Winter is past and the glory of spring blooms all around. The season of Eastertide is here, and we rejoice in Christ’s resurrection. And even in this season of celebration, we grieve, loss and heartache fresh and close. Wherever you find yourself this season, join us as we conclude our theme of grief—in all its multi-faceted forms. Here is Renee’s contribution:
Grief is an oversized coat, ill-fitting, overwhelming and hard to haul around. I am told that we gradually grow into it. Grief, like that coat, is always with us but in time as we grow more used to carrying it, grief becomes less cumbersome.
Grief is the sharp edge of love. If we didn’t love so much it wouldn’t hurt so much. I have heard that it is still worth it to love.
Grief is a storm. It can be loud, scary, unpredictable. Grief comes suddenly and changes everything without warning. Grief feels like a tornado, leaving a path of destruction. I am told that we can survive it.
Grief is the bitter gall of regret. Words not said, decisions not made. Grief is the lump around which you say, “It’s too late now.”
Grief is an empty womb. Unmet desire, unfulfilled dreams. Grief is the loss of what could have been, what you thought was next, the picture you painted of your tomorrows.
Grief is the empty chair, the missing second opinion. Grief is asking, “What do you think?” and there’s no one to answer. Grief is driving alone, making decisions alone. Every problem: Yours alone to solve.
Grief is waking up to a new, unwanted reality.
Grief is what comes after loss.
And grief is angry. Grief asks why. Grief wants things back the way they were. Grief looks to control every little thing, since you didn’t get a vote on what you really want to control. Grief asks, “What’s the use, why bother?” Grief says, “Stay in bed. Give up. Abandon all the good in your life because of the good thing you lost.”
Grief is so very sad.
Grief changes us. altering our identity and changing how we see ourselves and the world. Grief gives us tunnel vision. Grief makes the world feel unsafe.
Grief is natural. Grief is unavoidable. Grief is a revelation.
What do you do with this grief?
Where might grief take you?
Go into community, because grief shared is lighter. When we are humble enough to share our need, our tears, our anger, we also share laughter and life when we’re ready. May you find places where your grief is welcome, and where people say, “Me too!” and “I thought I was the only one!” and “How did you survive this?”
Go into nature, because loss is natural. In nature we bear witness to eternal cycles. Fields and forests reveal the seed cycle of darkness, new life, growth and return to darkness. The ocean offers the water cycle, endless molecules cycling from ocean to air to clouds and rain, circling the earth from the beginning of time. May you find reminders that death always makes way for something new, nothing is ever truly lost.
Go into silence and stillness with yourself and with God. May you find space and permission to feel whatever you feel, without diminishing or judging your reason for grieving or your response to grief.
Invite Jesus to join you, sitting with you in the whirlwind of loss. May you see Love holding your sharp pain, bitter regret, deep sadness. May you welcome love in the midst of your grief, knowing that grief and love are old friends, maybe even sisters.
And may you find yourself safe, held. Even in the storm.
Renee Meyer is a hospice and hospital chaplain, as well as a spiritual director and writer helping you connect more deeply with God, yourself, and those around you. She lives in Lincoln, Nebraska with her family and writes a bi-monthly newsletter right here on Substack, Belonging & Becoming. Connect with her at ReneeDavisMeyer.com, on Instagram at Belonging & Becoming, and join her on TikTok to pause and pray in the midst of scrolling.
© Renee Davis Meyer 2026
This rings true and wise, Renee.
My friend Alicia Brummeler taught me about commonplace books!