Grieving Gratefully: Learning How to Walk Again

“For every loss that changed you.”

A Note Before You Begin

Grief is not only the passing of a loved one.

It is saying goodbye.

• Sometimes those places still exist, but your time there has ended.

• Sometimes those people still walk this earth, but the love will never be the same again.

• Sometimes we grieve plans, dreams, and realities that no longer exist.

• Sometimes grief shows up as change you did not ask for and could not have seen coming—pushing its way into your life and demanding adjustment.

That is grief.

Grief is universal.

We have all experienced it at different depths and through different deaths.

Learning how to grieve gratefully is both a skillset and a mindset.

It does not erase pain. It teaches you how to carry it without becoming bitter, numb, or hardened.

I pray these words help your grief feel seen, heard, and safe. I pray you find comfort and learn something you can apply and share with others right away.

Wisdom is meant to be passed down.

Hands of IX is for All Generations.

Part I: The Language That Saved Me

I did not always know how to grieve gratefully.

I had to learn.

Learning this was not easy.

These are Weeping Words.

I cried out to God and He comforted me. 

The Holy Spirit taught me. 

This is what I learned.

And please remember, “everything that is easy, at one point was hard.”

Hard is an understatement. It felt impossible.

But God…

These are the things I learned to say—over and over—until my brain began to rewire after the school shooting, Daylon’s passing,  and Jada losing her dad, all in the same seven days of March 2021.

“It’s an honor to feel this pain. It means I cared deeply.”

“Grief is the cost we pay for love, but I would rather love and feel this pain than never have had the chance to know them.”

“It hurts this much because I loved so much. I’m honored to love them then, now, and forevermore.”

“Grief is love, looking for a place to go. What am I supposed to do with all this love that feels lost? Share it.”

“I will never count my blessings as burdens. Yes, it hurts. But ‘we do not grieve as those who have no hope.’” — 1 Thessalonians 4:13

“It is a blessing to hurt this much because it reminds me how deep my love is.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Romans 8:28 became real to me. Not cliché. Real. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him…” Not that all things are good. But that God works in all things.

And Philippians 4:7 carried me when my thoughts felt unstable:

“The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds…”

Not just your heart.
Your mind.

Thank you, God, for keeping my mind.

Part II: When Church Sounds Different

After trauma, your brain does not process the same.

There is brain fog. Heavy. Crampy. Cloudy. Like your thoughts are moving through mud.

Grief is not just emotional. It is neurological.

Clinically, trauma disrupts the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for reasoning and regulation. Your nervous system stays in fight, flight, or freeze.

You are not going crazy.

Your brain is trying to protect you.

Our therapist helped me understand that my brain was trying to rewire and build a new normal. That what I was feeling mentally was normal for people who are grieving.

But even church sounds different when you are processing so much pain.

I remember my pastor saying, “Clap your hands if you’re glad God woke you up this morning.”

When you are deep in grief… that hits differently.

At first, it felt offensive to my pain.

“What if I’m not glad? What if I’m just, “here?”

“How dare I be glad that I’m here… and they are not?”

“How did I get to live… and they had to go?”

That is survivor’s guilt.
That is anger.
That is confusion.

And Psalm 34:18 became oxygen:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

God was not offended by my anger.
He was near it.

I had to learn to be glad God woke me up.
I had to stop counting that alone as a burden.

But grief also revealed something else to me.

There are people walking around mad at the world.
There are people who do not know God like I do—and they still deserve to be treated with grace, mercy, kindness, and respect, because it is clear they are hurting. And they were hurting before they met you.

“Hurt people hurt people.”

You cannot control them. You can only control yourself. And if you knew the story behind the behavior, it would probably break your heart.

So take a moment to sit with yourself and get to know you. Everything you see around you can become a distraction from the real war happening inside your mind and spiritually.

And we are all carrying more than anyone can see.

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood…” — Ephesians 6:12

Part III: “Umbrellas Don’t Stop the Rain”

One of my favorite recent J. Cole quotes is, “Umbrellas don’t stop the rain.”

Grief taught me that.

You cannot stop the pain.
You cannot out-pray it.
You cannot out-serve it.
You cannot out-preach it.

But you can learn to give yourself grace while it rains.

Brené Brown says, “We cannot selectively numb emotion.”
If you numb pain, you numb joy.
If you suppress grief, you suppress love.

You do not have to pretend you are strong.
He simply asks that you trust Him through it.

Talk to God about everything you feel.
Every feeling is safe with Him.

