To Grief: A Love Letter

Dear Grief,

You’ve been an unwelcome companion these past 13 months—an intruder I never expected to meet so soon, much less have take over my life so completely.

Lately, your grip has loosened. You’ve stepped back just enough to allow new visitors into my life: gratitude and peace. Gratitude for the time I had with Jody, and peace in knowing she’s now part of my eternity.

The lessons you’ve taught have been the most painful I’ve ever known. Coping with shattering loss, trying to keep breathing despite that. But you wouldn’t have stayed so long or hit so hard if my love for her hadn’t been absolute. She was my everything.

So in a strange way, I’m grateful to you, too. You’ve helped me honor her through my tears. As I move forward, I know you’ll still walk beside me—but I expect others to join us on the path.

For instance, a new companion has appeared: Hope. She’s not the loudest, but she has a quiet strength. I’ve chosen her carefully, aware that I needed someone who would stand beside me without forcing herself into my grief, someone who could remind me that healing is possible even in the smallest ways. Hope doesn’t demand attention, but she’s always there when I look for her. She walks with me, gently but persistently, giving me room to grieve but also the courage to believe in what lies ahead.

Dear Paul,

I am Grief. I bring tough love in its rawest form. It’s not easy, being the one who arrives in the darkest moments—like that dismal morning in April when you lost her. But I am necessary. You can’t skip past me or dodge around me. The only way is through.

Still, you’re right—my presence has softened lately. I’ve seen you begin to walk with gratitude and peace, and I welcome them as fellow travelers. They are gentle, wise companions.

Hope is a new arrival, but she’s not a stranger to me. I know her well, and I’ve seen the way you’ve carefully chosen her to walk beside you. She’s not like me—she’s quieter, gentler—but she offers you the strength to face tomorrow with a little more light in your heart. She’s a welcome addition to the journey.

So, we continue on this path—Grief, Gratitude, Peace, and Hope. I won’t lie to you; I’ll always be here in some form, like a shadow that stretches longer on some days than others. But the road ahead will change. Not all the steps will hurt, and not all the days will feel heavy. You’ll learn to walk with us all, and one day, you may find that the weight I carry isn’t as unbearable as it once was.

Maybe that’s the best I can give you now: the promise that even though it’s hard to see from here, the road does shift. And on days when the sun breaks through, hope will be there, a reminder that you’re still moving forward.

Peace.