There are losses that do more than just ache — they fracture your reality. They draw a line between the life you knew with them, and the life you never wanted to know without them. And though the world keeps moving forward, though the world seems to press on, grief insists that you remain where the absence is sharpest — in the quiet, in the light-filled memories, in the unbearable awareness that someone you loved so deeply, and so gently, is no longer here to witness the rest of your story.
When someone is taken before we are ready to say goodbye, it is easy to feel betrayed by the timing of the loss. There is this kind of heartbreak roped to grief that doesn’t announce itself loudly, it just lingers. It says, “Why now? Why them? Why like this?” Even when you still believe in God, your belief may struggle under the weight of such heaviness. You want to trust in divine timing, in a God that has his reasons, but nothing about their absence feels divine, nothing about their absence feels justified.
And yet, with time, you will come to understand that there is even something sacred about what we cannot explain. God did not take them away from you, he received them. With the same tenderness that crafted their soul, he welcomed them into rest — not as an ending, but as a homecoming, as a sacred reunion. And while that truth will never erase the ache, the pain, it does reframe the mystery — they are not gone. They are not lost. They are fully seen. They are fully held. They are at peace.
Grief is the evidence that love existed here. Deeply. Intentionally. Completely. And that kind of love is not erased by time or distance, or even by death. It leaves an imprint on your soul, one that will always remember the sound of their voice, or the shape of their presence, or the light they brought into every room. The pain of losing them does not mean you’ve lost faith, it means your love was real, and still is. It means your love was rooted.
And if that doesn’t crack some light into the missing, remember this:
While not everything is meant to be understood, it is still meant to be witnessed. And God sees every part of you that is learning how to carry what you never thought you’d have to. He sees the mornings that begin in silence, and the nights that sting with memory. He sees the way you hold joy in one hand and sorrow in the other. He sees how you still choose to show up. He sees your heart.
This grief you carry within you is not a sign of weakness, but a reflection of love that stretches beyond this lifetime. And while you may never stop missing them, you will one day come to realize that love didn’t end when the grief began. It only changed form, and heaven — the same place that is holding them now, is still holding you, too.
