August 30 is National Grief Awareness Day. It’s a day dedicated to raising awareness of the many ways in which individuals cope with loss and to encourage open communication about bereavement. As I write this post, I acknowledge that I am grieving. For the first time in my life, I have experienced a series of losses significant enough to rock my entire world. I was not prepared. I know lack of preparation is often associated with the death of a loved one and certainly not four. I was not at all prepared. I am not referencing preparation in terms of losing someone, but lack of preparation for all that comes with losing people who held significant meaning and too, losing self. In one of my early journal entries, I wrote:

“Grief is like carrying around a handful of broken China. What used to be beautiful, sought after, and carried gently is now broken, heavy, and capable of causing so much pain. I don’t want to carry it everywhere, but I have to. I can’t give it away. It’s like a rose bush, beautiful to look at, but potentially harmful to touch. Perfect on the outside but don’t reach too fast, you might get a petal, but you might get a thorn. I’m here. I’m there. Nowhere all at once. I can go far or nowhere at all and some days, neither matters to me because they are not here. I am stuck. Life is moving on, but I can’t. My physical and my mental are not in alignment. Missing my old life is my normal. Mourning is my new normal. Grief has made a home deep inside of me. It is the reminder that love used to live here. Pure, deep, sure, real. Love used to live here. And it still does. It all hurts like hell. “

Following this initial state of shock relative to the loss of a loved one, three more deaths followed. I’ve spent the last several months learning how to live again. Death and grief aren’t things you move on from, but you can move with and that takes time, especially for women and especially for women of color as the supportive services and resources, and societal expectations for us are different. I shared about that in more detail in this feature via Collective for Hope months after experiencing earth shattering loss for the first time.

I’ve spent every day since the significant loss, learning how to breathe again. August 19, 2023, unbeknownst to me was the start of a series of losses that would flip my world upside down. Lamont was murdered. Up until a few months ago, I couldn’t bring myself to read the online articles surrounding his death and in doing so, was made all the more anxious, heartbroken, sick. The reports state that at 9:45 officers responded to a shooting that left a man critically injured and that he later died. I ended a phone call with him at 9:42PM and the reality that that call was our last, has served as a point of contention for me. On some days it makes me smile as our conversations were always warm and affirming and on other days, it triggers me into a never-ending cycle of questions, tears, more questions, and frustration. There were countless days I spent curled up, in a fetal position, crying until I couldn’t cry anymore. I’d wake up with swollen eyes and a hoarse voice. For months, I have felt more like myself and less like myself all at once. For months, I’ve cried out to an empty house and an ever-present God, that I WILL NEVER BE THE SAME! I write to you now recognizing that it is not God’s intent that I stay the same anyhow. And so, good grief.

I know the term good grief is often meant to serve as an exclamation expressing surprise, alarm, dismay, or some other, usually negative emotion. Even now, in using the two words together, it’s a bit of an oxymoron. As good means to be desired and approved of and grief is deep sorrow, especially caused by someone’s death. So the idea that grief can be good is an uncommon one. However, I can say that through grief, I’ve had to relearn how to operate in my daily life, how to show up for myself, how to prioritize my own needs, and the needs of those that rely on me. I’ve learned how to engage with others and how to experience joy. Yet and still, as life goes on, the realization that it’ll never be the same is one that I have to contend with. It has been challenging to say the least. I have never felt a pain like the one I live with now–in the pit of my stomach, always at the back of my mind, interrupting my sleep, cutting short my smile, quickening my breaths, and forever etched into the design of my heart.

When I started writing this blog post almost a year ago, I didn’t know what I wanted to say. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt worth writing. It hurt too much, too deep, and for too long. But as I have worked to recover from grief, I have found that writing is therapy for me too. Good. Grief!

The days and months following his death felt like an eternity. I recalled in therapy a few weeks ago those early days and the weight I felt as I attempted to navigate them. The loss of a person is one that brings forth shock and that shock takes a while to wear off. I went to therapy seeking a quick fix to what I was feeling. The planner in me wanted a timeline. A start and end date. I gave myself 90 days. I was so naive.

Loss would take me more than 90 days to accept, let alone process. First Lamont, then TraLisha, then Grandpa., then Liz. I learned a lot from each of them. Through their loss, I realize how intertwined lives and learned lessons are.

I met Liz at 7 years old. She worked alongside my father and through their friendship became more like family to me. BBQs, birthday parties, sports events, we did it all together and even more so when her second-born son became my first love. She was the first person to know I was pregnant because she told me I was. I never knew how she knew. She just did. I took a test a few days later and it confirmed what she already knew. From that moment on, she helped me navigate the highs and lows of my pregnancy, took me to eat regularly, and gave me sound advice. She treated me like I was her own daughter. She celebrated me as a mama. She respected me as a woman. During her funeral, many people spoke about their comfortability in speaking with her about anything. I nodded in agreement because she truly was the kind of person you could vent to without judgement. I don’t know how she carried all of the things, for all of us, for all of this time and even though I am going to miss her deeply, I am so glad that she’s not carrying it all anymore.

