120 Weeks: When Grief Shows Up Angry

Two Years and Four Months Without You

It’s been 120 weeks since I lost you, my darling daughter. Time has marched on, but my heart remains suspended in that moment you left. The world gained a beautiful light when you passed, but I lost a piece of my soul.

Today, the weight of your absence hit me harder than I ever expected.

When Grief Wears an Angry Face

Grief doesn’t always look like tears and quiet mourning. Sometimes, it looks like clenched fists and sharp words.

Today, Lady Grief, as I’ve come to call her, arrived not in sorrow, but in fury. She demands to be acknowledged—and if you ignore her, she finds ways to crash into your life, often when you least expect it.

She showed up today as biting anger, lashing out at the one person who’s grieving alongside me: your dad.

“What do you want to watch on TV?” he asked—an innocent question.

“Anything—as long as you can make a decision and stick to it,” I snapped.

He looked at me, hurt. “Why are you being so mean?”

“I’m not being mean,” I told him. “I’m just tired. And angry. I don’t know why.”

But I did know why.

Because you’re gone. Because nothing is the same. Because your voice now only lives in my memory.

Anger as an Expression of Love

Lady Grief doesn’t let me run. She whispers, You can hide, but I’ll find you. And she always does.

But I’ve learned something important: if I sit with her—breathe, cry, and feel—something shifts.

I realize that this anger? It’s just love, reshaped by pain. Another way my love for you spills out.

I can’t fight it. I have to feel it. And when I do, peace slips in—if only for a moment.

Grief Is Not Tidy

Grief is messy. It’s not all tears and silence—sometimes, it’s fire. But even that fire is love, burning in a different form.

Let’s Talk About It

How do you navigate grief?

Does anger ever sneak up on you, too?

If you feel like sharing your story, I’d be honored to listen. Feel free to leave a comment below.

You’re not alone.

Week 137: Trying On Myself Without Her: Rediscovering Identity After Losing My Daughter

Rebuilding Identity After Loss Lately, I’ve been spending hours trying to figure out what colors look good on me. I hold up fabric swatches to my face in the mirror. Warm or cool? Autumn or Winter? Olive skin or just bad lighting? I click through endless YouTube videos about Kibbe body types, staring at women explaining bone structure and yin/yang balance like it’s some secret code to unlocking the real me. It’s become its own kind of ritual—comparing necklines, scrolling through capsule wardrobes, wondering which version of myself I’m supposed to be now. It might seem shallow—or at least frivolous. And maybe it is. But right now, it’s easier to be authentic on the outside than to face how lost I feel on the inside. Losing Her—and Myself Since losing my daughter, the person I was has gone missing. She took whole pieces of me with her. And so now, I’m hunting for identity in strange places—like in the shape of a sleeve, the drape of a fabric, the difference between camel and taupe...

Week 140: A Grief Toolkit: 12 Things That Help Me Breathe

Grief has a way of showing up like an uninvited guest — one who doesn’t call ahead, and doesn’t care if you’re ready. When those moments come, I reach for my grief toolkit — a collection of things that help me survive the next breath, the next hour, the next day. These aren’t cures for grief. Nothing “fixes” it. They’re simply what makes it bearable for me. I’m sharing mine in case it inspires you to create your own grief toolkit, filled with whatever brings you comfort. What’s in My Grief Toolkit 1. My Daughter’s Blanket It’s navy blue fleece covered in cheerful animals. She used it constantly — even when it was 90 degrees outside. Now I do the same. Sometimes it’s on my lap, sometimes draped behind my head on the couch, but always close. It reminds me of our closeness in life, how we were rarely more than an arm’s reach apart. 2. The “Mommy and Me” Candle A soft jasmine scent, a rose quartz crystal nestled in soy wax. I light it on her birthday, her “angelversary,” or on National Chi...

Week 136: Why Stillness Feels Scary (and What It Might Be Telling Us)

When rest finally arrives, why does it sometimes feel so uncomfortable? This personal reflection explores the fear of stillness, the quiet rise of grief, and what happens when we stop running from silence. A heartfelt take on loss, love, and learning to sit with grief. I Craved Peace—But Got Something Else This past weekend, I was craving quiet. After weeks of nonstop movement—some necessary, some self-imposed—I thought having nothing to do would feel like a gift. I imagined rest. Stillness. Time with my husband and our adult kids, home for summer. But as the weekend approached, I started to feel uneasy. Like walking into a quiet room and realizing the silence might not be safe. When Life Is Full, the Inner World Can Feel Chaotic Even when everything looks fine on the outside, my internal world can feel like a tennis match—grief and distraction smacking me back and forth. I wanted to rest. And on the surface, I did: music, a walk, a drink, time with family. It was lovely. But rest does...

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