20/05/2026
Dear Me,
I know your heart does not feel the same anymore.
There is an emptiness in places that used to carry laughter, conversations, footsteps, and hope. There are moments you still reach for your child in your mind before reality crashes over you again. And sometimes, the pain feels too heavy for words.
But dear me, breathe.
You are grieving because you loved deeply. A mother’s heart does not stop loving simply because heaven interrupted the story on earth.
Some days you will cry without warning.
Some nights you will stare at the ceiling asking God questions you cannot even explain.
Some mornings you will feel guilty for laughing.
And other days you will feel guilty for surviving.
But dear me, God is not angry with your tears.
“He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.”
— Psalm 147:3 (KJV)
The Lord sees every silent cry.
He sees the empty chair.
He sees the folded clothes.
He sees the way you carry pain quietly so others do not worry.
And still, He stays.
Dear me, you are allowed to mourn.
Even Jesus wept.
Your grief is not weakness.
Your tears are not lack of faith.
Your pain is proof that love existed.
There will be days when memories feel like knives.
But there will also come days when memories become gentle reminders that your child was a gift from God — precious, loved, and unforgettable.
You may never become the woman you were before this loss.
But with God, you can become a woman who carries sorrow and strength together.
“The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18 (KJV)
Dear me,
Do not rush healing.
Do not force smiles.
Do not let the world pressure you to “move on.”
Love does not move on.
Love learns to carry.
And one day, little by little, grace will help you breathe again.
Until then, hold onto God with trembling hands if you must.
Even weak faith is still faith.
You are still a mother.
You are still loved.
You are still seen.
And God is still near.
With compassion,
Me