I wrote this piece eight months after my son’s murder, when his remains were still missing. My life at that time consisted of searching endlessly for him. However, enough time had passed that I was starting to get pressure from some to rejoin the world, to be more positive, to improve my outlook. I felt judged for my grief, for not being more “fun” to be around, for not being more “lighthearted”.

Originally written February 9, 2020

Being out in public is terrifying for me.

Exposing myself – my struggles, my fears, my perceivable flaws – is also scary.

I don’t want to be anything but authentic in this life.

I don’t want to paint on a face and live behind a facade to make everyone involved more comfortable.

So, if you see me and I seem awkward, I am.

If I seem nervous and uncomfortable, I am.

If I seem like I want to run out of the building screaming, I do – but I won’t.

If you want me to make small talk, post my favorite recipes and memes of positivity, I can’t.

If you believe I am determined, I am.

People keep telling me I am strong, but truth is, I did not choose this and I am doing the best that I can.

People say I am brave, but truth is, I am terribly afraid.

If my discomfort makes you uncomfortable, I say good.

We all need to live deeper, love harder and have more faith in our fellows.

We need to be loved and accepted even when we seem unacceptable – doing so allows the play. 

I am grateful for the strong ones, the weak ones and the real ones that show up, stand by me and allow me to be me. 

I see you. 

I appreciate you. 

I need you. 

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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.