Holding Space

and how loss shifts the center of gravity

There are times in life when it feels like no words exist to capture reality.

Two weeks ago, our sunny beachside town was shattered by a tragedy that left our community reeling with grief. This post is not about what happened; instead, I want to reflect on the shining moments of clarity that have been granted through the tears.

All the bits of life that felt important two weeks ago—getting kids out the door on time for school, buying groceries, laundry, soccer practice, and my carefully time-blocked writing week—have melted into a puddle of undone tasks. That was before.

And this is after. While our days are structured with necessary mundane tasks, the world doesn’t look the same after loss; the contrast is heightened with tragedy. I have hugged my children tightly in recent days, holding them even as they try to pull away.

When we are reminded of our mortality, an urgency arises: Am I present enough in my own life? Am I connecting with those I love, with our world, and with myself? All of this, despite the less-than-perfect moments and factors beyond our control. 

I think it’s often between those less-than-perfect moments that some of our fondest memories and greatest stories emerge.

Do you remember when I wrote about getting stranded in Dallas? Given a choice, we would not have picked it. It was August in Texas, and we wanted nothing more than to get home to California. But, as we waited for dinner in the lobby restaurant, my son and I decided to ride the glass elevator. We went up and down several times, in full view of the diners below. On the last few rides, my son dared us to “floss.” How could I resist? 

As we descended, people looked up from their chicken-fried steak, probably weary travelers like ourselves, and saw a mother and her son being very silly. They smiled, recognizing the humor and joy in our dancing. When the housekeeping of everyday life falls away, the path is cleared for pure connection to the people who surround you, loved ones and strangers alike.

It’s in these moments that the most important aspects of our lives come to the surface. Reminders to clear the clutter in our minds, to honor the time we have together, and to tell the people you love that you love them.

I guess what I’m getting at is that those little moments, those opportunities, are scattered everywhere, and perhaps especially in the cracks of our daily lives and the moments that feel less than perfect. They are like little gifts, sprinkled around us, right there for the taking. And we should take them.

I wish, with my whole being, that we weren’t in the after. Yet we must somehow continue here, holding space for grief and picking up the pieces of our shattered hearts as we go. I remind myself that our human hearts ache unbearably only because there is so much love, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything.

Thank you so much for reading. I’m so glad you’re here.

Novel updates in my next post.📖❤️