Overwhelmed by Cardboard and Memories

 Overwhelmed by Cardboard and Memories

July 22 Blog Post – Surviving Grief with Dyan

Packing up my life is more complicated than I thought it would be. 

It's only been two years since I left Montana, but in many ways, it feels like a lifetime ago—and yet somehow, like yesterday. This week, I found myself back in the basement, opening boxes that had remained untouched since the day we moved. We were in a hurry back then, trying to hold everything together. So the packing was rushed, quick, just "get it done." And now here I am, face to face with the forgotten.

📦 Opening the Boxes of the Past

Inside one box were photographs I hadn't seen in years. In another, a bundle of cards I had sent to my parents—some handwritten, filled with love and daily news I thought they'd want to hear. I found souvenirs from their trip to Hawaii three decades ago. A little yellowed, a bit bent, but full of memories of a simpler time, when they were alive and smiling under the sun.

📸 When Grief Comes Out of Hiding

These boxes are more than just things. They are parts of me—versions of me I packed away to survive. I thought I had grieved some of it already. I thought I was okay. But the moment I opened that one card, saw my mom's old handwriting or that photograph of my mom in her favorite blouse, I just shut down. It was like grief crawled back up my spine and whispered, You're still here with me.

And I am. Still here. Still grieving.

🙏 A Deep Cry for Connection

I've spent much of my life helping others. I've comforted, supported, prayed with, and stood beside more people than I can count. But now, in one of the lowest valleys of my life, I find myself feeling… alone. Some sweet people message me, reminding me I'm not forgotten. But sometimes a message isn't enough. Sometimes you just need a shoulder that isn't your child's to lean on. Sometimes you just need someone to sit in the same room and let you cry without trying to fix it.

🌊 Floating in 70,000 Fathoms

Today's Healing After Loss reading by Martha Whitmore Hickman brought the words of Søren Kierkegaard to the surface of my soul:

"To live in the religious spirit is not easy; the believer is continually in the deep sea, 70,000 fathoms deep…"

Grief is like that. You think you'll eventually touch the shore again, but some days you're just out there—adrift. But it's not aimless. It's spiritual. It's surrender. There's no shallow water where I stand. And yet, somehow, I'm still floating. The sea—this sorrow—is deep, but it holds me.

As Martha writes, "We were never in control, though perhaps we thought we were." What a truth. And yet, I'm learning that I don't have to have all the answers. I can rest back into this ocean of unknowing, trusting—by faith—that I won't sink.

🫶 You’re Not Alone in the Deep

If you are grieving today, maybe opening your own boxes of the past, I want you to know: you're not alone in the deep. The sea is vast, but it is shared. And somehow, through all its swells and troughs, it bears our weight.

Tonight, I'll close the basement door. Maybe cry a little. Maybe not. But I'll rest, knowing the water holds me still.

💜 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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Hickman, Martha W. Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Grief Recovery (p. 217). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.