There is no such thing as “good” or “bad” feelings. Just your feelings.

No one can tell you how to feel.

Grief is unique.

No one truly knows the depth of the love you shared with what—or who—you lost.

It is up to you to explore every feeling and embrace it with care and curiosity.

You do not have to be strong in God’s presence.

Remember, “In our weakness, His strength is made perfect.”

Give God your best and trust Him with the rest.

Part IV: The Day I Threw My Phone

One day during my prep period, I realized the bell was about to ring.

And I threw my phone across the classroom in rage.

My sister was on the phone.

After the rage, I sat in disbelief and said, “I’m upset because I don’t have time to cry, and I just realized the bell is about to ring.”

She responded, “Who told you that you don’t have time to cry?”

Truth be told, that was a feeling I internalized after they told us we had to report back to the building the day after the school shooting. It was the same feeling I felt when they told us students would return before Daylon had even taken his last breath.

Throwing my phone months later was not about that moment.
It was about suppression.

I just kept going.

Then she asked something that pierced me:

“Can you imagine how many of your students feel the same way? Except… they literally can’t. They can’t throw their phone. They can’t take a break. They have to follow the bells and keep going too.”

That changed me.

That is when I built in “Take 10.” The last ten minutes of every class became sacred.

Journal.
Lay your head down.
Breathe.
Cry.
Feel.

As long as you did not disturb anyone else.

Because feelings need somewhere to go.

Research shows that emotions, when fully felt without suppression, move through the body in about ninety seconds. My sister Jamicha taught me that recently.

The problem is not the emotion.
The problem is our resistance to it.

So we practiced sitting.
We practiced breathing.
We practiced not discharging pain onto other people.

And I did not throw my phone again that school year.

In my classroom, we felt safe.

I cannot count how many times I had told students, “It’s okay not to be okay.” But that year, I had to show them—not just tell them.

I read them the poems I wrote to process my pain. They said they could relate.

I could not offer healing.

But I did build their toolbox.

Hardship is not proof God abandoned us. It is often the place where resilience is built.

Part V: Learning to Walk Again

Jada recently said grief felt like “falling down many times and ending up in a new room every time I got back up.”

That is what inspired this writing.

How many times does a baby fall when learning to walk?
So many.

She had panic attacks. She lost herself in sadness.

My emotionally regulated, joyful tiny human met grief early—March of her kindergarten year, after starting school during a pandemic.

She tried holding it in.
She tried being strong.

She got pneumonia. She could not attend her dad’s wake or funeral. She was fighting a fever. Struggling to breathe.

Later, we learned to see that as protection.

Her heart had already carried enough.
She did not need to carry everyone else’s grief too.

We learned how to grieve gratefully together.

We did not do it alone.

We had professional help.
And we had our village.

Ironically, her best friend in kindergarten lost her dad that same week. Another close friend had already lost her mom before school even began. She was not alone, even at school.

We built a new normal.

Day by Day. Brick by Brick. Thought by Thought. Moment by Moment.

You can praise God and tend to your pain in the same breath.

No tear is wasted.
No tear is shameful.
No tear is wrong.

Allow yourself space to feel.

There truly is joy in the midst of sorrow.

Part VI: Start Today

I challenge you: Start today.

Grieve with a grateful heart so bitterness does not take root.

Bitterness feels powerful at first.
Numbness feels protective.

But both quietly disconnect you from joy.

You cannot stop the rain.
But you can decide what grows in your garden while it rains.

Be intentional about the thoughts you plant.
Be mindful about what you water.
Pay attention to what you cultivate.

2 Corinthians 10:5 tells us to “take every thought captive.”

That is not denial.
That is discipline.

It is saying, “Yes, this hurts… but this will not define me.”

Feelings are visitors.
They are not landlords.

Let them pass.

Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.

When you feel that random tug on your heart… that ache that comes out of nowhere… we learned to call it the “invisible string.”

There is a children’s book called The Invisible String by Patrice Karst that teaches we are all connected by invisible strings of love.

I told Jada that when she felt that tug…

“That’s your Dad’s Love pulling your string.”

Love never dies.
It simply changes form.

Cry when you need to.
Pray when you can.
Ask for help.
Take ten minutes.
Journal.
Sit with the ninety seconds.

Grieve.

Honor your Love.

Grieve with hope.
Grieve with gratitude.

Keep your heart soft.

Because the goal is not to move on.

The goal is to move forward… without losing your ability to feel.

You can train your mind to live again.
You can cultivate your garden again.
You can learn how to walk again.

Start today.

-IX