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Hi , After episode 224 dropped last week regarding the fifth anniversary of the death of our friend Suzanne, her husband, Martin shared something interesting with me. It is a poem someone shared with him in the early days of his grief. It came from a Facebook grief group, but the author is unknown. Martin found it comforting, so I am passing it on to you. Grief has seasons.
Not the kind you can track on a calendar.
Not winter, spring, summer, fall.
But the seasons of the soul.
There’s the early season—the stormy one—where everything is loud and raw and sharp. Where tears come without warning, and the pain sits on your chest like a weight that won’t move.
Then comes the quiet season. The outside world seems normal, but you feel like a stranger in it. People think you’re okay again. But inside, it’s still gray. Still empty. Still aching.
There’s the angry season, too. The one where you're mad at everything and nothing. Where you snap, retreat, question everything, and silently scream at the unfairness of it all.
And the numb season—when it doesn’t hurt as much, but you also don’t feel much of anything. You float. You function. You wonder if this is healing or just surviving.
And maybe, eventually… the tender season arrives. Not a season without sadness, but one where the memories bring more warmth than sting. Where the love feels alive, even in the absence.
But here’s what they never told us:
These seasons don’t come in order.
They don’t stay for a set time.
They loop.
They repeat.
They collide.
One day you’re okay.
The next, you’re not.
And that’s not failure.
That’s grief.
Grief doesn’t follow the rules.
But it does follow love.
And love, real love, lasts forever.
So if you’re in a hard season right now, hold on.
Another one will come.
Not easier… just different.
And eventually, you’ll learn to live in the rhythm of them all.
* * * * * * * Click here if you missed last week’s episode, or if you want to hear again, “God Cares For Us In Ways We Rarely Consider.” Until next time, I wish you all the joy that you can wish.* John Certalic * The Merchant of Venice, Act III, scene 2 |
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