If you look this word up, it gives you the definition, bullet points, and stages.

When you’re in the middle of it, being able to define it doesn’t help!!

I will admit that I have personally learned a lot from grief.

Sometimes it’s loud, sometimes quiet. Sometimes it’s bursting into tears walking into an Aldi because the first thing you see is a peach. Sometimes it’s not returning calls, or showering, or remembering to eat.

I know that every loss has a different impact, even in the same heart.

I was 7 when my Nana passed. I remember my Momma getting the phone call. I remember the look on her face and the wail that came out of her mouth.

I was 10 when my Ga passed. I remember exactly where I was standing and how my world changed after.

I was 33 when my best friend passed. I remember every moment passing in slow motion.

I was 35 when my Daddy passed. This one like to have killed me!!

Momma passed when I was 45. This one changed me forever!!

Each of these hit me in a very different way. They each held lessons that I am only now figuring out.

I was so young with Nana. I missed her, but didn’t fully understand.

My Ga, I was a little older. I remember being angry. I also watched my family fall apart and my dad completely unravel.

Diane was a range of emotions. She was my person!! The one I knew, when everyone else was gone, I would have her. Life has a funny way of changing plans.

When Dad passed, it was a completely different hole. He wasn’t perfect, but he was my protection. Where was I going to go for advice now?

Then there was Momma passing.

This was the first that wasn’t a phone call. This was a lot of sleepless nights in a hospital, trying to learn and make the right decisions, crying in the hallway, begging God not to take her.

This was a prayer for a miracle that turned into a prayer for mercy.

The room was quiet, with nobody there but my husband and I.

I had walked out to get sheets to make up that horrible little plastic couch thing for my husband.

When I walked back into the room, he was standing by her bed. He turned to look at me.

I said, “It’s time, huh?”

He quietly walked to the other side.

I grabbed her hand one last time, kissed her on the forehead, and told her it was okay to go home. I told her we would be okay.

I thought to myself, That was a lie!! I will never be okay.

At 11:00 p.m., she gently took her last breath.

When I could gather myself, I called my sister. My husband had gone to get the doctor.

I crawled into the bed, held her hand to my face, and sobbed.

People close to me have remarked that I have handled it better than expected.

With Dad, I handled it like he did his father… I drank a lot. I almost let it destroy me.

With Momma, I have cried and screamed. I have been mad, guilty, and empty. I have woken up with nightmares and not been able to go back to sleep. I have been an almost complete hermit.

Somewhere in the silent emptiness, I decided I wanted something different from this one. I started counseling, started really looking in the mirror, and started standing back up.

Grief is a very personal thing.

This time, I am letting it change me in a positive way. A way that would make my loved ones on the other side proud and will comfort the little girl inside of me.