Grief gets in your head and your body.
Even good things make you nervous now.
You don’t trust peace.
You don’t trust timing.
You’ve seen how fast life can turn,
so, you brace yourself — even when there’s nothing to brace for.
You used to look forward to things.
You used to believe that hard work, love, or prayer could change how it ended.
You hoped the treatment would work.
You hoped they’d pull through.
You hoped you’d have more time.
And when none of that happened, something inside you shut down.
Now it’s hard to believe in much of anything.
When something good happens, you wait for it to go wrong.
When people talk about blessings, you stay quiet.
You don’t want to sound bitter,
but you can’t fake excitement when you’ve watched life take what you love most.
This is what grief does.
It wrecks your sense of safety.
It makes every bit of good feel temporary.
You start guarding yourself,
because it feels easier to expect the worst than to hope for more.
And I don’t know if that ever changes.
Maybe it does.
Maybe one day I’ll stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But right now?
I’m just trying to survive in a world that took everything from me.
And trust doesn’t come easy anymore.
If these words connected with you, you’ll find many more like them in What Remains. It’s a collection of the writings I’ve shared over the years, bringing together reflections on grief, love, loss, and the connections that continue long after someone is gone.
I hope it brings you comfort, understanding, and the reminder that you’re not alone.
If you’d like to read more, you can find the book here
Available now on Amazon