Grief is not a problem to be solved or a wound to be closed. It asks not to be fixed but to be felt, witnessed, and honored.

So much of what we carry is never named as grief. The losses that came without a funeral. The dreams that quietly ended. The versions of ourselves we had to leave behind. When that sorrow goes untended, it does not disappear. It waits in the body, in the patterns we repeat, in the disconnection we can’t explain.