Today marks the third year since my mother’s passing. It’s also my birthday. And every year, without fail, the anniversary of her death hijacks what should be a day of celebration.
There’s no sugarcoating it—grief is a heavy burden to bear. It weighs on you, pressing down with an overwhelming sense of loss—a memory etched into your mind and heart with painful clarity. And now, every year, I find myself saying “Hello darkness my old friend,” acknowledging the void casting a shadow over what is yet to be. Will I even be able to celebrate? For how do you celebrate void?
Be still and know that I am God
Be still and know that I am
Be still and know that
Be still and know
Be still and
Be still
Be
In this void, we encounter the divine presence—a boundless space that infuses all of creation. Yet, as I discuss in this excerpt from my podcast interview with Susy Giddy, reaching this space is often hindered by barriers that seem to separate us from pure grief and from the deep love we carry in our hearts, which feels lost forever, leaving us fearful that we may never experience it again.
The void. “Be still and know I am God,” offers a timeless invitation to pause, quiet the anxious mind, and embrace the vast emptiness at the core of existence. Void is a state of existence characterized by emptiness, yet it is not a mere absence. It’s a space of boundless of potential—where infinite possibility await expression. Within this void lies the fertile ground from which the tapestry of love that binds all things together is woven.
In the void, we discover both spaciousness and love.
In moments of profound grief, when we allow ourselves to embrace the void and yield to the arms of infinite love, we discover that love is not just an emotion. We encounter love in its purest form finding solace and reassurance even in the midst of sorrow.
I share these words for those who are grieving as well as for myself, serving as a personal reminder for the next time I navigate between grief and celebration. Don’t push grief away. Say hello, friend. Then be still and know I am.
Last night, with a heavy heart, I found myself drawn to wear black attire. I chose rose-themed accessories to connect with the high healing frequency of the flower as well as wear mother’s name. I celebrated with friends and loved ones, shared stories of her and sang one of her favorite songs.
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And this morning not knowing how my actual birthday today would go, I sat with void. And as I wrote on my journal, tears flowed. Then came release. Then lightness. And sparks of joy. This time, I felt drawn to wear a colorful rose-colored dress with frills, paired with a shawl given by my love. It reminded me of a hand-crocheted shawl my mother made me for my birthday many years ago.
Hello darkness, my old friend. I look forward to next time. For though you may have hijacked my birthday, the shadow you cast led me to a kind of love that refuses to dwell in darkness. It will continue to light my heart and ignite my soul year after year.
Written with love for both my mom and the part of me who will always miss her mom.