Take
a breath… and let yourself arrive here, in this moment.
Feel
the ground beneath you, holding you.
Notice the breath moving in
and out, carrying you gently.
When
we care for a loved
one at
the end of life, grief begins long before death.
It comes
quietly—woven into the fabric of our days.
There is the joy of
still having them here,
and at the same time, the ache of
knowing they are leaving.
We live in two worlds at once:
the
world of presence, of shared stories, smiles, the warmth of
touch—
and the world of absence already making itself known.
We
grieve the small daily losses—
a fading memory, a voice that
grows weaker,
the independence slowly slipping away.
We may
not speak of these sorrows, but we carry them.
They live in our
hearts, in the hidden exhaustion of caregiving,
in the nights we
lie awake, keeping vigil silently.
And
yet… this grief, tender as it is, can also open us.
It invites
us to slow down,
to notice the sacredness of each moment:
a
look, a laugh, a word,
or even the silence that holds us both.
Anticipatory
grief stirs longings in us—
to say what matters,
to
listen more deeply,
to bless, and to be blessed.
It awakens
us to love in its most honest, unguarded form.
Caring
for a loved
one in
this threshold time is not easy.
It asks us to honor our own
grief as much as we honor theirs.
To give space for our tears,
our weariness, our tenderness—
to let love and sorrow walk
hand in hand.
And
as we open to this,
we begin to sense the mystery of
transition,
how grief is preparing us—
softening us,
steadying us—
for the moment when we must finally let go.
Take
another breath.
Feel your heart—full of love, full of
ache—
and know that both are welcome here.
In this
journey of anticipatory grief,
you are not alone.
You are
walking with countless others,
and you are held by something
larger—
a mystery, a grace—
that carries us all across
the threshold of life and death.
~Alexandra Kennedy
