"Some days I stand with my face in the sunshine, while other days I search to hold your hand in the darkness from your absence." The Heart of Grief
This quote resonates deeply with my experience. Some days I find myself feeling blessed with joy and a burst of energy that comes from genuinely loving my work, which revolves around building a supportive community for those grappling with loss. However, I can't deny that there are moments when my grief overwhelms me, leaving me lacking the motivation to engage in the very activities that typically help me cope—writing, painting, and reaching out to others. Some days, it feels like my heartache is an inescapable weight.
Writing about the good memories, sharing them on social media, and connecting with others has allowed me to celebrate my son, Josh, bringing a sense of love that often eclipses the sadness. Still, the depth of my loss can be suffocating at times, and there's a truth in the quote that speaks to this struggle.
I’ve discovered that pouring my energy into creative endeavors helps me navigate challenging days. This approach doesn’t require me to pretend that everything is fine or distract myself from sadness. Instead, I am choosing to engage with my emotions, accepting that they will shift and flow like the tides.
This approach also helps me as I approach specific milestones like the anniversary of Josh’s passing, which is coming in March. This year’s project is the same as the previous year where I’ve gathered a few stones that I will paint and lay next to his urn. Last year I painted four stones - it was a project that took two weeks to complete between searching for design ideas on Pinterest, finding the stones on the beach, and painting them. It also helps to write letters to him and light a candle as an expression of remembrance.
While It’s important for me to be intentional on how I move through my grief on heavy days, I also need time to rest and sit with my feelings. Therefore my strategy involves switching between feeling my grief and finding ways to momentarily distract from it. This rhythm seems to resonate with me—it’s a careful balance that feels both structured and spontaneous.
Throughout this process, I've come to realize that managing my grief is ongoing. I’ve not reached a stage where Josh's absence feels light; instead, I’m learning to make space for it in my life.
Previously, I held the belief that grief was a linear journey—a progression through distinct stages like anger, denial, bargaining, and depression, ultimately leading to acceptance. However, the reality for me is different. I haven’t moved on; I’ve simply recalibrated my life to accommodate this loss.
In that way, I view my grief as an uninvited guest in my home. It’s a presence that disrupts the regularities of my existence, stubbornly taking up space regardless of how I feel.. On those challenging days when it looms heavily and shows no signs of departure, I find myself confronting it directly—eyeing it cautiously as I sip my first cup of coffee, acknowledging its presence and the complexity of emotions it brings - and I invite it to take a seat.
