In the fall I am particularly prone to grief. It can overwhelm me to a point where I pull away from life and loved ones for weeks at a time. I have begun working on a project to collect and release some of this grief in an effort to break free from this cycle.

The passage below is an excerpt from this work. In this entry I reflect on how I didn’t understand the strength of grandmother while she was alive and how I know she is proudly at my back as I work to heal our wounds.

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My grandma died when I was in college. When she was alive, I didn’t yet have the wisdom and life experience to admire her strength. I couldn’t relate to the tremendous challenges she had moved through.

I could see the extraordinary love she overflowed with. I could see the exhaustion and depression. What I overlooked was the war-ravaged grit and tenacity. She was old by the time I knew her. She was tired. She was weighed down.

My grandmother knew grief. She knew shame and fear. She knew sacrifice and toil without respite.

Now that I am a woman who can relate to the fight she fought, who has craved family and community during my own battles, I miss my grandmother deeply. I ache to hold her hands and comb her hair. I yearn to look into her eyes and hear her voice.

In the most challenging moments as I fought to free myself and make a better home for my children, I saw her eyes in my own reflection. I heard her voice in my heart whispering that she understood how I felt. She has been with me every step of the way.

I know she is here. I know she is proud. And still, it makes me weep that I cannot sit with her now, that I cannot hear her tell me she loves me and to keep going.