It seems like everyone is holding grief, these days.
I see it when I scroll. I hear it when I ask someone, Really, how are you?
I feel it hiding, buried deep inside the irises of eyes, looking like an incurable sadness—stuffed and suppressed. Shapeshifting to bend itself into some prettier, happier, impossible story.
I wrote about grief in an article over at (in)courage last week. The article was shared over 500 times. I wrote about grief in a post on Instagram last year. The post was saved 431 times, and ♡’ed 1,623 times.
I wrote a book about grief and, already, I’m getting emails from people who have read and been deeply moved by the digital preview, alone.
And, here’s the thing:
My writing isn’t magical.
People aren’t sharing these pieces, far and wide, because my writing is anything special. I’m not selling secrets. I’m not pushing promises.
The simple thing, I think, is that I’m making sacred space for people to say what often (and even always) goes unsaid.
I’m not an expert on grief. Neither am I a professional pessimist.
I’m just someone who sees, in so many spaces, how actual space is still not made for sadness. For all the ways our souls shatter. For all the ways the/our world feels wrecked. For all the moments that need mourning. For all the gravity of our grief.
Here’s a little snippet from my new book, The Matter of Little Losses.
This is a shattering the soul knows well, this cycle of life and love giving way to loss. We are, all of us, vulnerable to the wreckage, hearts trembling at the truth of our finitude, as well as that which we hold most dear—people, places, dreams, and things.
Grief comes to us in all shapes, knocking down doors of all sizes, the unanticipated guest that it is. We lose life, lose livelihood. Dreams die and bodies deteriorate with disease. Wedding bands go missing and houses fold in foreclosure. We hold our breath waiting for the bad news, waiting to hear that the world will be ripped from under our feet. We, all of us, cradle unnamed grief, crying into corners when the world isn’t looking as we wait for someone—anyone—to say it’s not too much to want to make sense of it all.
The Matter of Little Losses · Pg. 25
It’s not too much to want to make sense of it all.
It’s not too much to want to make sense of it all.
It’s not too much to want to make sense of it all.
I hope these words land well and bury deep.
It’s not too much to want to make sense of it all.
It’s not too much.
You’re not too much.
I should go now. I haven’t even really scratched the surface of all I want to share (more next time), but my little one needs me.
Before I go, I want to share one thing.
Grief begs
for gifts.
Last year, while writing my book (will share more about this book writing process soon), I realized I needed all the gifts and simple little pleasures I could get my hands on. Like my little one, writhing around on my chest even as I type these words, we crave comfort. All of us.
Our grief begs for gifts.
Our crying begs for comfort.
Our sadness begs for simple pleasures.
Our pain begs for presents.
A gift won’t take away the tears, and a Starbucks Caramel Brulée Latte in a special red cup certainly won’t take away the tired of your soul. But it might soothe you. Might stave off pain (or grief or exhaustion or isolation or fill-in-the-blank) for even just one more moment.
And, when you’re grieving, that kind of momentary relief means everything. . .
So tell me. Tell me one thing that’s been hard in this season. Are you grieving? Are you tired? Are you lonely? Then, tell me your favorite coffee/tea drink. Tell me how you like it and why it’s your favorite. I’ll go first and share in the comments ♡
Share your answer in the comments (not an email reply — has to be a comment!) and I will select five winners, at random, to gift a $10 Starbucks gift card.
Giveaway closes Monday, November 20, 2023 at 12PM ET. Winners will be notified in a comment. Open to US only. May the odds be ever in your favor.
Ps! Don’t forget to preorder my book and fill out my preorder form. My pub team just told me they ordered the limited edition advanced reader copies (ARC)! Claim yours today before these exclusive copies run out ♡
The empty place at my table would be memories of my dog Jojo lying on the floor over my feet as I ate. Always beside me, my unconditional loving companion. He past away 3 years ago and I miss him everyday. Jojo loved the smell of coffee~the caramel creamer too, and would sniff with his nose.
~Laura Smith
I’m tired. It’s been a long, hard year—and I feel the weight of that. I know warm beverages don’t fix splintering hearts (or do they?), but I made hot chocolate with marshmallows yesterday and it brought some serious joy. Other favorites are matcha and a hazelnut cappuccino with oatmilk : )