Welcome.
This is a space for whatever you're carrying today.
Whether your grief feels fresh,
Quiet,
Or tucked away in the corner of your heart.
This isn't a meditation to fix or rush anything.
It's a place to rest.
To breathe,
And to remember.
If you're feeling tender,
You're not alone.
If the ache comes without warning,
You're not doing it wrong.
Grief has its own rhythm,
And here,
You're allowed to follow it.
So find a comfortable place,
And let your shoulders drop.
And allow whatever comes,
To come.
There's nothing to prove,
Only love,
And the weight of what we miss.
Some losses live in the body,
Not the calendar.
You can be mid-sentence,
Mid-laugh,
And suddenly a shadow moves through your chest,
And you remember they're not here.
Grief doesn't always arrive with sobs.
Sometimes,
It tiptoes in with a memory,
A smell,
A song,
Or the way someone else says their name.
You might try to hold it together,
But your body remembers the softness,
The silence,
The goodbye that never felt final enough.
And maybe there's guilt.
Guilt for smiling,
For forgetting,
For carrying on when something in you still aches,
Like it just happened.
Grief is not a failure to heal.
It's a way we remember love.
Let it wash through you now,
Like rain on a quiet morning,
Soaking the earth without asking permission.
Let it move through the places that ache,
The ones you've held too tightly for too long.
Let it gather behind your eyes like a tide at dusk,
Slow,
Inevitable,
Rising not to drown you but to remind you that you are still alive.
There is no right way to miss someone.
You are not broken.
You are loving,
In the absence of being able to touch.
Our grief is sacred.
So is the softness it leaves behind.
When you're ready,
Take a breath,
A breath that belongs only to you,
The living,
Healing,
Still here you,
And exhaling.
You can carry them and still move forward,
Gently,
In your own time.
You are enough.
You always were.
And you are so deeply loved.
Thank you for joining me today.
