Grief is a Solid Promise

May 10, 2026

Today, on Mother’s Day, I’m feeling the pangs of grief. It is my Grammy’s first heavenly Mother’s Day, ten months without her here. My grandpa passed away in March 2024, so today holds the ache of missing them both, and of how quickly absence becomes part of time.

This year has also carried two unexpected losses among my friends. My dear friend, Dylan Lane Sepulvado, passed away unexpectedly on February 11, just months before what would have been his birthday in May. More recently, my sweet friend, Peter Lyons, passed away this past Thursday.

The older I get, the more loss I encounter, whether family members or friends. It has made me more keenly aware of our mortality, of how suddenly life can change, and of how unexpectedly it can end. As Dermot Kennedy says in his song “Funeral,” “Grief is such a solid promise.” Grief is love with nowhere to go.

Today during Mass, a reading from 1 Peter 3:15–18 felt poignant to me: “but sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts. Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence, keeping your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who defame your good conduct in Christ may themselves be put to shame" (NABRE).

It felt especially fitting thinking about Peter and the way he moved through the world with gentleness, care, and light. I miss his spirit so much.

May is also a month of devotion to Mary, a quiet kind of honoring that feels close to Mother’s Day and to missing my Grammy. This morning I prayed the rosary, letting its rhythm hold all of this a little more quietly, a little more gently.

Loss has a way of sharpening your attention. It makes the ordinary feel more sacred, the conversations, the laughter, the way someone’s presence settles into a room. I wrote this poem about a year ago, before my Grammy passed away. Reading it now feels different.

Captions for the Living

This may sound morbid

but I hear my loved ones’

eulogies scroll through

my mind like captions

on a film reel—

the poetry of loving

someone is

knowing how you’d say goodbye

while they’re still alive,

tucking grief into the folds

of everyday moments—

just in case.

Maybe that’s exactly what love is—paying attention while we can.

Christina’s World (1948) by Andrew Wyeth