This week has been a portrait of grief in all its unpredictable colors.
A week before the five-year anniversary of losing my Jimmy, I fell hard, leaving my face bruised and my body aching.
It felt somehow fitting, though, as if my body remembered what my heart never forgets: loss leaves a mark.
This past Saturday, the day before Sunday’s anniversary, my eye still visibly marked from the fall, I stood before a room full of women and spoke about mending.
Bruised but standing.
Struggling yet pouring out joy.
I laughed with them. I cried with them. I hugged strangers who felt like sisters.
Saturday showed me that, sometimes, grief means just showing up and banking on God to keep His promises. He did that in spades!
The following day, we relived Jimmy’s last. He was the best man I ever knew. My fairytale. My dream come true. He was steady, kind, godly, and honorable. He was, simply, magnificent.
His absence will forever be felt, because his presence will never be forgotten. Love like we were so blessed to share does not fade, after all; it imprints.
Then, yesterday, two days later, I found myself in a hospital bed awaiting surgery. Jimmy was always there for those moments. His hand would have been the first one I reached for. This time, it was our sweet Austin’s, doing what he had seen his dad do for years.
In just one week, I have wept, I have laughed, I have remembered, I have hoped.
The longer I live, the more I understand that grief is not a straight line. It is not linear. It winds. It…meanders. It’s a roller coaster: A bruise, a belly laugh, a silence, a prayer.
It is sorrow wrapped in joy, and joy laced with longing.
But here is what I know:
The best way to honor the one who is gone is to be fully present to what remains.
To live out loud.
To love deeply.
To squeeze every drop of joy possible from the life still in our hands.
I trust, follow, and serve a God who never wastes pain. Even sorrow, in His hands, can be transfigured. He does not erase suffering; He redeems it. So, I resolve not to waste a bit of what He intends to weave into wonder.
Five years have taught me this: joy is not the opposite of grief, it is its companion. Where there is great sorrow, there is also great love. Where there are bruises, there can still be blessing. I am living proof that a broken heart can keep beating, can keep giving, can even keep rejoicing.
I was blessed to be Jimmy’s girl.
I will continue to be God’s woman.
And between those two truths, I will live with bruises and beauty both, because love deserves nothing less.
And I have every reason to try. To trust that even this breaking can yield beauty.
If grief is the cost of love, I will keep paying it. Gladly.
Every year.
Every memory.
Every breath.