Grief doesn’t always come roaring in. Sometimes, it’s in the hush. The silence. The in-between. It’s in the pause after the dishes are done and everyone’s gone to bed. It's in the stretch of a Sunday afternoon when the world slows down and you finally have a moment to breathe — and that’s when it finds you.

Because grief doesn’t just live in the loud moments — the funerals, the anniversaries, the retellings. It lives just as vividly in the quiet. And in those still spaces, it often echoes louder than before.

In the busyness of daily life, we often carry our grief in the background. Tasks, responsibilities, and distractions give us brief refuge. But when the world goes still — when the noise fades — that’s when the weight of loss settles most heavily. There’s nothing to drown it out. The memories creep in. The what-ifs. The should-have-beens. The longing. The ache.

For those of us who have lost children, parents, partners — the people who were the very rhythm of our lives — quiet can feel cruel. You sit in a room that used to echo with their laughter, and now it just echoes. The spaces they filled seem larger. The silence, more hollow.

And yet, the quiet is also where love speaks. It's where we remember the softness of their voice, the feel of their hand, the light in their eyes. It’s where we allow ourselves to feel everything — not just the pain, but the depth of our connection. The magnitude of what we had. The sacredness of what we carry still.

If you are grieving in the quiet, know this: it doesn't mean you're doing it wrong. It means you're human. It means your heart is still deeply tethered to what you lost. And that’s okay. The world may expect you to move on, to stay busy, to smile — but there is no shame in pausing. In crying. In remembering. In sitting in the stillness and letting the love and the loss coexist.

So next time the quiet comes — whether it's in the middle of the night or in the car parked in your driveway — give yourself grace. Let yourself feel. Speak their name. Light a candle. Breathe. You are not alone in that silence.

We are grieving with you. And loving with you. In every quiet moment.