If You Love Me, Let Me Go

🕊️If You Love Me, Let Me Go

Grief, Memory, and the Things That Bring Them Back

Today's "Healing After Loss " began with a powerful line:

 "If you love me, let me go."

 It reminded me of Olivia Newton-John's heartfelt song "If You Love Me (Let Me Know)," a song about love, longing, and the silent pain of feeling unloved.

"Before too long, I built my world around you…
If you love me, let it be.
If you don't, then set me free.”

Martha Hickman reflected on how we might be projecting our own needs and desires onto what we believe our loved ones would want. She suggested that it's all conjecture—our pain shaping the narrative of their absence.

But I gently disagree.

🐦 Grief Is a Soundtrack, a Scent, a Spark

For me, grief is more than reflection. It’s a soundtrack. A scent. A shadow.
A frog on a shelf. A birdhouse in the tree. A coffee cup that’s no longer filled.

These simple things bring my loved ones back to me.
Not physically—
But profoundly.
Emotionally.
Viscerally.

🏡 Everyday Reminders of the Ones I Love

A birdhouse always brings back memories of my sister, Dawn. She collected them, loved them. A wooden birdhouse hanging in the breeze feels like her spirit nearby.

Frogs and country music remind me of my niece Tawni.
For the longest time, I'd see a frog and think, "Tawni would love that."
Then reality would return… she's not here anymore. And I'd cry.

Owls and flowers take me to my mom.

She loved owls because my brother Lynn and I made her a pair during Vacation Bible School. She treasured them. I still see her in every owl.

Old cars bring back laughter and summer days with Mom and Bill at car shows—walking and talking, just enjoying life.

And then… there’s Mark.

Mark is a NASCAR fan, a Cop, and every security officer I pass on the street.
But more than that, he’s quiet.
He’s the morning silence where coffee used to be.
He always brought me a cup—lovingly, every day.
Now the absence of that cup says everything.

💫 Letting the Memories Come

Grief lives in these little things.
They sneak up on us—uninvited, yet deeply sacred.

The question is:
What do we do when the memories come?
Do we welcome them? Ignore them? Or let them move through us?

I choose to remember.
Even when it hurts.
Especially when it hurts.

Because remembering means love is still alive.
It means nothing was wasted.
It means their soul still walks beside mine, just in a new way.

"Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

— Matthew 6:34

Today, I sit with the memories.

I let them speak.

 I honor them.

Because love never really leaves.

💜 Dyan’s Grief Support Resources
🛒 Shop my healing list on Flip
📚 Explore my grief tools & books on Benable
📖 Read my memoir Divine Light on Amazon

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