Anatomy of Grief

Grief, in its arrival, silences everything that came before.

Each time I sit beside someone in the heart of their grief,

it feels as though the words I once knew —

soft offerings of comfort, quiet sanctuaries held in silence —

dissolve into the vast, intimate depths of their sorrow.

The pain is so uniquely vast,

so intimately deep

that language falters.

No phrase feels worthy enough

to carry the weight of what they feel.

In these moments, I am humbled

by the fragile strength that grief reveals.

By the paradox of resilience and vulnerability,

dancing together in the quiet rhythm of healing.

Grief does not ask for answers.

It does not offer a map.

There is no “getting over.”

There is only learning to live beside it.

And so, the journey becomes one of movement—

Not away from the sorrow, but around it.

Not in escape, but in gentle orbit.

In time, the heart learns to dwell on the edges of pain,

To flow with its tides,

To exist in the space where love and loss

forever intertwine.