Today feels heavy in a way that doesn’t quite announce itself, but I can feel it sitting quietly in my chest.

It’s the anniversary of my brother, Shawn’s death, and I’ve been thinking a lot about grief, how it changes, how it stays, how it shows up when you least expect it. I used to think grief was something to push through, something to overcome if I just fixed my eyes on the right thing and kept moving. But today, I’m realizing it’s not something to outrun. It’s something I carry…because I carry him, he was 10 months older than me so he was my Irish twin.

This morning I sat in a meeting, and oddly, a question was asked about grief and loss. While I was trying hard not to cry, I quietly removed my glasses and just sat there, listening and feeling weight in my chest. I let myself feel the pain, even though part of me wanted to shut it down. I didn’t speak, not because I didn’t have something to say, but because I didn’t want it to look like I was making it about me. It isn’t about me at all. But it still touched me.

At the end of the meeting, I walked out with this weight I couldn’t quite shake no matter how long I waited for it to subside. I wandered for a moment, unsure what I needed, and then I made a simple decision not to hold it in. Some of my coworkers prayed over me and Dacy and Mya even wrapped me in warm hugs after their prayer. They are joy and fun, and I have a lot to learn from these people, truly. There was something so grounding about the presence of compassionate community. Not only the perfect words. Not solutions. Just presence, prayer, and love. There was also joy sprinkled in.

It made me reflect on saying something important, missing people we love is not a burden. I often carry this quiet fear that my grief might be too much for others. That the depth of it might make people uncomfortable, and it does. But as I sat there, listening to people genuinely talk about how to respond to death and trauma, I saw something different. I saw that people aren’t avoiding grief because they don’t care, they’re often just afraid they won’t know what to say or do.

In that moment, we are all learning from each other. I feel grief is a language I am fluent in. I truly wish this weren’t the case. I would prefer the lighter version of life. You know, life, life, the one where Joy comes from happy moments.

I believe God is strong enough to hold our grief. He doesn’t rush it away. He uses it. He softens people through it. He teaches compassion and mercy through it. I realized something I hadn’t fully put into words before, the act of death doesn’t sting for me the way it used to…love does. It’s sometimes the love that aches. The love that lingers. The love that has nowhere to land but inside my own chest.

I keep thinking back to something I wrote before about the exit sign, the temptation to leave hard moments, to escape the weight of emotion. Back then, I told myself not to quit. But today, it feels different.

Today feels like learning how to both exit and enter. Exit the need to hide. Enter into the truth of what I feel. Exit the fear of being “too much.” Enter into the grace of being held anyway. Exit the idea that grief is weakness. Enter into the understanding that grief can be reflecting love with deep roots.

So today, I’m choosing to love big, in life and in death. I’m thankful I went back for a moment to share and receive prayer. I’m thankful I told them thank you for caring about how to hold others in crisis. It matters. It really matters to know that people care even if they show up and sit in silence for a while.

I’m so grateful for the hugs, for the prayers, and for the joy. Oh, joy.

Even if there is a deep well of grief, joy finds its way in. Last, I want to say thank you to our Culture Pastor Braden Crow for the compassion and kindness through prayer. Thank you for the encouragement to reset. I left for some fresh air and to get a coffee in memory of my brother wrote I this post! Now back to my mission. These people make this place more than a building, they are community and family! This is home.

❤️Steph

P.S. Shawn, my Bubba. I am finding joy, peace, and rest right here at Home. You and Daniel will always be remembered and loved. I pray your souls save space for mine as I wait to meet you in Glory. For now, I am here loving my husband, my girls and my community the best way I can! Love Eppie