It took a moment to sink in, and when it did, it felt like a gut punch. I looked at a picture, and I couldn’t remember that day, but it was more than that. It quickly spiraled into all the things I can no longer remember, like how he smelled, what his voice sounded like, and what it felt like to just be next to him. I know I have felt those memories slipping away before and expected those memories to fade, but I wasn’t expecting this, not today. 

Time is a thief in more ways than one. Time steals youth. Time steals the tangible things we remember about our loved ones who have left this earth. It isn’t fair, and it definitely isn’t right. Yet, somewhere in the midst of the deep gut-wrenching sorrow that accompanies grief, there is a flicker of hope. This hope is found in our Heavenly Father. This hope is found in knowing that I will be reunited in the most beautiful family reunion for eternity. This separation, this longing, this grief is temporary. 

I can remember how he smells by finding his cologne in the store. I can remember his voice by watching a video where he was talking or laughing. I can remember his unique sense of humor by reading through his list of classic one-liners. I can easily remember things I have written down by reading through my journals and even this blog. But the tangible things have been slipping away since the moment he passed away. I knew it would happen because I walked through this when my dad passed away. Again, time is a thief. What once was easy to remember and recall becomes cloudy over time. It begins to feel like those memories are back there, in a life that is no longer easily accessible. 

Recently, I read something that resonated with me: “Your body will remember the room forever. The lighting, the sounds, the weight of the air. It will live in you long after the moment has passed – not to haunt you, but to mark what mattered. You will visit it again and again.” 

It is true, I remember those final days and moments in the hospital, and if you are close to me, you may have even heard me share those details, but there is something sacred about those final days, hours, and moments that are mine and mine alone. Each person who was in that room has their own version, just as I am sure you do. Some days those memories are a comfort, and some days those memories are painful, even after almost 5 years. Why? Because we loved and we shared a beautiful life. 

So, how do I navigate this pain and longing for what once was? It is a daily choice to choose gratitude for the time I had and for all the other blessings my Heavenly Father has given to me. It is a daily choice to lean into joy even through the pain. Some days these are empty words on a page at best, and other days it is an easy choice; this is grief. Some days it is listening to worship music louder than the thoughts racing through my mind, and other days it is playing my favorite playlist that I shared with him.

In the beginning, gratitude was so difficult; it felt silly and trivial to be thankful for the things I was saying out loud, but I quickly realized that it helped me to shift my focus from death and onto eternal life. It forced me to have a mindset that was not of this world. 2 Corinthians provides a great reminder of the fleeting nature of this world compared to what really matters, which is, in the words of Paul, “an eternal weight of glory.”

“Therefore, we do not become discouraged [spiritless, disappointed, or afraid]. Though our outer self is [progressively] wasting away, yet our inner self is being [progressively] renewed day by day. For our momentary, light distress [this passing trouble] is producing for us an eternal weight of glory [a fullness] beyond all measure [surpassing all comparisons, a transcendent splendor and an endless blessedness]! So we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are unseen; for the things which are visible are temporal [just brief and fleeting], but the things which are invisible are everlasting and imperishable.” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 AMP

This was a hard topic to write about. There is something sacred about these moments and the memories. They are something that is locked in a time capsule that I alone hold. Yet, I know this is part of grief that is rarely spoken of, and for that very reason, I feel it needs a place on this blog.

My prayer as you read this post is that you feel seen in your grief journey. Whether you are days, weeks, months, or even years into your walk, I pray that you feel the tangible love of our Heavenly Father. During this season, I pray He brings to mind memories and moments long forgotten.