a open letter to grief

heading home

Dear Grief,

I shudder to refer to  you as ‘dear.’  Yet, you have been with me for so long, by virtue of the fact that you have become a part of me, I suppose that has entitled you to earn the accolade of affection, though my heart grants it unwillingly.

You are an enigmatic and elusive creature, a chameleon, changing color with habitat and season.

Some say you pass with time, like grains of sand sifting through my fingers, no longer resting in the safety of my palm.

Others say you are a process, as if by accomplishing twelve prescribed steps, I could graduate from your possession and be free of you.

But you are not a process.  You do not pass, at least not in this lifetime.


You are cyclical, like the moon.  You are ever-present, waxing and waning.  Some nights full, round and bright, exposing depths and darkness. …

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This entry was posted in Death of a child by Rebecca Carney - One Woman's Perspective. Bookmark the permalink.

About Rebecca Carney - One Woman's Perspective

My name is Becky Carney. My husband, Joe, and I have been married for 44 years. We have two living children, Eric (41) and Jenna (36). We lost a baby in utero at 19 weeks in 1987. In 2002, our middle son, Jason (19), and his best friend, Alina (20), were broadsided by a drunk driver who was going at least twice the speed limit. They both died instantly. This blog is written from my perspective as a bereaved parent. I don't claim to know what it's like to walk in anyone else's shoes. Each situation is different; each person is different. Everyone handles grief differently. But if I can create any degree of understanding of what it's like to be a parent who has lost a child, then I have succeeded in my reason for writing this blog.

3 thoughts on “a open letter to grief

  1. This is an unusual look into grief. Some say time heals – but until they have walked in our shoes ‘they’ will never truly understand grief. God bless and thank you for this repost. I reposted it on The matter of life and death – another WordPress blog.

  2. thank you for sharing this… it was so beautifully written!

    I love this part:
    “You take on a myriad of variant shapes, like water. Even in stages of evaporation, you don’t disappear entirely, but wait to be stored up in the clouds until a storm is ready to thunder and pelt you down in stinging drops of precipitation.”

    It’s so true! The grief is always there, just barely below the surface. I’m going to save this post to read often. Thank you!!

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