Ten years ago, and each November since, I’m reminded that grief can be a transition—like falling leaves making way for spring blossoms. But this November is a bit different. This November isn’t just a reminder;
it’s a promise—a promise that behind every falling leaf, a blossoming spring is born.
I was 36 when they diagnosed me with a “mental disorder” called “widow.” They told me I’d live with loss, emptiness, void, confusion, pity, and helplessness for the rest of my life. In that moment, it felt like they took my power, my right to live as fully as I once did. But no one told me that grief is not an illness.
Through a journey of spiritual, emotional, social, and physical recovery, I realized that loss is woven into the fabric of life. It isn’t about the loss itself; it’s about how we respond to it. Whether it’s the death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, setbacks at work, financial difficulties, or any other significant loss, the impact lies in how we choose to face it.
No one told me there’s a beautiful way to grieve. But there is.
Because when we grieve, we can find beauty in our meanings, thoughts, words, and memories. We smile, we laugh, we live even within our sadness.
Grief offers us the chance to redefine overwhelming feelings. We learn to perceive life differently. In the midst of chaos, we find ways to organize our grief, rearranging it in a way that reflects how we want to see it. We make it perfect, as we need it to be. We reformulate, creating our own language of loss—one that empowers us to live fully, beautifully, and resiliently.
So, if November has taught me anything, it’s this: We are not meant to remain fallen. Just as autumn surrenders to spring, we are meant to rise, to blossom again, and to fill our lives with purpose and beauty. Every ending holds the seed of a new beginning.
