Wilting Roses

The Pit and the Shell
This poem was written years ago. In it, I attempt to describe going through the motions of everyday life amidst personal suffering. There have been days since my dad’s death where my life resembles this poem once again: I check off tasks and carry out conversations, all while feeling stuck somewhere much deeper inside, unable to be fully present.

However, as I read this back years later, I know those empty days are temporary.

If you are currently experiencing the life of “The Pit and the Shell”, do not feel ashamed. You are not alone. But also know there is hope. Affliction is momentary, and restoration is coming.
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Welcome to life
Down in the pit
Nothing but space
But you barely fit

You can peer over top
And watch how the Shell
Lives your life without you
But no one can tell

Go on and jump
Stomp, kick, and scream
The Shell cannot hear you
And you can’t get free

Soon you’ll give up
Resign to a stare
As the Shell lives your life
Hollow, without a care
```
July 9, 2025

emotions, grief, hope, life, loss, poem, poetry
Grief, Dust, and the Fear of Everything

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid.”

A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis

Those first two sentences of C.S. Lewis’ book brought immediate relief to me.
During the entire first month after our loss, I noticed a persistent undercurrent of anxiety—which would, at times, become overwhelming. Most things, real or imagined, felt like very real threats.

When all of our loved ones went back home, I began praying compulsively that no one would get into a car accident or plane crash. I couldn’t stop thinking about my friends and family and how I could lose them at any moment. The statement “everybody dies” suddenly felt impending and terrifying.

Once, when I was expecting a visitor from out of town, I convinced myself that her lack of communication that morning meant she had died. Super rational, right? After an hour with no response, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I called three other people to see if they could reach her, and I almost had one of them drive to her house. Surprise—nothing was wrong.

You might say, “Well, that fear makes sense after an unexpected death!” Just wait. It gets weirder.

Dust sent me into an emotional spiral more than once. Yes… dust. I kept cleaning when I got home, but it felt like every time I turned around, there was more—somehow screaming at me that life was completely and utterly out of my control.
Have you ever cried on the floor with a Swiffer duster? I have.

Perhaps the strangest of all was this: any time I smelled something unusual, I became consumed with fear that there was some chemical, some poison, in the air—something we were all inhaling, something that would eventually make us sick and (you guessed it) die.

Fear was an emotion I didn’t expect to be so prevalent. Whether it was clearly identifiable, like the examples above, or simply a constant sensation, as Lewis described, it became an unwelcome part of my days.

This fear has since subsided and made way for new emotions. But I chose to share these experiences anyway, if only to keep pushing back against the taboo of grief.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 4:6-7

June 10, 2025

faith, fear, grief, healing, life, loss, love
A Walk Down The Street

Tonight was uncharacteristically cool for the south, so I walked. I caught glimpses of the sun through the trees and found myself surrounded by bird songs. The beauty of the evening startled me. Are things allowed to be beautiful when your heart is broken? I walked on.

As my legs swayed, I wondered, how am I still so weak?

Of course, this is not the weakest I have been. No, the weakest was probably three hours after. When the loss was fresh. I was laying on a couch that wasn’t mine in a reality that also wasn’t mine.

Some part of me almost prefers that day over this. It’s an odd longing. I think it’s because that day was at least closer to when he was breathing. I could hold his hand then. We still had hope that things would change. As I walked down the road, I realized the more I move forward in my life, the farther I move away from his.

With every day that passes, my denial weakens. If a man has been dead for over a month, he is going to stay dead. I imagine some people winced reading those words. Apologies– I didn’t mean to offend you with my grief (but as my dad would say, “Truth isn’t mean. It’s truth.”). See, I am not uncomfortable talking about death. I believe the world would benefit if we stopped being so scared of these conversations. So if you are courageous enough to be uncomfortable, follow along. Because grief doesn’t disappear in two weeks. People stop bringing flowers, and then our bouquets die too. What happens then?

What does grief look like after the roses wilt?

May 31, 2025

diary, emotions, grief

The Pit and the Shell

Grief, Dust, and the Fear of Everything

A Walk Down The Street