My grandfather was one of my dad’s favorite people in the world. Perhaps his absolute favorite. Growing up, I wanted to understand why, so I naturally spent as much time as I could with him. More time as I grew older. I realized very early on that he was fun to be around, prioritized family, and knew a lot so you learned a lot, even though he never said a lot. He was a lot like my dad and my dad, a lot like him. More than anything, I respected my grandfather. The more I learned about him, the more I respected him and the prouder I was to be of him. Losing him wasn’t just hard because he was no longer going to be here, but because I realized my Dad now carried the weight of grief, the heaviest heartbreak there is, and there was nothing. I could do about it. My heart aches for him because I know what it’s like to have an emptiness overcome you, pain overwhelm you, and the world you thought you knew so well, betray you.

TraLisha could always make me laugh, but she could also make me cry. I knew that grief had made a home inside of her following the death of her own mother. Talking to her always made me sad because the rawness of death and grief were forever etched into her conversation. She couldn’t experience joy without recalling how it felt before the hurt. Regardless of her determined cause of death, I believe she died from a broken heart.

Lamont taught me a lot about the outdoors. A space I didn’t appreciate until meeting him. His love for nature, camping, fishing, and the earth altogether is one of the things I miss most. Many days, outside is the only place that feels safe enough to scream, cry, shout, and fall. It often feels like the only space big enough to hold all of me and the weight of grief. It also inspires me to be more aware, engaged, and in tune with what’s happening around me, for me, to me. The air I breathe, the food I eat, the land that keeps and holds me.

I miss them. I don’t know that there will ever be a time that I won’t.

Like Liz, Grandpa, TraLisha, and Lamont, grief has taught me. It continues to teach me. Each of these deaths impacted me differently. I want to so badly understand death, but I can’t say that I fully do. I accept that it is a part of life, but that doesn’t make it any easier to navigate. I watched the people around me fumble through grief. Their first lost. Their first void. They too now recognize the weight grief carries. They too now have felt real heartbreak. While it is as common as living, it rocks the world in an entirely different way.

Much of what I have to share, I am sharing in faith, as there are days that grief feels anything but good to me. There are days when grief feels unbearable and indescribable. It suffocates and weighs heavily on me. It sneaks in during moments of bliss and perches when I feel peace. There were days It left me stuck, cold, angry, sick, irritated, lonely, and lost. Hours will pass and it feels like only a minute. For months, I still waited for calls, longed for their presence, talked about them as if they were still living. This, is grief. It seems no matter where I turn, I sense, feel, think of them. I think of all the things I learned directly and indirectly from my grandfather. I think of his life and his legacy. I feel I still had so much to learn from him. Watching my dad learn to live a life without the only father he’s ever known, shattered my heart. Grief has come to make a home inside of him now. I hope I can be strong with and for him. If I could carry his hurt, I would simply because grief is already here with me. It is the one thing I wish the people I loved most never experienced.

Losing people you love leaves you dangerously vulnerable. I can’t think of words to put to the feeling of envisioning a life without the people you’ve grown to love and expect to be around forever. People will encourage you to try new things to numb the pain, but as someone quite routinized, I didn’t think now was a good time to start given my increased levels of anxiety, overwhelming range of emotions, and no capacity to withdraw from my life. The reality is that my only choice has been to grieve good. If I didn’t or don’t, I risk losing my career, my children, my home. My responsibilities are widespread and while some days this fact seemingly haunts me, I have days where I am grateful for it too. Grieving good has meant feeling and sitting with my thoughts and feelings. It’s meant journaling and setting solid boundaries. It’s meant prioritizing my wants and needs, managing my own mental health, and proactively and intentionally living my life. Still, the days feel longer and shorter all at once. Some days I keep it all together and other days, it all hangs out. Good grief has been humbling and humanizing.

The thought that Lamont, TraLisha, my grandfather, and Liz are never coming back, is something that makes it hard for me to get out of bed sometimes, and while I know there is so much life to look forward to, it doesn’t always feel that way.. If you or someone you know and love is grieving, please know that whatever the process is, it’s yours. It’s theirs. Grief looks different for each person and I encourage you to not think of it as a right or wrong way to grieve, but a healthy v. unhealthy way to grieve. Too, recognize that it’s not linear and when it comes to grief, as it does with love, time is a figment of our imagination. There’s no direct correlation. Be patient with yourself and give yourself space and grace. In addition to an incredible village, Megan Devine’s book, It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay, was a game changer for me. It allowed me to read about grief from a practitioner who had experienced loss in a very similar way AND wasn’t shy about the realities of such losses. It was healthy for me to engage with a narrative that didn’t dress my loss up in Scripture, or rebuke my hurt, or dismiss the associated pain. I recommend it to all to read as death is inevitable. I am a tool seeking and solution-oriented person. This book, in my humble opinion, is just that–a tool. A few of its take-a-ways have made a world of difference for me. I’d go so far as to say it saved my life. I’m sharing some of them below. I hope it helps someone else.

