Grief anniversary | Beverly Carroll

Grief anniversary

Today marks two and a half years since we lost our precious Jimmy. It seems like ten. And, yet, how can that be? Because it ๐š๐ฅ๐ฌ๐จ seems like he was just here.

I pushed a cart laden with flowers around the store yesterday. On every aisle, it seemed, people stopped to comment on their beauty.

I found it impossible to say thank you, or to simply agree with their assessment. ๐ˆ๐ง๐ฌ๐ญ๐ž๐š๐, I responded with words I couldnโ€™t have conceived of three years ago. โ€œTheyโ€™re for my husbandโ€™s grave.โ€

It was a pall casting disclosure, to be sure, for which the hearers were entirely unprepared. Iโ€™m not sure why I needed them to know, ๐ˆ ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐๐ข๐. It was all I could do not to say to these ones so caught up in their shopping reverie, โ€œIf you ๐จ๐ง๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐ค๐ง๐ž๐ฐ how profoundly diminished the world is by the loss of this one extraordinary man, youโ€™d hardly be able to stand it.โ€

I needed them to know what the flowers were forโ€”๐ฐ๐ก๐จ the flowers were for.

I needed them to know this wasnโ€™t about crafting and creativity. This was about commemoration. This was about honor. This was about a gaping abyss carved out by the absence of the ๐จ๐ง๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐›๐จ๐ฒ I ever loved.

So, I visited his grave with the newly acquired flowers and remembered, bubbling over with gratitude that I got to be his girl, spilling over with grief that it ended so quickly.

The grief is obliterative, some days. It is tidal. It is all the disorienting, anguishing things one would expect. It is also, strangely, ๐›๐ž๐š๐ฎ๐ญ๐ข๐Ÿ๐ฎ๐ฅ. It testifies to what preceded it. It highlights the love that came before. It offers unparalleled perspective about what matters and what doesnโ€™t. About what makes the list, and what doesnโ€™t.

I have a chronic illness that robs me of breath. My lungs are scarred, which makes it hard to breathe.

๐“๐ก๐š๐ญโ€™๐ฌ how grief feels.

Breathing deeply, which most people do effortlessly, and without thinking, is a struggle for me. Thereโ€™s oxygen for those times, ๐›๐ฎ๐ญ ๐Ÿ๐จ๐ซ ๐ ๐ซ๐ข๐ž๐Ÿ? Iโ€™ve yet to find a lasting remedy.

They say time heals, but it doesnโ€™t. Or, at least, ๐ข๐ญ ๐ก๐š๐ฌ๐งโ€™๐ญ. The only thing time has done, is stretch onโ€”๐ฆ๐จ๐œ๐ค๐ข๐ง๐ โ€”an incessant reminder that however much is left for me, it wonโ€™t include my Jimmy Carroll.

Iโ€™ve read all my life about how the wind and waves obey, subject, ๐จ๐ง๐ฅ๐ฒ, to the One who first spoke them into being. They respond to His voice, heed His command, and submit completely to His authority.

๐ˆ๐Ÿ ๐จ๐ง๐ฅ๐ฒ the waves of grief were as easily quelled.

Iโ€™ve realized, though, that they never will be, through my strength alone. So, I enlist Godโ€™s help, and ๐ฌ๐ฉ๐ž๐š๐ค ๐ญ๐จ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐Ž๐ง๐ž who speaks to the waves.

Sodden and desperate for help, but fresh out of resources, I throw myself upon the mercy of the ๐ฐ๐š๐ฏ๐ž ๐ฐ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ๐ฉ๐ž๐ซ๐ž๐ซ, hoping beyond hope, that if He can quiet them, ๐ฆ๐š๐ฒ๐›๐ž, ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐ฆ๐š๐ฒ๐›๐ž, He can do the same for me.

๐€๐ญ ๐ฅ๐ž๐š๐ฌ๐ญ long enough for me to catch my breath.

Iโ€™ve realized I donโ€™t need a forever rescue. I donโ€™t even ๐ฐ๐š๐ง๐ญ one. Grief is a testament to love, after all, and when you ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฏ๐ž like we did, and when you ๐ก๐š๐ฏ๐ž what we did, how could grief ever be anything ๐›๐ฎ๐ญ lifelong? Grief, for me, will be a life sentence, and I will serve it ๐ ๐ฅ๐š๐๐ฅ๐ฒ, grateful for the fairytale that preceded it.

So, when all is said and done, I pray ๐ง๐จ๐ญ for an end to the grief, just a way to live through it without drowning.

โ€œHe maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.โ€
๐๐ฌ๐š๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐Ÿ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ•:๐Ÿ๐Ÿ—

โ€œGrief came in waves, sometimes big, sometimes small, but even on the calmest days, the grief remained. The tide still came ashore.โ€
~ ๐‡๐š๐ซ๐๐ฒ

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ยฉ 2025 Beverly Carroll