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A Journey of Love, Loss, and Renewal
By Minta Speller
Grief. The word alone is heavy, laden with the weight of loss, yet its impact is unique to each of us. At its core, grief is the profound sorrow that accompanies the loss of someone we love. Despite being one of life’s inevitable truths—that we will eventually lose those we hold dear—society often seems ill-equipped to handle it. When death comes, it arrives like a thief in the night, leaving us stunned, and unsure of how to navigate the abyss it creates.
For me, grief was an all-encompassing shadow, a burden that seemed impossible to escape. Thirteen years ago, I lost my firstborn son. He was only 24, a young man with his whole life ahead of him, brimming with potential and dreams yet to be fulfilled. His sudden passing tore through my world, leaving an unfillable void, a chasm so wide it felt insurmountable. I had two other children—one was 22, and the other just two—but the overwhelming weight of my grief consumed me, pulling me into a darkness that seemed endless.
Grief became a relentless force, robbing me of my will to live, stealing away my passion for the things I once cherished, and severing my connection to those around me. I withdrew from life, sabotaging my career and retreating into a place of numbness and isolation. Mothering through this overwhelming pain added a new layer of complexity. I became a shell of my former self, struggling to be present for my children, while grief seeped into every corner of my existence, including my marriage. I felt lost, as though I was drowning in an ocean of sorrow with no shore in sight.
I thought that if I just waited long enough, the pain would disappear, and I’d feel "better" again. I hoped to release this heavy energy into the world, to find relief and move on. But that relief never came. Grief isn’t something you can simply release or let go of. It clings to you, becoming a part of your very being.
Yet, even in the deepest, darkest moments, there was a flicker of light—faint but unwavering. My husband and my children became my North Star, my guiding light, my saving grace. In them, I found the strength to keep going, to search for a way out of the abyss. My desire to be there for them, to love them, and to be whole again was the anchor that kept me from drifting too far into despair. They were my reason to hold on, even when it felt like there was nothing left to cling to.
"We were lucky to have known him."
The timeline for "recovery" depends on the individual processing the grief. Some are ready to get to work right away, while for others, like me, it can take many years. I’m certain it depends on your personal emotional strength, and for me, it was a long, arduous journey.
Processing my grief became a new beginning for me. I decided to rebuild my life in a way that honors all of my sons. I dared to dream again. I went back to school, refocused on what brought me joy, and began writing. For the first time in my life, I didn’t care what anyone thought about my journey, my work, or my life. My stories became a conversation with my son. In some, I pass on what’s happening on this side. While others are a manifestation of the adventures I imagine he might be having. He is with us always, but the sorrow has been replaced with the acknowledgment that we were just lucky to have ever known him, and the deep understanding that he is with me in every step I take. For as long as I am alive, so is he.
Grief isn’t a burden you can simply shed or overcome. It’s not a linear process with a clear endpoint. Instead, grief is the echo of laughter that’s no longer heard, the shadow of a presence that’s no longer felt, the love that continues to linger in your heart despite the loss. It’s a part of you, shaping who you are and how you move through the world. Processing grief isn’t about getting rid of it; it’s about learning to live with it, about finding ways to carry it forward as a testament to the love that endures.
Grief is not something you ever fully let go of; it is, as many say, the cost of love. And how beautiful it is that we, as humans, have the capacity to carry the memory and love of those we’ve lost until we meet again. We are resilient, capable of holding both love and sorrow within us, of turning our deepest pain into a testament to the love that endures.
Pain isn’t easy. And though my words may sound simple, my road was anything but. It was ugly, filled with extreme lows and moments of despair. Our natural inclination is to run from pain, to avoid it at all costs. Yet, it’s in those moments of intense suffering that life truly reveals itself. Those moments challenge us to become better versions of ourselves. They push us to grow, to evolve, and to find meaning in the midst of chaos. Those moments are life itself.
So, I ask, what does grief look like to you? Allow yourself the grace for grief to carry you to wherever it may... and know that in embracing this journey, you are finding your way to a new kind of peace.
In love and light,
Minta
About the Author: Minta Speller is a children's book author, wife, and mother.
(Learn more about Minta here.)
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