The Grief I carry

 

The Grief I Carry

I thought today would be about missing Mark.
I was going through his phone, checking messages and seeing what I needed to back up so I could reset it.

But as the tears came, so did more names. More faces. More ache.

• Mom
• Dad
• Bill- my stepdad
• Dawn- my sister
• Tawni- my niece
• And Mark

 

Each loss etched into my soul. Each one layered on top of the last, like waves that never fully recede before the subsequent one crashes in.

Grief is strange like that. Some days, I move through the motions. I smile. I talk. I function.
And then a message, a photo, or even a blank screen stirs everything up again.
The missing floods came like a wave I didn't see coming.

Today's reading from Healing after Loss reminded me of something I've been struggling with.
It spoke to the idea that grief—especially "old" grief—doesn't go away. It just changes form. People often hesitate to bring up our loved ones, worried it will reopen wounds. But honestly, not mentioning them at all hurts even more. Because I haven't forgotten. Because for me, they are still present, still loved, still missed.

"Such grief, felt in such a way, is always ‘present.’ It is never too late to talk about it, never repetitive to mention it again." — Marcel Proust

And it’s true.
Because I still want to talk about them.
I still want to say their names.
I still want the world to know that they mattered—that they still matter.

I am not just grieving one single person.
I am grieving a mother who gave me life and strength.

A father, while not close, was still my father.

A stepdad who cared and loved me for me, even though he did not have to.
A sister who should still be laughing somewhere in the world.
A niece whose spirit gave up too soon.
And a husband I was still loving, even as I was losing him.

Sometimes, it’s not just the absence of one person that breaks your heart.
It's the cumulative quiet. The echo of so many voices now gone.
The weight of “too many goodbyes.”

 

I Still Miss You

As hard as things were—because they were hard—I still miss him deeply.
I miss the way he looked at me when words didn’t need to be spoken.
I miss the sound of his voice in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep.
I miss knowing he was just… there.

Grief isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s the silence that hurts the most.
Sometimes it’s scrolling through a phone, wishing I could call a number that no longer connects.

But I write because remembering is a kind of healing.
Grief may never entirely leave me, but neither will the love.

"Yes, I may cry when you speak of it, but I am still glad for your support." -- Martha W Hickman

I carry them all.
And through these words, I honor them all.

—Dyan

📚 Dyan’s Resources

🕊️ Free 7-Day Grief Journal
Begin your healing journey with seven gentle prompts and reflections.
👉 Download here

📖 365-Day Grief Journal
A faith-based companion for navigating loss—one day, one breath at a time.
👉 Available on Amazon 

📬 Read More on My Blog
Daily reflections, encouragement, and faith-filled grief support.
👉 survivinggriefwithdyan.blogspot.com

🎥 Healing Video Series on Flip
Watch daily reflections on grief and healing.
👉 flip.shop/dyanfiorentino

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