Neil Peart, drummer and lyricist for iconic prog-rock band Rush, suffered two monumental losses in the late '90s, with his daughter and common-law wife dying less than a year apart. Overcome with grief, he gradually found some form of peace on the open road, traveling 55,000 miles on his motorcycle—and documenting the experience in his poignant 2002 memoir, Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road.
This turbulent period began in August 1997, when his 19-year-old daughter, Selena, was killed in a car accident. In his book, Peart referred to the subsequent months as a "waking nightmare," with he and his wife, Jacqueline Taylor, battling through immense despair. "It soon became apparent that Jackie’s world was completely shattered forever," the musician wrote. "She had fallen to pieces, and she never came back together again…If she couldn’t have Selena, she no longer wanted anything—she just wanted to die." Tragically, Taylor was diagnosed with terminal cancer ("of course it was a broken heart," Peart wrote) and passed away the following June, leaving a "second nightmare" to process.
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Emotionally adrift, Peart felt disinterested in the outside world, including his music career—at Selena’s funeral, he’d told his Rush bandmates, Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson, "Consider me retired." Seeking some kind of path forward, he turned to his trusted motorcycle and began an extended journey—from Canada to Alaska, through the U.S. to Mexico and Belize, and then back again, traversing back roads and typically staying in small-town motels. "Earlier that summer, contemplating the wreckage of my life, I had determined that my mission now was to protect a certain essence inside me," he wrote, "a sputtering life force, a meager spirit, as though I held my cupped hands around a guttering candle."
Ghost Rider documents this quest through Peart’s reflections, journal entries, and letters, following his grieving process as he grows to find comfort once again through nature, music, and human connection. It was a long process, even for the other people in his life. "Everybody was so worried about me," Peart recalled in the 2010 documentary Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage. "In fact, there was a network, I know, among my friends and loved ones: 'Oh, I heard from him today! I got a postcard' or 'He called.’ They would all reassure each other. Because, yeah, anything could have happened to me—even by accident, let alone by design."
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But he eventually wound up in Southern California, starting fresh. “When I first moved here it was remarkable, because my life was one suitcase, a bicycle, and a boom box,” he told Rolling Stone’s Brian Hiatt. “All the possessions I had. I rented a little apartment by the Santa Monica Pier. And I joined the Y here. I would do yoga or the Y every day, ride around on my bicycle, come home and listen to my boom box, and it was great.” Through a friend, he met photographer Carrie Nuttall, whom he married in 2000; their daughter, Olivia, was born in 2009. Ultimately, Peart also found the inspiration to revive his old band: Rush recorded 2002’s Vapor Trails, their 17th album, and continued for another 13 years, making two more LPs (2007’s Snakes & Arrows and 2012’s Clockwork Angels) and staging a handful of acclaimed tours.
The band’s last run, the R40 Live Tour, wrapped in 2015, after which point Peart effectively retired. He died in January 2020, after a private three-and-a-half-year battle with brain cancer, leaving behind an immense legacy—not only of music but also personal resilience.
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Grieving couple comforting each other
This response to someone grieving a friend might be the best internet comment ever
When someone is hit with the sudden loss of a friend or loved one, words rarely feel like enough. Yet, more than a decade ago, a wise Redditor named GSnow shared thoughts so profound they still bring comfort to grieving hearts today.
Originally posted around 2011, the now-famous reply was rediscovered when Upvoted, an official Reddit publication, featured it again to remind everyone of its enduring truth. It began as a simple plea for help: “My friend just died. I don't know what to do.”
What followed was a piece of writing that many consider one of the internet’s best comments of all time. It remains shared across social media, grief forums, and personal messages to this day because its honesty and metaphor speak to the raw reality of loss and the slow, irregular path toward healing.
Below is GSnow’s full reply, unchanged, in all its gentle, wave-crashing beauty:
Why this advice still matters
Mental health professionals and grief counselors often describe bereavement in stages or phases, but GSnow’s “wave theory” gives an image more relatable for many. Rather than a linear process, grief surges and retreats—sometimes triggered by a song, a place, or a simple morning cup of coffee.
In recent years, this metaphor has found renewed relevance. Communities on Reddit, TikTok, and grief support groups frequently reshare it to help explain the unpredictable nature of mourning.
Many readers say this analogy helps them feel less alone, giving them permission to ride each wave of grief rather than fight it.
Finding comfort in shared wisdom
Since this comment first surfaced, countless people have posted their own stories underneath it, thanking GSnow and passing the words to others facing fresh heartbreak. It’s proof that sometimes, the internet can feel like a global support group—strangers linked by shared loss and hope.
For those searching for more support today, organizations like The Dougy Center, GriefShare, and local bereavement groups offer compassionate resources. If you or someone you know is struggling with intense grief, please reach out to mental health professionals who can help navigate these deep waters.
When grief comes crashing like the ocean, remember these words—and hang on. There is life between the waves.
This article originally appeared four years ago.