The Quite Grace of Grief

Not everyone sees the shadow,
the sacred hush beneath my day—
the way I carry you with me,
though you’ve long since slipped away.

As I eat lunch in bustling places,
drive along familiar ways,
as I stand in line behind strangers’ faces,
and move through ordinary days.

You walk with me in quiet moments,
a whisper in God’s gentle light—
in sunlight streaming through the branches,
in petals drifting out of sight.

When I pause beneath the heavens,
and watch the clouds drift slowly by,
your presence lingers gently
in the wonder God has made.

Morning stirs the ache anew,
night soothes it with quiet grace.
Sunshine warms what sorrow chills,
and in the rain, God weeps with me.

I miss you quietly,
so quietly that no one sees.
But Grief, my constant shadow,
walks the world with me with ease.

The rawness now has softened,
the sharpest edges dulled by time.
Your memory rests within me—
in quiet musings and soft-spoken lines.

I carry you in all I am—
in silent thoughts, in all I write,
a smile shaped by memory’s hand,
and tears I quietly hide.

Though I walk this path without you,
your memory walks with me still—
through every prayer and turning year,
gently held within His quiet will.