A memory, a reminder. But this time it wasn’t a photo that circulates once a year to remind, but rather an emotion.

An explosion of differing perceptions and unbalanced feelings led to a divide. Your eyes lit up with deep injustice, a fire raging that this wasn’t fair. My eyes burning with pain of unheard words, misunderstood decisions.

But beneath it all? Grief.

The tree aglow besides a fireplace warm. Snuggles and books and hot cocoa. His head on my shoulder and my arms wrapped around his soft middle tight. A year of blessed memories as we wind down and welcome a new year.

But we mourn.

Heavy is the night alone, to carry the weight of all that was and all of the supposed-to-be’s. Broken is the heart who mends and mends, fingers numb and sore.

Years may pass but grief nestles right in. It deepens and grows. And no, not in a destructive display of power over all that is beautiful and good. Rather, where there are roots of growth so are there roots of grief.

This picture tonight, just four years small, his piggy toes relaxed and snuggled. It gripped my soul and brought me to my knees. The pain too great to be standing. I fall and mourn.

A trigger small at school he tells me, his walls broke down as his tears fell long. The arms that hold were not mine but teacher and friend. A shared grief. A quick and quiet moment of empathy and compassion. A hand to hold, to grip, to stand back up.

Forward is the place to be. The roots of growth deepen and tangle. A story unfolding. The laugher erupts from pure joy, from a place where grief is nestling close by. Both to be honored.

Needs unmet because they can’t be met. And the burden of that truth suffocates. My breath thick and lungs caked with truth. I am doused in the reality that unfolds every moment of every day.

A perplexing thought perhaps for some. The drum of positivity is loud and unnerving at times. There is space here in my heart to allow life to be an unfolding dream and not one that was dreamt. There is peace in that thought, a comfort. For I can not control what comes my way. But I can control self. And for myself I choose to respect and honor the grief and the joy equally.

But I think this is the year I don’t mourn in the quiet, in the solitude of night. A shame I have etched onto my skin is one I think best to remove and rescind.

To be healed is to feel. And feeling all that there is to feel is to be celebrated. My life strong and beautiful, with roots deep from growth and grief, is one I am thankful for.

To honor what is felt is to give grace for the rise and fall of complex emotions. And that is what I am doing this holiday season. Not to shut down the tears that find their way to the surface, and to dig deep when the anger trips out like frustration of minor, silly events.

Everything will fall as it will. There is no need to squash the grief and hide away until it passes, to slap a happy mask upon a solemn heart. There is no need to drum positivity for comfortability. It simply just is. Existing in a reality where we move through with fluidity and tenderness.

So with that, tonight, I will hold close my unfolding dream and cherish. Grief blanketing us, you asleep in my arms, dreaming of a holiday vacation full of belly laughs and elated surprises. Smiles stretching far across, the eyes brimming. This is joy. A shock of pain, a reminder. This is grief. And we live together coexisting.

Happy Holidays.