Meeting Myself in Grief

Yesterday marked 11 years without my brother.

A day that came and went. Some remembered, some did not—and it’s all okay.

What I’ve learned about my walk with grief is that life goes on.

Some days my grief is quiet, and some days it roars. There are days it feels like a North Star, guiding me and showing me how to live. Other days, it feels like an anchor—my energy weighed down, everyday responsibilities feeling especially hard. I look forward to the moment I tuck Sloane into bed, so I can finally tuck myself in too. Grateful to leave the day behind me.

The anniversary of Walter’s death, and holidays, always feel heavy. Some years the weight feels less like a burden; some years I can barely lift it.

Still, I’m grateful for the seasons of grief that bring new perspective—and in the heavier seasons, grateful simply to have made it through the day.

Missing my Walter and meeting myself with gentle compassion.