💔 We’re All Grieving Something Right Now

I don’t even know how to start this.

My family is in a storm we didn’t ask for—and it’s hitting everywhere at once.

My nephew was just in a horrific car accident.
Multiple serious injuries.
And his right foot… gone.
Try wrapping your head around that. One day he’s walking into school… the next he’s waking up in a hospital learning how to live a completely different life.
And my brother and sister-in-law? They’re grieving right next to him. Trying to be strong, trying to be hopeful, while silently falling apart.

As if that wasn’t enough…

My youngest sister just lost the love of her life.
She did CPR on him in front of their kids.
My dad stood there, helpless.
And my nephew—who’s a first responder—was the one who got the call.
Let that sink in.

The funeral was Saturday.
I couldn’t go.
Not because I didn’t care. Because my body shut down. My grief took over. I was physically ill. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop crying. Couldn’t show up.
I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t be strong for her. But I’ve been holding so much already… I just broke.

And while all this is happening, I’m packing up my life in Corydon.
The place where Cameron took his last breath.
The place I built my grief lab.
The place I came back to life, even when I didn’t want to.

I’ve been purging. Donating. Dumping. Letting go.
And every corner of this place is soaked in memories.
And then—because the universe is out here writing screenplays—Cameron’s 5-year death anniversary is on June 1st.

Same day Mia graduates high school.

I. Can’t. Make. This. Shit. Up.

One child walks the stage.
The other… never will.
I have to find a way to celebrate and grieve at the same time.
To be present for the child still here… while honoring the one who isn’t.

Tell me how the hell you do that.

How do you clap and cry?
How do you wear mascara when it might run down your face in the middle of a standing ovation or a breakdown?
How do you stand still in a moment that’s ripping you in half?

This is grief.
This is real life.
This is love that doesn’t go away just because the world keeps spinning.

We’re all grieving something right now.
A person. A plan. A future that didn’t happen. A version of ourselves we had to bury.

Some of us are grieving loudly.
Some silently.
Some are showing up every day like nothing’s wrong while their hearts are on fire.

And if that’s you, just know:
You don’t have to be strong here.

You don’t have to explain it.
Or rush it.
Or pretend you’re okay.

You’re not alone.
I see you.

And I’m right there with you.

— Jillienne