to let grief define him. It’s about Autumn Rose and Corey Jr.—two beautiful souls who changed my life forever. I carry their spirit with me every where I go, in our home, the woods, and at work with every breath and every heartbeat.

I will not stop!

I’ll keep going!

Always!