Words for a friend who has lost someone — One Moore Thing


OceanDear Friend Who Has Lost Someone That They Love,

Hi there. I know that people are blanketing you with words like “I’m sorry” right now because they just don’t know what else to say. I wish I had the right words to offer you. All I know is that there are aches attached to grief that can never be healed. Sometimes there are no right words, no right explanation. Sometimes life is not fair. Sometimes there is a loss so deep that part of our pulse is taken with it. Sometimes there are no band-aids. Sometimes there is no solution; no quick fix; no miracle cure. Sometimes all we need is time. Sometimes we know that time will never be enough. Sometimes we need people to say that they are here; that they aren’t going anywhere. And if you need someone to remember, I will remember with you. If you need to be seen, I will see you.

I know you sometimes catch yourself feeling like yourself again. And you know that it is fleeting. Sometimes you will catch yourself smiling or laughing and that will be followed by an avalanche of guilt. You will feel bad when you are not living, you will feel bad when you are. Guilt will sometimes be served with a side of guilt.

I know that you are treading carefully right now. I know that sometimes it feels like it takes all that you have to keep your head above water. I know what it feels like to be submerged. I know how hard it is to rise above the surface, how hard it can be to work for every inhale. Your grief will come to you in waves. There will be waves that you can name as if they are low tide and high tide, like anger and a deep sadness. And ones that are harder to name, harder to brace yourself for their impact. Confusion, denial and hopelessness will blindside you and try to take you under.

My dear friend, please just keep treading. Keep riding the inevitable waves. Stamp your feet down with rage, scream at the sky, shed tears in the waves, bury yourself in the sand if you need to, just keep a space that keeps you breathing. Keep the space that keeps you awake. Keep the space that keeps you feeling. Keep your head toward the sun and in due time you will feel its warmth again. Take all the time that you need. When it comes to healing, there should never be a stopwatch involved.

And know this above all else: I am here. I will hold your hand in the ocean. I will hold it in the sand. I won’t let go. And if you need to escape, you can always climb in my lifeboat. There will always be a space for you. You are not alone.

I am so sorry.

I am here.


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MooreFam SKatie Yackley Moore is a freelance writer, yoga instructor and a momma of four navigating life and a separation and finding herself in the process. She adores coffee shops, laughing until it hurts and impromptu dance parties. Her work has appeared on Scary Mommy, Mamalode and HuffPost Parents. She has published a journal entitled “Dream a Bigger Dream” and the children’s books “You Are a Warrior” and “We are Family” and just finished her first novel. Catch up with her between tea breaks at The Naked Momma and on Facebook.