They say time flies, and that is true 

Time kept on flying, leaving me behind the day that I lost you.

They say time is relative, a constant no matter what you do.

It’s like a ticking clock taking away my proximity to you.

They say time is the order of events from the past to the present to the yet-to-come.   

My time is in two orders: “She was still alive” or “She was gone.”

They say time is our friend, the only thing that can dull grief’s sharp pain.                     

This is what I now count until I see you again.

This is the 6-month Annie-versary 2/24/24

Sweet Annie, it feels like you were just born yesterday, yet it also feels like an eternity since you’ve been gone.

Writing about grief was never supposed to be my platform, which makes sharing my own struggles difficult. However, I want to be honest: I am struggling.

My perspective on grief has transformed. I now approach it with more grace, compassion, and empathy. My days are often filled with moments of struggle, lament, and confusion. Experiencing grief from this side brings a different kind of pain, one that reshapes how I navigate the world.

Grief is like a wall; it can feel insurmountable, and if we let it, it will create a divide between us.

People approach that wall in various ways:

• Some feel overwhelmed by its height and walk away.
• Some wait for those on the other side to carve an opening for them.
• Some look for a window to check in but don’t enter.
• Some knock on the door but can’t go through it.
• And some walk right through that door and join you.

Having been on both sides, I understand each approach to grief.

Grief is a profoundly personal journey; there’s no universal manual for navigating it. While each person’s experience is unique, sharing what we’ve experienced and what’s been helpful can offer valuable insights and comfort to those supporting a loved one affected by loss.

When we are open and willing to share our journey, it can provide comfort, validation, and understanding to those also navigating the complex emotions of loss. Additionally, it can help break down the stigma surrounding grief and encourage more open conversations about suffering.

The most common phrase I hear is:

“I don’t know what to say.”

As friends and loved ones, we naturally want to ease or fix the pain, but we know we can’t. So, it’s true that no words can take the pain away.

Although there is nothing we can say or do to eliminate the pain, there are things we can say and do to help alleviate it.

I’d like to offer a different perspective:

You do know what to say. You can have the right words:

• “I’m sorry you lost _____.”
• “I’m praying for you. You are thought of. You are loved.”
• “I saw this ____ and thought of you.”
• “Here’s a scripture that brings me comfort; I hope it can help bring you some, too.”
• “I really miss her/his ____ (smile, laugh, jokes, the way she/he ___)
• “Here’s how ______ impacted my life.”
• “Here is a story you may not know… “ (share a funny experience, screenshot a text they sent you)

Or ask questions like:

• “What was their favorite scripture?”
• “What was their favorite meal?”
• “What did they like about this holiday?
• “What would they be doing today, on your birthday?”

I’ve had friends ask me specifics. One of my favorites was, “I’m teaching my child how to drive. How did it go when you taught Annie?” I could laugh (now) as I recalled Annie turning into oncoming traffic… whew!

When these kinds of thoughts enter your mind, share them. Those are the words to say!

I’ve also encountered the mindset:

“I don’t want to say the wrong thing. So I haven’t called.” This is because people think it will increase the pain.

Again, I’d like to offer a different perspective: saying nothing can often be worse than saying the wrong thing.

When you remain silent, the grieving person may begin to create their own reasons for your absence, and those assumptions can be far more painful than anything you might have said “wrong.”

When people have acknowledged my pain and shared that they miss Annie, too, it has been helpful for me.

Phrases or questions such as:

• “That must be so hard. Can you share a bit of that experience with me?”
• “Today I wanted to call Annie and tell her____. So I am telling you.”
• “How is your day going? Would you have time to go for a walk?
• “Would there be a good time I could call you today?

These make me feel seen and understood.

How can you identify things that are not helpful and could be hurtful?

When someone tries to identify with me because they have experienced loss or “worse” pain, it feels like they’re saying, “My story is harder than yours.”

My friend Lynn Cowell said it perfectly: “The one hurting has enough pain to bear. When we speak with the one grieving, hearing your story of similar pain can cause the hurting person to bear not only their own pain but also the pain of the person sharing.”

Every loss we experience in life is unique to us. I lost my child, my only daughter, my silly girl, my bug, and all the events that would have been a part of our future.

In our family, Annie’s passing meant that others lost a sister, sister-in-law, cousin, granddaughter, and niece. Her friends lost a teammate, a co-worker, a girlfriend, an employee, and a confidant. Each person lost a unique aspect of Annie, yet we all share the collective pain of losing her.  Whoever is sharing their aspect of loss, let them have their moment.

It’s essential to recognize that, no matter how well-intentioned you may be, sharing your own story of loss at that moment can sometimes be overwhelming for someone who is grieving.

It’s best to wait until they ask you about your experience. If they don’t ask, don’t share! Just listen.

It’s not that we don’t care about your loss—we truly do. However, during times of grief, our emotional strength can feel depleted, which can make it challenging for us to turn around and provide the support you need.

Ask yourself:  “Will what I’m about to say lighten the load for this grieving person?”

Let your words offer those in pain a glimpse of light and hope—not through clichés, but with genuine reassurance that you are there for them.

I’ve also found it challenging to initiate communication.

People often assume I’ll reach out when I’m ready, but I can’t. And I won’t—not because I’m not ready, but because I lack the emotional energy to initiate contact and to figure out how many people haven’t contacted me.

Sadly, I was warned that I would likely lose friendships due to those waiting for me to contact them. It is not intentional at all. It is a response to Grief Brain Fog! It is a real thing. A grieving person does not think about who they should contact.
However, I do have the energy to respond. Having someone to reply to actually gives me energy.

If you know someone grieving and they haven’t reached out to you, please take the first step to let them know you genuinely care. Your willingness to reach out can mean the world to them during this difficult time.

Approaching someone in pain is hard! It costs you emotionally and can add to your own pain. It can be awkward and uncomfortable.  You may wonder: “If I approach this pain, how long will I need to stay in it with them?”

Last week, I visited a friend, and we talked about life. Her boys are still young, and she shared her hectic schedule. I remembered those days, and we laughed about boys’ antics at that age. Then she asked how we were doing and acknowledged that it was our six-month mark.

We shared tears and hugs, but we also transitioned to other topics. Having her approach my pain and walk through it with me was incredibly comforting. We didn’t need to linger in that moment for long; just knowing that my loss was acknowledged meant the world to me.

If you’re concerned about a lengthy visit, consider sending a text with some of the above-mentioned lines. Alternatively, you can call ahead to let them know you have about 15 minutes to stop by and were wondering if you could pray with them or drop off flowers or a card. This way, they know you’re thinking of them while setting a time limit for your visit. It’s a much better option than remaining silent!

I’ve been told that this is a process. However, I’m not sure that word fully defines my new path. A process implies a series of steps leading to an end. There is no end to my grief on this earth. The steps I now walk are in a different pair of shoes.

Grief are the shoes I wear as I walk this new path. 

Grace is the lens through which I see it.

As we are in our six-month “Annie-versary,”  (as we call them), I will sit in moments of tears, walk in moments of energy, and smile as I remember: “The Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love, and self-discipline.” (2 Timothy 1:7, Annie’s Verse)

I hope that by sharing my personal experiences with grief—especially the challenging moments and how I found comfort—I can enhance understanding and empathy, encouraging connection and healing rather than division during someone’s most trying times.

I’d love to hear from you. Click reply and share your answer to any of these questions that apply.

• How have you approached someone in pain? What insights have you gained from those experiences?
• What specific words or actions have comforted you during your moments of grief?
• How do you navigate conversations about loss?