A Final Note
Some say that when we die, our soul either ascends into heaven or descends into hell. Some think we stand before something greater than ourselves to be weighed, measured, and judged. Others believe death is merely another turn in an endless cycle, a quiet return before the next beginning. The truth is, I don’t know what awaits us beyond this life. But I hope, deeply, that it is something soft. Something peaceful. Like the hush of waves folding onto the shore beneath a setting sun, or the first breath of morning carried in with birdsong and breeze. I hope that wherever we go, it feels like coming home. A true home. One untouched by the noise, the weight, the ache that so often lingers in this world.
I wish the world had not shown you all of its ugliness before you had a chance to see the light. I wish the world had not shown you all of its cruelty before it offered you its kindness. I hope you know that. All those sleepless nights spent wrestling with your own thoughts instead of dreaming. All the times you held back tears because you believed no one would understand the depth of what you carried. You did more than anyone should ever be asked to do. You bore what was heavy, and you did so with grace, even when it went unseen. And still, the world gave you far less than you ever deserved.
You didn’t deserve the burdens you carried. And wherever you are now, I hope the sky is a deeper blue than we’ve ever seen. That the light falls gently, that the trees hum with color, and that the air carries laughter instead of sorrow. I hope the birds dance through the air with no storm to fear, and that your heart, wherever it is, has finally found rest.
I’ve come to learn that grief is not a straight path, not a neat, tidy process in any way. Instead, it is a wild, twisting river that flows in unpredictable and turbulent ways. With each passing second I spent walking alongside these emotions, I learned that indeed the heart will break a million times, but brokenly we must live on. The heart heals in fragments, in pieces that don’t always fit together, but are no less important for their jaggedness.
Grief is constantly evolving, always shifting its shape like the tides of an ocean. It doesn’t move in a straight line. It is rough, complex, and often unpredictable. And yet, it is also one of the most profound teachers we will ever know. I learned that it’s not the absence that defines us, but the way we move through the emptiness, find meaning in the mess, and let the broken parts of us grow into something new. In the end, grief's greatest lesson was that the heart is an ever-changing landscape. It does not break, rebuild, and then stay whole forever. It breaks again and again, and with each break, it is reborn, new and unrecognizable, yet still unmistakably itself. And that is enough.
The pain will always be there, a quiet hum beneath the surface, but it no longer holds the same power over me. Though I may never be fully free of grief’s presence, I have learned that I am not meant to be. Grief is a companion, a shadow that walks beside me, reminding me of the beauty of what was and the strength of what I’ve become.
For once, the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, or how you managed to survive its turbulent nature. You won’t even be sure if the storm is really over. But one thing can be for certain. When you emerge from the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in.
That’s what the storm is all about.