Grief Is So Permanent, It Could Make the Tallest and Strongest Giant Fall to Its Knees
They tell you time heals all wounds. They don’t tell you that some wounds stay open forever.
I’ve never been the best at saying how I feel out loud. Writing has always been my way to heal, to release—and right now, it’s how I’m grieving.
Can we talk about how permanent grief feels?
One day, you’re talking to someone every single day. Hearing their voice. Sending texts. Laughing about nothing.
And then one day… it just stops.
How do you go from hearing someone’s voice every day to complete silence? How do you go from constant conversation to nothing at all?
That kind of quiet is loud. It sits in the room with you. It follows you around. It doesn’t clock out.
Sometimes I catch myself wishing I could just send one more text. Just call real quick. Just to hear, “I’m okay.” But there’s nothing. No response. No reassurance. Just silence.
Nobody really prepares you for that part — the unknown. You can’t check on them anymore. You can’t protect them. You can’t lay eyes on them. You just have to trust God.
And if I’m being honest? That’s hard sometimes.
Sometimes I begged God to protect the ones I love, to spare my heart from this pain. But loss came anyway, and I’m learning to lean on Him even when I don’t understand why.
Grief is tricky. One day, you’re fine. You’re functioning. You’re outside. You’re smiling.
Then boom — a memory hits in the middle of Walmart, a song comes on, or a scent and suddenly your chest tightens and your eyes fill with sadness. For a second, you wish this isn’t real. You hope it’s just a bad dream. Like maybe they’re on a trip and will be back soon.
But death feels permanent, and that weight is heavy.
It makes you start asking questions you didn’t used to ask.
Why do we love knowing there’s a chance we could lose?
Why get close to people when life can snatch them away at any moment?
Why open your heart just for it to be broken like this?
I’ve wrestled with that.
But here’s what I’m slowly learning…
Grief hurts this bad because the love was that real. The pain doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. It means it mattered.
Every phone call. Every random conversation. Every ordinary day.
Love is always a risk. But a life where you never love deeply? That’s emptier than grief will ever be.
Do I understand everything about the other side? No. Does the unknown still scare me sometimes? Yes. But I trust the God who sees what I can’t. The same God who gave me that love is holding them now.
Grief feels permanent. But so is love.
I believe heaven gained what I lost, and it’s better to have loved than to not love at all.
If I had to choose them again — to love them, to hold them, to feel it all — I’d do it in a heartbeat, in every lifetime, pain and all, rather than to not experience that love.
Through grief, I would choose love again and again, if the result leads me back to them. ❤️
xoxomissy 