Grief shows up on weekends. Nobody warns you about that. The quiet of a Saturday morning. A song on the radio. The smell of something cooking. Suddenly someone you lost is right there again. That is not a setback. That is love with nowhere left to go.
Grief shows up on weekends. Nobody warns you about that. The quiet of a Saturday morning. A song on the radio. The smell of something cooking. Suddenly someone you lost is right there again. That is not a setback. That is love with nowhere left to go.
Grief arrives like a summer storm. Sometimes dramatic, with thunder and lightning. Sometimes so subtle you don't notice it until you feel the rain hit your skin.
We've become experts at avoiding reminders that our time on earth is fleeting. People "pass" instead of dying. Nobody sits up with the dead in the parlor.
Grief refuses efficiency. It's not linear or logical. It shows up at the most inopportune times. It's often triggered by simple things: the smell of coffee or perfume or the heavy smell of fresh cut grass.
Over time, gratitude slowly begins to soften the sharpest edges of that loss. Not because the grief disappears, but because you begin to understand that the pain is connected to something amazing and rare.
There was a time when people understood grief more intimately than we do now. Grief was communal, shared. Death wasn't hidden behind institutional walls or outsourced to pale-faced professionals in cheap suits. It was public and shared.
When I remember that she was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned nor deserved nor had a right to. And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift is gratitude…then it puts some light around the darkness.
Over time, gratitude slowly begins to soften the sharpest edges of that loss. Not because the grief disappears, but because you begin to understand that the pain is connected to something amazing and rare.
Eventually you realize the fingerprint of grief is not a malfunction. It's the new normal. That realization changes things. Because eventually grief stops being only about the person you lost. It becomes about the person you become afterward.
Grief refuses efficiency. It's not linear or logical. It shows up at the most inopportune times. It's often triggered by simple things: the smell of coffee or perfume or the heavy smell of fresh cut grass.