Originally written February 25, 2020

I seem to do okay when I keep my grieving small.

I do not mean minimized or sidelined or not thought about.

I mean when I keep my feelings to bite sized chunks with words like,

“I miss him.”

“I miss his laugh.”

“I wish I could see him today.”

“I wish I could hug him… hold him… kiss his soft cheeks.”

But when my grieving gets BIG, my thoughts too LARGE to swallow with words like,

“I will never see him again.”

“He will never grow old.”

“He will never find love.”

“He will never get the chance to have his own children.”

That is when my grief consumes me, robs me of my breath and locks me in a vacuum where there is

No future.

No hope.

No dreams.

My mind simply cannot fathom that kind of loss, that kind of grief.

I liken it to contemplating the size of your town, and then your state, your country, your continent, the earth, our solar system, our galaxy, the universe.

At some point it becomes too big to fathom and it is at that point that I am reminded of how small and powerless I am.

So today, I am keeping it small.

Keeping it in the missing and the longing and staying away from the reality of how long I am destined to feel these things.

It is too much for my heart to bear. 

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When Grief Speaks is a selection of writings that originated as journal entries and Facebook posts when I was in early grief after my son, Josiah, was killed. They speak straight from the heart, from the depths of despair that many bereaved find themselves in. I offer them here to not only openly share myself with you, but also to connect with those who may feel as I once did. As grief unfolds and matures, it changes. We grow grief muscles that we never wanted. At some point, we find that we can carry what we once thought would crush us and in that, we find hope.