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My beloved Son, Alfonso Ramon Liles, 9-20-1978-10-31-2021.

The day you left us changed the way I think about Life, Love, Hope, and the Resurrection.

Until we meet in the clouds, or on the day the sun sets for me, your memory will live in my heart forever.

Can You Hold My Grief?

Five years ago, grief came knocking at the door of my heart.

I could not open it.

“Go away,” I whispered.
“You are too heavy to carry.”

But grief doesn’t ask for permission; it came in anyway, carrying with it
the unbearable news that the apple of my eye,
my beloved child, was gone.

I sat in silence; I couldn’t process the dreadful words:

“Your son is gone.”

People passed by like shadows. Some came close
for a moment. Some stayed long enough
to offer a few words. Then they went away.

My grief was too heavy.

And somewhere inside me
a question kept rising:

Can you hold my grief?

They tried to comfort me. Their words were kind. Some were thoughtful.

Some sounded foolish against the weight of my pain.

Oh, how I wished they would sit quietly with me.

And my heart wanted to say,

You do not have to explain this. I need to be held.
You do not have to fix this. I need to be carried through.
You do not have to fill the silence. I need a calm in my storm.

Can you hold my grief?

Then I remembered. There was a time when I walked past
another grieving soul. I could not hold their grief either. I was afraid of something.
I did not understand.

So I reached for words. Kind words. Comforting words. Anything to make the pain
feel smaller.

But later I learned:

Words cannot hold grief. Grief is too heavy. Too deep. Too sacred.

No,
I cannot hold grief. But I can sit beside it. I can stay. I can listen.

I can let the tears come without trying to stop them.

I can hold a hand. I can open my arms.

Because sometimes the one who is grieving does not need someone
to carry the grief away. Sometimes they need someone who will not run from it.

I cannot hold grief. But by the grace of God,

I can hold the one who is grieving.