Grief Walker

Grief doesn’t ask for permission. It arrives unannounced, slipping into the quiet moments, the empty spaces, the places where love once lived. It doesn’t follow a straight path or obey the rules of time. One day, it’s a whisper. The next, it’s a storm.

There is no finish line, no final destination where the heart is neatly stitched back together. Healing isn’t about leaving grief behind—it’s about learning to carry it, to walk with it, to let it shape you without swallowing you whole.

Some grief is sharp, fresh as an open wound. Some is weathered, softened by years, but no less real. It threads itself into the fabric of your being, not as a burden, but as a testament: something mattered. Someone mattered. And love—love does not end just because a body is gone.

The world rushes to tidy sorrow into stages and steps, to package it in ways that make sense. But grief is unruly. It moves how it wants. And that is its own kind of grace. There is no wrong way to grieve, no shame in the weight you still carry.

To grieve is to love. And love is never a mistake.