Tonight’s sunset settled over their graves in a way that felt too familiar—the same heaviness I’ve been carrying in my body, the same exhaustion that’s been sitting in my bones, the same ache that’s been rising as I try to heal from a divorce that broke more than just my heart.
My sister—two years gone.
My nephew, my sweet “Pashew,”—almost seven years gone in seven days.
And even though we were not close before their deaths, like I would have wanted, the missing still hits me in the soft places, the tired places, the places already stretched thin by everything else I am facing.
I stood there thinking about how grief does not wait for a convenient season. It does not pause because my body is struggling. It does not pause because I am already overwhelmed. It does not step aside because I am still trying to rebuild myself after a marriage that ended and left cracks, I am still learning how to fill.
I lost them. I have lost so much in my life.
I lost him. I lost a version of my life I thought I would have. But I also still carry all of it—the memories, the wounds, the hope, the ache, the healing that feels slow and holy and painful all at once.
My sister lost her only son; it changed her in ways I could not understand.
I carry the early memories of my sister and nephew. I carry the laughter and the versions of us before life got complicated. I carry the regret of what did not get healed. I carry the loneliness that came after the divorce. I carry the strength it took to walk away. I carry the courage it takes to keep going. And I carry the hope that GOD is holding the parts of my story I could not fix—in my family, in my marriage, in my body, in my heart.
The sunset did not try to make any of it pretty. It just laid the truth out in color:
I am grieving.
I am hurting.
I am healing.
I am tired.
I am carrying more than people know.
And GOD sees every bit of it.
So here is what I know:
Scripture that speaks into this season:
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” –Psalm 34:18
I am not just brokenhearted—I am crushed in spirit.
By grief.
By sickness.
By divorce.
By exhaustion.
And GOD meets me right here, in the middle of all of it.
“My flesh and my heart may fail, but GOD is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”—Psalm 73:26
My flesh is failing right now.
My strength is thin.
My heart has been through more than people know.
But GOD hasn’t stepped back.
He’s holding me up when my body won’t and when my heart can’t.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”—Psalm 147:3
Not just the grief wounds.
Not just the divorce wounds.
Not just the physical wounds.
All of them—the ones I show and the ones I hide.
My Prayer Tonight:
Lord, I am carrying grief, sickness, and heartbreak at the same time, and it feels heavy in ways I cannot explain. Two years without her. Almost seven years without my sweet “Pashew.” And a body that feels weak and worn down. And a heart that is healing from a marriage that ended and left pieces I am still picking up.
I bring You the regret.
I bring You the distance.
I bring You the fear.
I bring You the exhaustion.
I bring You the heartbreak.
I bring You the love that didn’t get to finish its sentence.
I bring You the ache that grows louder as the anniversary gets closer.
Hold them close in Heaven.
Hold me close on earth.
Cover the parts of our story that didn’t get healed here.
Cover the parts of my body that need Your touch.
Cover the parts of my heart that are still learning how to trust again.
And steady me in these next seven days as memory sharpens, grief deepens, and healing continues—even when it feels slow.
Amen.
