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Reflections from the Mirror of Grief

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“Heaviness in the heart of man makes it stoop.” — Proverbs 12:25


When I returned home from caregiving for my mother and entered my season of bereavement, I was completely exhausted. My mind, body, and soul felt torn and bruised. I remember feeling stiff, as if I couldn’t move. My rhythm was gone. Even my posture reflected the heaviness in my heart. I felt as if I walked like I was leaning.


Rest became my refuge. Long bubble baths and soft new pajamas, of which I ordered several pairs, became necessary comforts. But as days went on, I realized physically I felt off. I made an appointment with my doctor, and my suspicions were confirmed: my labs were not good. My electrolytes were imbalanced, my A1C was up, and I had gained 15 pounds. I was physically a wreck.


The body and soul are so intricately connected that the condition of one is reflected as a mirror in the other. My oldest daughter, LaJoya, lovingly said what I already knew deep down: I had a broken heart. My eyes were dark, swollen, and tired, as though life itself had punched me in the face. And in many ways, it had. Death had struck, and I was recovering from the blow.


My legs had no strength. My mind had no desire to engage with things that once mattered to me. I slept, but the sleep gave no rest. I was tired down to the bone. Over time, I’ve learned that healing, both physical and emotional healing, takes time. I know God’s grace is present, and my body is learning to rest in that grace as it resets.


During caregiving, my rhythm had synced with my mother’s. During the night, I woke up every two to three hours with her, which completely reset my sleep pattern. My body still follows that same rhythm. I wasn’t entering deep REM sleep, set to be prepared to be available when she needed me.


My home felt unfamiliar because my life had been immersed in hers. I even struggled to remember where I kept things, like my clothes. It may sound strange, but during caregiving, I had created a “uniform”. I purchased comfortable clothes and good sneakers that I wore daily to care for her, removing the need to think about what to wear.


Emotionally and physically, I was spent. Re-entering life after caregiving meant I also had to re-enter my health. I went back to my nutrition classes, and as if God Himself orchestrated it, the class that week was about sleep rhythms. The instructor explained how disrupted sleep patterns affect the entire body. I was enlightened and comforted at the same time.


After class, in a private conversation with her, she shared that she, too, had lost her mother in 2023. God’s encouragement through her again was: “Give yourself grace. Grieving can take anywhere from six months to two years.” Her professional advice included establishing a routine for myself and resetting my rhythm among the other night rest techniques. I am chosen to do exercises and coloring; maybe some light journaling before bed. Reducing my later afternoon coffee intake will help.


So, I’m not rushing. I’m learning to honor my body as I honor my grief. My health is a reflection of my heart, and both are slowly finding their rhythm again. Every day resting in God’s healing grace.


A Closing Reflection


Grief reminds us how human we are, fragile, yet sustained by divine strength. The body carries what the soul feels. As we rest in God’s grace, we find He will heal both. I’m still shedding tears, over the last few days, new tears have fallen along with beautiful dreams of my mother.


A Prayer for the Grieving Heart


Lord, teach me to rest in Your rhythm of grace. When my heart feels heavy and my body weary, remind me that You are the healer of both soul and flesh. Help me to give myself grace as You gently restore me. Thank You for being near to the brokenhearted and binding up our wounds. Amen.


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