August 7–9, 2026 · Hartzell House · Addison, Pennsylvania

YOU KNOW THIS FEELING
There is an ache you carry. You feel it when you wake up. You feel it when the room gets quiet. You feel it in the middle of conversations you’re only half present for.
You want to scream it out to the world. You want someone to finally know how much you’re holding. But you don’t. Because what would they think? What would they do with it?
So you get in your car. Alone. And you scream. And for that one moment — it feels good. It feels like release. Like maybe this time it worked.
But then.
Your throat hurts the rest of the day. And the ache is still there. Right where you left it.
You find yourself looking forward to dinner. Not because you’re hungry — but because a full stomach and a glass of wine might be the one moment today when something else drowns out the ache. Just for a little while. Just enough to get through the evening.
You stop planning. You get asked to show up to your usual life — birthdays, dinners, the things that used to feel normal. And you go. But it doesn’t feel the same. It just doesn’t feel the same anymore.
There’s something attached to you. You can feel it. It scares you. You keep waiting for it to pass — but it replays. And replays. And replays.
You find yourself canceling plans. Staying home. Because falling apart in public feels worse than just staying small.
I know. Because when I lost my son — that was me.
I was searching. Alone. Isolated. Confused. Panicked. Holding all of it with nowhere to put it.
Until I went on a grief retreat.
And for the first time — I felt seen. I felt heard. I came back to myself. I came back to the ability to feel.
And now, I have the tools to navigate the pain.
And I know my mission is to support people who were where I was.
This retreat is for you.
A real home — not a conference room, not a hotel. Somewhere warm, quiet, and genuinely cared for.
You don't have to explain yourself here.
You don't have to perform okay.
You don't have to worry that your grief is too much for the room — because everyone came for the same reason.
You don't have to be further along than you are.
You just get to be where you are.

When you arrive at Hartzell House, my husband Robert and I will be there to support you.
We've both known loss. We both know what it means to need somewhere safe to land.
That's why we do this.
— MELISSA & ROBERT
Two nights at Hartzell House — a warm, safe home tucked into the Pennsylvania hills
Four guided gatherings designed to gently move you from understanding… to softening… to feeling seen… to finding your way back to love
Gentle grief movement — a supportive practice that can be done entirely from a chair. You never have to participate more than you’re ready to. Simply being in the room is enough.
Nourishing meals, open space, and real time to rest
A small, intimate group — so you always feel seen, never lost in a crowd
Come alone, or bring a partner or friend — both are welcome
An optional Sunday visit to Kentuck Knob, one of Frank Lloyd Wright’s most beloved homes — a beautiful, gentle way to close the weekendt 4
The retreat begins Friday, August 7th at 3:00 PM and closes Sunday morning, August 9th.
A two-night stay is required so you can truly arrive, settle in, and experience the retreat fully.

Grief doesn’t just live in your thoughts.
It lives in your body — in your shoulders, your chest, the way you breathe.
Grief movement is a gentle, guided practice that gives your body a way to participate in the release.
It can be done entirely from a chair.
There is no performance. No right way. No wrong way.
And if you’re not ready to participate — you don’t have to.
Just being in the room is enough.
You will still feel it.
Sometimes the body releases what the mind has been holding onto for years.
UNDERSTANDING
THOUGHT
FEELING
TRANSFORMED
When you learn something true about your grief — what it is, why it’s there, what it’s pointing to — something shifts.
Not because the grief disappears.
Because the thought underneath it changes.
And when the thought moves, the feeling moves.
That is what this weekend is built around.
Not pushing through.
Not bypassing.
Understanding — so grief finally has somewhere to go.
"Understanding shifts the thought.
The thought creates the feeling.
The feeling transforms how grief is carried."
You don’t need to prepare.
You don’t need to know what to expect.
You just need to show up.
I watched my son die without knowing what I was watching.
And when he was gone, all of the grief I had been holding finally opened up.
I was seeing a psychologist.
I was showing up.
I was doing what you're supposed to do.
She listened to all of it — every appointment, every story, every layer of what I was carrying.
And I would leave and still ask myself the same question every single time:
I was clueless.
I was waiting for something to shift — waiting for grief to just pass — and it wasn’t passing.
And no one was explaining to me why.
So I started doing my own research.
I started learning about grief — what it actually is, how it lives in the body, what it does to your thoughts, why it replays the way it does.
And that’s when everything changed.
Not because the grief went away.
Because I finally understood it.
And understanding gave me somewhere to put it.
I wasn’t satisfied waiting for this to pass.
I needed to know how it worked.
And once I did — I couldn’t keep that to myself.
I went on a grief retreat.
I met people who were hurting just like me.
I realized I had been so alone in something that so many people were quietly carrying.
Something lifted.
And I left renewed.
I immediately booked another.
And eventually, I created this — at Hartzell House — so no one else has to sit in that question alone wondering when it will pass.

This retreat is for you if you're still showing up to your life — going to work, taking care of people, getting through the days — while quietly carrying a grief that hasn’t had anywhere to go.
You might be grieving a person.
A relationship.
A version of your life you thought you’d have.
Something others don’t always recognize as loss.
You don’t have to be in crisis.
You don’t have to have it figured out.
You just have to be ready — even just a little — to stop outrunning it.
You are not broken.
You are not behind.
You are just human — carrying something that was never meant to be carried alone.