“I Keep Wanting to Tell Them…”
"I Keep Wanting to
Tell Them…"
💭 The Moments That Still Belong to Them
There are still moments—quiet,
unremarkable moments—when I catch myself reaching for my phone or turning my
head to speak. It might be something funny I saw. Something beautiful.
Something frustrating. Something sacred. And without fail, my first thought is,
"I need to tell Mark."
Then the ache comes.
Healing is not a straight line. It is
a circle that returns us, again and again, to the person we miss the most. Even
after weeks, months, or years, I find myself longing to share the day's joys
and burdens with my lost loved ones. And it does not feel strange. It feels
like muscle memory. Because Mark was not just my husband—he was my person. My
sounding board. My safe place.
My Mom was the person I went to for
everything. We spoke on the phone at least three times a day when we didn't live together. When we lived together, there might have been times when we were together
too much. Even five years later, I still reached for my phone.
I have come to realize that this is one of the most complex aspects of healing: the conversation that can no longer take place. Not
because I lack words, but because I have lost people who always knew how to
listen.
🌿 Grief Shows Up in the Sharing
This part of grief—the silence where
conversation used to be—is harder than I ever imagined. No one prepares you for
the thousand trivial things you still want to say.
Like how the tomatoes are finally
ripening.
Or how our son laughed just like him last night.
Or how the world feels just a little too loud and heavy without their calming
presence.
Grief is not just pain. It is a
presence. A reminder that love did not vanish when they did. In fact, it
lingers all around, especially in the moments I wish I could share.
Some days I talk to him anyway. I
whisper while folding laundry. I cry in the car. I light a candle before dinner
and imagine what he might say if he were here. It is both strange and sacred at the same time.
💌 What I've Started Doing
I have started speaking aloud.
Sometimes there are a few words, just a sentence:
"You would have loved this sunset."
"I needed your calm voice today."
"I miss your laugh."
And in that space, I find peace—not
because the pain disappears, but because it is shared.
Some of the words I used to speak
aloud, I now write in my 365-Day Surviving Grief Journal. Other times, I let
them float upward in prayer. And every once in a while, I hear something in
return—not audibly, but in the way a breeze moves through the willow, or the
way a song plays just when I need it.
Grief is the love that has no place to
go, but God catches it. He holds it. He helps us carry it.
🙏 For You Who Are Missing Someone Too
If you find yourself talking to your
person who is no longer here, you are not crazy. You are faithful. Faithful to
your love. Loyal to their memory. And God hears even the words you whisper
into the silence.
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." —Psalm 34:18
💜 Dyan's Grief Support Resources
🎥 Watch my daily grief reflections on Flip
📚 Explore my grief tools and comfort books
📖 Read my memoir Divine Light: A Memoir of Faith and Hope
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Thank you for supporting my healing journey.
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