top of page

Tears of grief

‘Cause when I look to the sky something tells me you’re here with me

And you make everything all right.’ - Train

Dear You,

This Thanksgiving morning.

I feel like you painted the sky for me.

The most beautiful clouds.

Like balls of cotton.

The ones where Graham says,

“ I wish I could jump on them.”

Are you there?

Are you able to jump weightless,

happy and free?

Oh, how I wish that for you.

I wish we could jump on them with you.

The rain clouds of grief.

The clouds of sadness.

They are thick.


When the clouds of grief

are dense

it’s hard to feel you.

See you.

You feel worlds away.

These clouds,

hold the heavy tears.

They want to fall.

But I won’t let them.

I want the pain to be over.

I push it away.

I don’t want to feel it


No more.


the sun behind them,

the blazing heat.

The pain.

When you are brave enough,

to finally touch it.

To embrace it.

Surrender to it.


the fiery sun.

Will melt the tears

In to existence.

Maybe I have to be burned by the light.

Maybe I need to be forced.

I have a tight grip.

And then I can drop them.

Maybe it will give me the courage

to let them fall.

The tears of grief.

They gain weight.

Like a wet towel.

They gain power over me.

With each heavy step.

As I run the streets,

of your hometown.

The smell of jambalaya cooking is in the air.

Coming from homes along the way.

I imagine hands stirring the rice in these homes.

The smells are stirring my soul.

Stirring my love for you.

Bringing our love to a boil.

I surrender.

Now the tears fall freely,

Boiling over,

And over the pot.

Like my forgotten spaghetti noodles on the stove.

But with the release,

The boiling over.

I feel better.

Imagine the damage ,

the rapid boiling

could do to your insides.

If they never come to surface.

I let them fall,

As I run.


I feel relief.

I am longing for you to still stir the pot in our home.

To stir our love, here today,

on this beautiful,

Louisiana morning.

On this run.

With each step.

I feel it to be true,

that you still are.


In all of our lives.

If we could only slow down.

If we would only pay attention.

I suddenly feel weightless


with two feet on the earth.

I am thankful.

The Cajun smells of Jambalaya permeate

your clothes and kitchen for days.

I hope your love will do the same.

I hope your spirit

will soak in and stay.

And carry us through these holidays.

The weight of missing you is always there.

Like these heavy clouds.

Yet the sun rises.

And burns the clouds away.


I feel light.

I feel the warmth.

And I suddenly know

Why it is worth it

To feel it all.

The joy.


It comes.

And it might be fleeting

It might come

and go

as fast as these clouds.

But in this moment.

that is enough.

“Let Everything

happen to you,

Beauty and Terror.

Just keep going.

No feeling is final."


I pray.

I pray I can let it all happen.

And let it go

As easily as clouds

Let the rain fall.

let the tears fall.

And let it be.


Only then.

I feel your warmth.

God’s warmth.

Meet me there, Snookie.

Beyond the clouds.

In the warmth.

In the light.

And bring your Jambalaya:)

Be near you.

Be near God.

I am grateful.

love ,me

I wrote this letter to Mike on Thanksgiving morning.

At the end of the run,

The clouds looked like an angel.

The picture does not do it justice.

My hope for you this week,

Is that you are able to feel

whatever you are feeling.


Joy or sadness.

Knowing that

No feeling is final.

Just keep swimming.




  • Black Facebook Icon
  • Black Twitter Icon
  • Black Instagram Icon
  • Black Pinterest Icon
  • Black YouTube Icon




No tags yet.
bottom of page