The Audacity of Carrying On
Sometimes grief doesn’t feel like a temporary visitor.
It feels like it moved in.
Sometimes loudly.
Sometimes slowly seeping in.
It disrupts your routines and relationships.
It scatters itself in places you didn’t know could ache.
At first, it might feel survivable.
Manageable.
Something you believe—and hope with all your might—will soon leave.
But grief rarely arrives with an exit plan.
Black Lace is my Grief Power move
Black Lace is my Grief Power move, a poem at a time of deep grief Erin calls her“sacred pause.”
The Color of My Comeback
By then, purple had become something more than a color preference. It was a decision. A declaration. A way of saying: I am still here, and this life – however strange, unexpected, and reshaped – is still mine.
Purple became the color of my comeback.
The Wood Stove and the Wartime Nurse
So many times before this night, the wood stove had brought me a soft and melty peace. I would add a log and visualize a worry crackling and sometimes popping, depending on the juiciness of the worry, and then burning away to ash. And well, the wine may have helped, too.
When You Don’t Recognize Yourself Anymore
There’s a quiet moment that sneaks up on you in grief.
It isn’t the anniversaries.
It isn’t the holidays.
It isn’t the predictable ache of a date circled on the calendar.
It’s subtler than that.
It’s catching your reflection and thinking, Who is this?
It’s realizing you don’t react the way you used to.
That your tolerance has shifted.
That your energy feels different in your own body.