Tag: reflections

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 Weight of the Hold

It’s the disrespect of the timing,

the way it ignores the “all clear” we celebrated in November.

It didn’t just knock; it broke down the door,

bringing its uninvited chaos into rooms where we were finally starting to breathe again.

So now, the air sits heavy in my lungs,

a jagged stone I’m forced to carry while I play the roles:

the worker, the parent, the nurse-sister , the encourager, the pillar.

Learning to Exhale

But you can’t hold a ghost of a breath forever.

Learning to exhale isn’t about letting go of the anger,

I want to keep that fire; it’s the only thing that feels honest right now.

It’s about realizing that if I don’t let the air out,

there is no room for the strength I need to sit by her side.

Exhaling is the quietest form of rebellion.

It is saying: You may have taken the peace of November,

and you may be trying to take her body,

but you will not have my ability to simply be here nor her will to fight.

So I breathe out the “why us” and the “not again,”

just for a second,

not because the world is better,

and certainly not because cancer deserves any grace,

but because my sister needs me to have oxygen in my lungs as we battle to dominate the cancer in hers.

We rinse, we repeat, we fight.

But first, we let the breath go.

Even if it shakes. Even if it hurts.

~Micaiah

Heal What You Keep Hiding

Becoming is not loud.

It is slow.

It is sacred.

It is honest.

Many of us are navigating our way through becoming…

but we have not yet told ourselves the whole truth.

Becoming requires work.

The kind that asks you to sit with your thoughts.

To trace your patterns back to their origin.

To gently question what you were taught about love, worth, survival.

It asks you to uncover

the hidden agreements you made with pain.

The stories you swallowed.

The silence you mastered.

You cannot accept what you cannot change

until you lay it

on the table of your heart and mind

and call it by name.

Your future self

is waiting on your current self

to repair the cracks in the foundation.

Not to shame them.

Not to hide them.

But to mend them

so you can finally build

without fear of collapse.

What you seek from others:

patience, grace, reassurance, honesty,

require it of yourself first.

Becoming is not about perfection.

It is about truth.

And truth, beloved,

is where freedom begins.

~ The 3 AM Poet

A When Dreams Speak project

a division of MYD Dreams Collective

Honor Time: A Call to Intentional Living

Time is one of the most precious gifts we have—and yet, it’s often the one we take for granted. We get caught up in the grind: working endlessly, chasing material things, and letting days slip by without truly connecting with the people who matter most.

What Really Matters

Life isn’t about possessions. It’s about presence. It’s about being intentional with our friends, our loved ones, and ourselves. The truth is, tomorrow isn’t promised. And when someone is gone, you can’t go back and fix what was broken. That’s why healing, forgiveness, and meaningful connection are so vital.

Boundaries vs. Bitterness

This isn’t about tolerating disrespect or putting yourself in harm’s way. Boundaries are sacred. But sometimes, the walls we build are made of ego, miscommunication, and pain we’ve held onto for too long. We remember how we felt, but not why. And that pain? It limits us. It steals joy from the moments we could be living fully.

Choose Healing

Take the time to heal. Let go of grudges that no longer serve you. Choose peace over pettiness. Choose love over pride. And choose a daily “diet” that feeds your soul—one free of negativity, pessimism, and drama. Nourish your mind, body, and spirit with things that uplift and inspire.

In the end, God isn’t counting your degrees or your designer labels. He’s looking at your heart. So live with intention. Love deeply. And honor the time you’ve been given.~micaiah

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started