1. Grief is not to be fixed. Grief in and of itself isn’t broken, but our culture’s way of handling it is.
2. Grief can only be carried. We have to learn to live with it and allow it to live alongside us.
3. Who I was before my loss is a person I can never return to. I am forever changed. The idea that I can be that person again is a refusal to acknowledge the impact that loss has had on me. There is no going back. There is no moving on. There is only moving with.
4. My life and my grief are a work in progress. They need not be finished or perfect.
5. Love is the only thing that lasts and it is why we grieve.

I have found grief to be a process unlike any other that I have ever experienced.

Another tool, is therapy. I sought therapy for the first time in my adult life following death. I knew that I wasn’t okay. I knew that I couldn’t muddle my way through this. As a person who rarely talks about the things that bother them, it became extremely interesting to me that I talk to and problem solve with others for a living. But I didn’t feel that there was a space big enough to hold the broken pieces of me. I didn’t feel like there was room to fit all that I had bottled up to this point. So, I sought help from a complete stranger and found that sometimes the truth is easier to tell when you’re not concerned with whose feelings it might hurt. That’s what therapy was for me. A space to speak my truth. Loud. Angrily. Through tears. To shout. To smile. It was a critical choice and one that helped to save my life. My therapist helped me to better understand what I was facing and as a person who has extensive experience helping those that are living with grief, she allowed me the space to face mine. In addition to her, there were a handful of others who made living with grief possible for me. I’d like to take a moment to thank them for sharing their light as I searched and fought to regain my own.

God, my gratitude for you is endless. I know it is only by your grace that I have navigated the loss of these four beautiful human beings in the last year. I never would have imagined it would be so. But I fear not the future. Though I know not what it holds. I know that you hold it. I am so grateful for the beautiful life you have given me to live. In all that it’s offered me, I find great joy for I am yours and that is and always will be, enough for me. I am also so grateful for the beautiful souls you’ve blessed my life with. They have journeyed alongside me in the thick of my grief and I know that you see them, hear them, and love them too. Please bless them real big for me.

