Don't Take My Pain Away

"I wish I could take some of your pain away."

People say that to me all the time.
They mean well. I know they do.
They're trying to help.
Trying to show they care.

But here's what they don't understand:
I don't want you to take my pain away.

Because this pain? It's all I have left of them.

It's the proof they were here.
The proof they mattered.
The proof that what we had was real and deep and worth this devastation.

If you take my pain away, what do I have left?
Memories that will fade.
Photos that will yellow.
Stories that will lose their details over time.

But this pain?
This ache that lives in my chest?
This weight I carry every single day?
That's them.
That's the space they left behind.
That's the physical proof that they existed in my life in a way that can't be erased.

I know it sounds backwards.
I know people think pain is the enemy.
Something to fix.
Something to eliminate.
Something I should want to be free of.

But they're wrong.

This pain is sacred.

It's the last connection I have to them.
The last thing that's truly theirs.
The evidence that they changed me, shaped me, left a mark on me that won't ever go away.

If you take my pain away, you take them away.
And I can't lose them twice.

So, when you say you wish you could take my pain away, what I hear is:
I wish I could erase the last piece of them you're still holding onto.

And I can't let that happen.

Yes, it hurts.
God, it hurts.
Some days it's unbearable.
Some days I don't know how I'm still standing under the weight of it.

But it's mine.
And it's theirs.
And I'm not giving it up.

Because the alternative—not feeling this pain—would mean they didn't matter.

That losing them was no big deal.
That I could just move on and forget and act like they were never here.

And that's worse than any pain I could ever feel.

So please don't wish my pain away.
Don't try to fix it or minimize it or make it smaller.

Just sit with me in it.
Acknowledge it.
Let it exist.

Because this pain is love.
It's grief.
It's the price I pay for having had them in my life.

And I'd pay it a thousand times over.

I don't want you to take my pain away.
I want you to understand that this pain is all I have left.

And I'm holding onto it with everything I've got.

If you’ve enjoyed my writing here, What Remains brings together many of my most meaningful pieces in one place. It’s a collection of writings about grief, love, loss, and the lasting connections that remain.

Available now on Amazon.