Grief Can Dance Too

The Space Where Love Still Lives

Today would have been my mother's 72nd birthday, and I find myself sitting in the quiet space where memory and reality meet. Today also marks one week since my oldest brother passed away and joined her on the other side of eternity. A week that feels both impossibly long and impossibly short. 

Time has moved in strange ways, stretching and folding in on itself as grief often does. In my heart, I imagine them line dancing together: free, whole, and filled with laughter. I also hold my father close today, gone more than forty years, but never absent from the story of who I've become. 

Love does not end. It dances across generations.
They are not gone. They are gathered. 

Grief and gratitude sit side by side in me, reminding me that love never truly leaves; it simply changes form. There are moments when the weight of loss feels heavy, and others when joy rises unexpectedly through a memory, a song, or a simple breath. I'm learning that multiple truths can live in the same heart at once: sorrow and peace, longing and acceptance, tears and quiet smiles. 

If you are grieving too, know that there is no single way to carry it. Give yourself permission to remember gently, pause when needed, and honor both the ache and the beauty that love leaves behind. 

And in the middle of this sacred, tender space, something else quietly happened: this blog crossed 100,000 views. 

One hundred thousand. 

Eighty-five countries around the world have now paused here. South Korea joined the community this week, bringing the total to 411 regions and territories represented. That reality humbles me more than I can put into words. What began as a small, honest space to process love, loss, and life has reached hearts across oceans and time zones. 

Today, I'm simply grateful for the quiet strength that meets me each day, for the steady presence of God, and for the people who hold space when words fall short. And on a day that holds my mother's 72nd birthday, one week without my brother, and decades without my father, I am reminded that even in grief, life continues to ripple outward. Love expands. Connection multiplies. What feels deeply personal somehow becomes shared. 

Thank you for being here. Wherever "here" is for you in the world. 

Wherever you find yourself on your own journey, may you feel supported enough to breathe, reflect, and keep moving forward at your own pace. Love endures, even here, especially here. 

With love, gratitude, and quiet courage, 

Stacie J.