Grief has a tendency to show up in places we don’t expect, in moments full of joy. And even more frustrating, we can never anticipate it, we can never see it before it comes. We can simply take it moment by moment, hoping it won’t steal even the smallest moments of joy and hope.
Today marks my youngest son’s 4th year around the sun.
Waking up, I couldn’t believe my baby was so big. I don’t know how time went by so fast. But as the day moved forward and we prepared for his birthday BBQ, a heaviness sat upon my chest.
My head began to ache and my stomach flip-flopped. The nerves in my jaw sent shooting pains up into my ear.
“What’s wrong?” my fiancé asked me several times throughout the day.
“Nothing,” I replied time and again.
Genuinely, in my mind, nothing was wrong. At least nothing I could put my finger on.
Just the weight. The heaviness. The fog that clouded my mind so heavily that I could barely hold a conversation.
Again, my fiancé probed.
“What is going on with you? I can feel it.”
“Nothing… I just feel depressed,” I answered finally.
“Is it Bodhi’s birthday? Your baby isn’t so little anymore…” he responded. “Are you sad his dad isn’t here?”
And you would think that was it.
You would think I was sad because Bodhi’s dad wasn’t there to celebrate his birthday.
But surprisingly, that wasn’t it.
His dad had never been there for his birthday in the first place. I’m used to him not being there. As painful as that reality is, it wasn’t the source of the heaviness sitting on my chest that day.
It wasn’t about Bodhi’s dad.
It was about my brother.
And suddenly, like an unexpected stranger walking into my peaceful home unannounced, there it was.
The heaviness. The weight. The depression I couldn’t understand had been unmasked.
Grief.
What a sneaky rat.
Grief never leaves us after we lose the ones we love. We don’t have the choice to control where and when grief shows up. But the choice we do have is to not let it take control.
– Dionna Lee – outnumbered by chaos
Grief came in uninvited to my son’s special day and cast a heavy burden upon my soul, and I couldn’t even recognize it.d
Tears streamed down my face as my heart opened up to the man sitting across from me. The weight on my heart suddenly became clear as day.
Another birthday without my brother.
Another year has passed.
The weight of grief now smothered me and lifted me at the same time. Tears forced their way out of my body like a flash flood in the middle of a desert. Completely unexpected.
As my heart released its burden, I realized that this time of year is always hard for me.
In just one month, I will turn another year older, and my big brother never would.
Forever 35.
Last year was hard because it was the first year I would ever be older than my brother. He was a year and five days older than me, but last year I turned 36… an age he would never get to see.
This year, I will be 37.
Leaving, again, another year he will not see.
And with my baby boy turning 4…
My heart aches.
He only ever got to see his first birthday.
How unfair life is sometimes.
How painful grief can be.
Uninvited. Unwanted. Rude.
I didn’t ask grief to invade my son’s day or the joy we were planning to have.
I didn’t ask grief to bring tears of sorrow.
I didn’t ask for grief to be here.
But it is.
I know after my tears stop, I will feel better-ish. After the tears stop, we will go on to enjoy his party.
But it doesn’t stop the pain.
It doesn’t end the missing.
Grief just changes.
Grief never leaves us after we lose the ones we love. We don’t have the choice to control where and when grief shows up. But the choice we do have is to not let it take control.
Grief, like any visitor, is in our home. We can choose which rooms it enters into and which stuff it breaks, or we can choose to observe it carefully, catching the fragile memories it tries to knock over. And once done we watch it leave again.
Perhaps grief is not meant to be as heavy as it feels. Maybe it is meant to trickle over us like a warm summer rain storm. Surprising, but welcome. .
Like our loved one saying, “Hello,” on this special day.
It may feel heavy, but if we remember that grief is just love, we can use it as a reminder of what can never be taken from us.
Our memories.
Our moments together.
And our love.
Then one day, when Jesus calls us home, we will be back together again.
Never to part.
Never to miss another birthday.
Never to wonder what they would look like now.
Never to feel the weight of another year they will never see.
One day, grief will leave.
And it will never return to us again.
Dedicated to my brother….
Anthony Michael Taylor – 09/25/1988 – 06/08/2024. Forever 35.