Cara, my personal assistant, friend, sister. Cara, if you’re reading this, know that there aren’t enough words in the English language to describe the extent to which my gratitude flows for you. I found three spaces that have always and all ways felt safe for me over this last year and in your company was one and probably my favorite. You were the only one there to catch me at the hospital the night of Lamont’s death. Hearing Quinnetta’s words literally swept me off of my feet. My screams, my anger, my brokenness, my sadness, my frustration, my fear, my grief, as big, ugly, loud, inconsistent, and difficult as it felt, never scared you away. You accompanied me through each day, stage, moment. It didn’t matter how much I cried, you still considered me a warrior and that worked wonders for my faith in humanity and my self-confidence. No matter how dark. No matter how long. No matter how hard. You came when I called. You came when I told you not to. I couldn’t imagine experiencing something like this without your flexibility, wisdom, covering, love, protection, and insight. It is no surprise to me that you and Lamont were related. I see so much of him in you and how you love, care, and watch out for me. I am forever indebted to you and will spend the rest of my days attempting to reciprocate all that you’ve given to me. I have endless and unconditional love for you. Thank you for hearing my silence, understanding my heart, and affirming my existence. Brittany, I often think about the Sunday you couldn’t get a hold of me and just came to church. It literally made me cry. I don’t know if I was more proud that you knew that’s where you could find me or that I had friend that cared enough to seek me in my silence. I don’t ever want to take up too much space or too much of someone’s time and in this season, you’ve shown me that there’s no such thing in true sisterhood. I am so thankful to God that you see me. Tamika, thank you doesn’t quite seem big enough. Your messages and sentiments were always so divinely timed. Thank you for thinking of me and loving on me. I knew when I met you a few months into living in Georgia that you were connected to the source and of Him. You’re a gift to humanity and I am so very thankful that you share your light with me. Ty’Sean, I tell you all the time how much of a help your letters, calls, and company are to me. Your strength and sense of humor caught me by surprise, given the circumstances, but you’re so solid. While you may be far away, you’re near in word and in heart and I am grateful for your friendship. You forever have a sister in me. George, my forever brother, thank you. It didn’t matter how many times I told you I was okay, you kept checking. You kept your word and even in his absence, your loyalty to Lamont is admirable. You’ve been a friend of friends and I am so thankful that he had you and now I do too. I wish I could truly articulate the difference your text messages, phone calls, and stories have made for me. The hurt doesn’t feel as heavy when I share space with you because you knew him so well and for so long, that there’s a lifetime of memories. I feel privileged to have access to those memories and forever give God thanks for you, your heart, and your willingness to help keep me lifted. Maurice, JG, Raj, Tyrell, you all loss a brother, but in ya’ll, I’ve gained some. Krystal, having you to lean on, even miles and miles a part did wonders for me. Your gifts, my favorite being the affirmation stones and the Megan Devine book, were perfect and timely. I could never repay you for the sharing of your wisdom and opening your own wounds to help me navigate mine. I am so deeply thankful and also saddened that you too and first, had to experience such a loss. Dr. Hicks, your love for me has transcended time zones and challenges and all that life has thrown at me. I thank God for the friend I have in you. Your love, your prayers, your encouragement helped to keep me. Paola, Cleo, Lena, my girls. Thank you! You always knew what to say and when to say it or so it seems. You all found ways in the midst of your own challenges to make room for mine. I’ll never forget it. Elisha, Candice, Shannon, Chanea, Kiera, Makayla, Jamia, TaShawn, Rosha, and many of my other friends and TSC Sisters, you all made a world of difference in my life. You still do. Thank you for your love, your smiles, your encouragement, your flowers, your prayers. I have found my hypothesis on sisterhood to be manifested through you all and how you care for and love on me. Through each death you all have continued to show up, nurture, and pour into me. I don’t take it lightly or for granted. Leo Louis, you called me one lonely day. I had struggled to get out of bed, but was doing my best to make it to get a pedicure I so badly needed. You said, “Marquisha. This is Leo Louis and I just want you to know I am praying for you and it is going to be okay.” Those were the words I needed to hear and while your call was unexpected, your ability to see and meet the needs of others was not. I am forever grateful to have been on the receiving end of your care. Dell, not many men could do what you’ve done over the last several months. No matter our station in life you’ve been a solid friend to me and it is more than I could have ever asked of you. Thank you for checking on me, praying for me, and always affirming your love for me. When I count my blessings, you are always among them. Racquel, Jamia, Kiera, and Elisha, an extra special thank you to you all for your support during my grandfather’s transition. The planning, the food, the obituaries, the running around, the checking in, checking on, you all never cease to amaze me. Ya’ll are personified reciprocity. Thank you! Ma’Kye, in the days following significant loss, you sent me scripture. That was a proud mom moment for me and my desire to make it through all of this was stronger than my grief. It still is, because of you and your brother and sister. Thank you for looking out for your mama. Thank you for being patient with me or at least pretending to be : ). I love you, Sonshine. Many thanks to Ms. Rochelle and Quinetta for your continued love, prayers, acceptance, and kindness. To my own family, especially my sister, Bri, your own experience with loss helped you to help me. I wish you never knew that kind of hurt, but I often wonder where I would be without you to guide me through all that I felt and thought. I love you beyond the beyond. I love you all. I thank you for your unwavering love. It has been my life’s constant and I am so very grateful to God for it and you. All of you. I know that there is nothing in this world I couldn’t call you all for. I know that there is always room for me at whatever table you all set and the unconditional love that you all have provided to and for me over the years is one of my life’s greatest gifts. Lastly, my therapist. As a practitioner who truly believes in the power of safe spaces, thank you for creating one for me. Should you ever come across this post, I want you to know that you have made a world of a difference when my world became so different. I could never thank you enough for helping me regain my footing in the world.

This list is not exhaustive. There are countless people who sent flowers, words of encouragement, condolences, prayers, gifts, books, etc. I am grateful for it all. To those who didn’t know what to do, how to help, or where to start, know that I thank you too. Your lack of preparation, like my own, forced me to navigate this thing in real time. I couldn’t hide from or shake it and it’s made me stronger, more empathetic, and more trusting of myself. You all made it real easy for this to be a season of me and God and I am grateful to have had the time, opportunity, and space to dwell in and with Him. As He always does, He met me at the point of my need, and while it didn’t hurt any less, it did feel lighter when I realized that Lamont, TraLisha, my grandfather, and Liz were His too and first and even the more. At some point that realization helped me to center gratitude over grief and that too, has helped me to move with versus against the sorrow, pain, and longing that is forever etched into the framework of my being. I have heard time and time again that death changes people and that it brings out the worst in them. I am determined for it to bring out the best in me. I know that grief cannot be fixed. It can only be carried. This post is my truth and a tribute to all those who helped me to carry mine. Thank you!

If you or someone you know is grieving the loss of a loved one, please consider grief-specific support via The Collective for Hope you can also explore some of the resources outlined in this blog post or reach out directly to The Co. for support. You can find out more about the services we offer here.

Blog Post BONUS: Click to listen to Good Grief, the latest podcast episode on Sister to Sister, The Podcast.