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.