A soft, cloudy sky at dusk with rays of light breaking through forming subtly cross shape, symbolizing hope and grace amid darkness.
To the brave souls walking through grief’s unexpected moments, welcome.
Editor’s note: This post was originally written on March 11th, 2014, but it remained unpublished until May 31st, 2025. I’ve revisited and revised it to reflect where I am now, emotionally and spiritually. These words are still rooted in memory, but now softened by time, reflection, and quiet gratitude.
If you’re navigating grief, or ever lost someone who shaped your world, I hope you find a small measure of comfort in this shared space.
Every year when March 14th arrives, a familiar ache stirs quietly within me. It’s not a date I mark on the calendar, yet my heart never forgets. It always pulls me back to a time when my brother was still here, when life felt just a little more whole.
Back then the song “Just A Dream” by Nelly somehow gave shape to what I couldn’t put into words. The lyrics weren’t about my exact story, yet the rawness, the ache of unresolved feelings spoke straight to my soul:
“If you’ve ever lost somebody put your hands up…
“And now they’re gone and you wishin’ you could give them everything.”
Grief hit like a storm I never saw coming. I was young and unprepared for what it meant to lose someone so close, so suddenly. For a while, I tried to outrun the pain. Literally. I threw myself into running, into track season, pretending I was okay. But I wasn’t. It was the only way I knew how to cope. Eventually, the pain caught up, both physically and emotionally as I injured my foot and the floodgates finally opened.
What followed was a deep exhaustion. A draining heaviness that settled in quietly but completely. It was one of the hardest seasons of my life, a rawness I still carry with me, even as I learn to carry it differently now.
I carried guilt because we didn’t grow up side by side. Being half siblings with an age gap, our time together was limited but meaningful. Part of me wondered if I could have done more by having spent more time together, asked more questions, or shown up differently. Another part of me refused to believe he was truly gone for a period there. Denial, a frequent feeling of grief, became a shield. One that protected me for a while from facing the full weight of loss until I was ready to process the grief.
There are moments that remain frozen in time. The memory of my mother walking into my room that Sunday, or sitting in Spanish class the next day, dazed and unable to speak. Those days I felt like I was moving underwater, disconnected from everything and everyone around me. I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling, so I didn’t. Not really anyway.
It wasn’t until a tragedy struck closer to my school community that the weight I’d been carrying finally surfaced. A forgotten paid of gym shoes, a small yet ordinary detail, became the defining moment. Grief doesn’t come in waves. Sometimes, it bursts through a crack.
That day, a friend sat down next to me. No words. Just a quiet, steady presence. And in that simple act, I remembered, I wasn’t alone. Maybe I never had been.
With time and support from familiar places like my mother and my friends, as well as unexpected ones like my teammates and coaches, I slowly began piercing myself back together. I learned to hold space for both sorrow and strength. Healing, I’ve come to realize, was never about forgetting. It’s about learning how to carry love in a new way.
My brother was just days away from starting the next chapter of his life. I think about that often, not with bitterness, but with a quiet kind of drive. I want to make him proud. I want to live with intention and purpose. To become the kind of person he’d be cheering for from the sidelines.
So when I hear “Just A Dream,” I think back to that time of how raw my emotions were, how lost I felt in the days that followed. But now, I also smile. Because he lived. And his life, cut far too short, continues to teach me how to live mine.
You are missed. You are loved. And you are never forgotten.
Before we part ways. there’s something I want to leave you with. Grief isn’t something that moves in a straight line. It shows up in the songs we hear, in the small moments didn’t plan for, and in the quiet spaces we never expected. When I think back on my hardest days, what helped me most wasn't advice or tidy answers, it was someone sitting beside me in silence. That presence alone reminded me I wasn’t carrying it all by myself. And maybe that’s the reminder you need too. You don’t have to have everything figured out. Sometimes the greatest gift is simply giving yourself permission to be messy, quiet, or uncertain. And trusting that it’s enough.
As a signature of my blog, I like to end each post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness”. There is no such time as the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!
***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***
