The Guilt of Grief

I didn’t do enough. Say enough. Or anything. When your grief came, hurtling into your world like a meteor, crashing and forced, changing the landscape of your world. I said nothing. Or not enough. Or not enough.

And now I’m here. Amidst the wreckage of my own. And I know what that would have meant.

And even as you welcome me into this club that “no one wants to join” with so much grace and compassion, my heart–already so broken–splits even more thinking I could have said or done anything and I didn’t. And sorry is so small. But I also know, until this grief becomes yours, you just don’t know.