Grief is not always loud. It doesn’t always look like tears or sound like sobs. Sometimes, it hides in silence, in small rituals, in words never spoken aloud. “We often assume that others aren’t hurting simply because their pain doesn’t mirror our own—but grief takes many forms.”
My son d.i.ed at 16. My husband, Sam, never shed a tear. Our family drifted apart, and we eventually divorced. Sam remarried, and 12 years later, he too d.ied.
Days later, his wife came to see me. “It’s time you know the truth. Sam had …” she said, placing a worn wooden box in my hands. Inside were dozens of envelopes, each with my son’s name. “Every year, on his birthday…Sam went to the same quiet hill and wrote to him…This was how he grieved.”
Reading them, I saw his love and sorrow. “Tears streamed down my face. They were not only for my son but also for Sam—for the man who carried his grief alone.”
Grief wears many faces. Understanding, not judgment, truly heals.
