The Emptiness of Grief

When I was growing up, if someone died, my mother would immediately head for the kitchen, where she would begin cooking a beautiful Italian meal of sauce, meatballs, and pasta. She’d then ask my father to drive her over to that person’s house so she could sit with them. Inevitably, when we arrived, the house would be filled with family, neighbors, and friends offering comfort. Everyone would share stories about the person who died, and there would be laughter among the tears. So, when I became an adult, this was how I imagined grief and loss was processed. But now, after walking this journey for a few years, it’s not the initial meals and company I remember most. It’s the emptiness of grief that settles into the cracks where the hole in our hearts now is. Who knew that grief could be such an empty place?  

Sure, those early days are typically filled with visits from friends and meals being dropped off. But, if I could share one thing with those who walk alongside people who are grieving, it’s this – we need you just as much and probably even more, in the days and months ahead. 

Even if years have passed, we still love when someone mentions the name of our loved one. It means they haven’t been forgotten. It doesn’t make us sad when you say their name. Saying their name lets us know you remember them.  

The emptiness of grief comes when everyone has gone back to their lives and reality sets in. You look over and see the empty chair at your table. The garage opens but it’s not your loved one walking through the back door. The phone rings but the name that pops up on the screen isn’t the one your heart longs to see.

The emptiness of grief is seen and felt every night when you crawl into bed, and the space next to you is empty.  

The emptiness of grief is felt as you walk by your child’s room and the silence is deafening.

I read a story recently about a little girl who got home late after visiting her friend. Her mother asked why she was delayed, and the child said, “I was helping Jane. Her doll broke.” The mother asked, “Did you help her fix it?” Jane said, “No. I helped her cry.”  

Grief is complicated, and we need people to come alongside us to listen, offer a hug, or simply just remember our loved one with us.  

I’m comforted by my faith in God and grateful for how He carried me through the darkest days. Grief takes work, and although I’ve come a long way since that first day, there are still moments when grief takes the wind out of my sails. It’s part of me now.

Thank you to those who have continued to walk beside me even after all this time! You will never know how much your love, care, and support have meant.