I Wipe Away Every Tear of Grief

Today I want to remind you of something you try to forget just so you can get out of bed: the ache of missing someone is exactly the size of the love that existed between you. I won't ask you to stop missing them, or to rush this process. I miss them with you too, every single day that person is missing from the table, from the call that no longer comes.

You keep their name locked in your throat, afraid that saying it out loud will hurt too much, will wound whoever is close by all over again. You can say it. You can cry for as long as you need, without apologizing for it. I don't have a clock counting down for your grief to end. I don't demand that you already be fine just because some time has passed.

One day, and that day is truly coming, I will wipe away that tear with My own hand. It's not just a figure of speech: I will be there, literally, drying what today falls alone onto the pillow, in the silent early hours. Until that day comes, I weep together with you, with no rush at all.