Tag: loss

Anticipating grief

There is a particular kind of grief that comes with loving someone who is still here.

A grief that begins long before goodbye.

A grief that sits beside you at dinner, rides with you in the car, and sleeps in the next room.

Because terminal illness doesn’t just take a life.
It slowly changes it.
And those who love them bear witness to every loss along the way.

My sister is still here.

But cancer is steadily asking more of her and more of those who love her.

As her primary caregiver, her person, her sister, I spend my days helping her navigate what this disease has stolen while trying to preserve what remains.

As a nurse, I’ve walked beside countless families through this journey.

Yet nothing prepares your own heart when it’s your family.
When it’s your person.

There are no clinical skills for this part.

No textbook chapter on watching someone you love slowly surrender pieces of themselves while you stand helplessly beside them.

So I pray.
I support.
I advocate.
I comfort.
I carry what I can.

But some nights, I find myself wondering:

Who comforts the comforter?

Whose shoulder do I rest my head on when I’ve spent so much time being a place for others to lean?

Because while grief is asking much of me, life has not paused.

I am still Mom.
Still working full-time.
Still preparing to permanently raise the toddler cousin who already calls my heart home.

And somewhere in the middle of all of this, I am navigating menopause, becoming acquainted with a version of myself I have never met before.

Some days I feel strong.

Other days I feel stretched so thin that even breathing feels like work.

But I keep showing up.

Not because I’m fearless.
Not because I’m strong all the time.

But because love requires things from us that comfort never will.

If you’re carrying a burden no one sees…
If you’re grieving someone who is still alive…
If you’re holding everyone together while quietly falling apart yourself…

I see you.

I am reminding myself of the same thing I would tell you:

You do not have to carry all of this alone.

~micaiah

The Unfinished Business of July 4th

As we approach July 4th, it’s crucial to acknowledge that this day resonates differently for many. For people of color, the celebration of American independence can be a poignant reminder of a time when the freedoms declared in 1776 were not extended to all. Our nation’s history is undeniably complex, and the ongoing journey toward true equality and freedom feels particularly precarious under the current political climate.

While the ideals of liberty and justice remain worthy aspirations, this day also serves as a vital opportunity to recognize the profound struggles and invaluable contributions of those historically excluded from the original promise of freedom. Especially now, as we witness so many having their civil liberties eroded in the name of a narrow and manipulated definition of democracy, this reflection becomes even more urgent.

Given the current state of the world—the threats to civil liberties, basic human rights, and fundamental human decency—we must confront the difficult question of whether America can truly still be called the “land of the free.” The establishment of concentration camps under the guise of “detention centers” in severe and inhumane conditions and the relentless push towards homogeneity challenge the very notion of a diverse and inclusive society. It increasingly appears that genuine liberty and justice are reserved for a privileged few, and freedom remains profoundly incomplete if it does not encompass the ability for all to live with dignity and respect.

Despite these sobering realities, we must not give up hope. Many of us will persevere, choosing to use this day as a time to forge connections with friends and family, to find moments of joy, and to create our own traditions and memories. This act of coming together, of finding light amidst the shadows, is in itself an act of resilience.

Let’s harness this day not just for celebration, but for deep reflection on our history, for a courageous embrace of our collective shortcomings, and, most importantly, for a renewed commitment to working tirelessly toward a future where freedom and equality are, without exception, truly for everyone. Our continued dedication to these ideals is what will ultimately ensure that humanity and human decency prevail.~micaiah

Fighting to Matter

To be black and live in America is to live through trauma.

Black lives do not matter. Animals and walls get more respect and consideration than black people do.

People are murdered in their homes and yet they are made to be villains.
Even in their deaths the world tries hard to turn the tables so even sympathy is not given.

Oppression makes a wise man mad. And continually perpetuating trauma makes a person numb.

But
life goes on and we keep pushing because our souls weren’t created to quit.

Some of us march, some pray, others protests, rebel and raise holy hell and no one can say any of them are wrong.

Because collectively we are grieving and enraged all at the same time; we have lost so many and each death effected us, even if only subconsciously.

Every death by the hands of the police has you questioning your safety during what should be a routine traffic stop.

Have you reconsidering mentioning the police as someone a child can turn to and be safe with in times of trouble.

Parents have had to change the narrative of their coming of age stories especially with their black male children to include how to live through an interaction with the police.

It’s crazy to have to explain that typically black people are seen as guilty until proven innocent and even then they are sometimes still punished.

Society might have removed the chains, but they’ve held fast to the cruelties and tenets of slavery.

Yet somehow we still make strides and make moves because our souls weren’t created to quit.

With tear stained faces and red rimmed eyes we still stand tall with our fists held high.

Burdened by the struggle to be recognized as human, worthy of life, deserving of justice.
Fighting to matter.
~micaiah

Hil

never can say good bye
even after a year it still seems foreign to try
I remember being awakened from my sleep
to cries that you were now resting in peace
for a second I lost touch with reality
Could this really be true
but I soon gained more proof
the world had truly lost you
it’s hard living life with no more talks
no more shared books read
or inside jokes
I just knew we’d grow to be old folks
You were my sister, my friend and a spiritual sharpener
when your soul left
time seemed to stand still
it felt surreal
I was bereft
left fumbling to rationalize within my mind,
to accept this loss as a truth
There are days I’m great
and there’s days when simply I’m not
I know life is for living so I keep pushing I dare not stop
There is so much more I needed to share
so much more wisdom and encouragement I needed to hear
You were a sister-friend so near and dear to my heart.
I carry your memories forever with me may they never depart.
~micaiah

Continue to rest in power Sis💙
Hilakiyah Yisrael 3/10/70-5/5/2019

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