“We are remade in times of grief, broken apart and reassembled”

~ Frances Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow

This morning, as I sat down with my journal, I found myself appreciating the simple beauty of it. The smooth texture of the paper, the sturdiness and weight beneath my hand, the zipped pocket that perfectly holds my pen. Little things, woven together, creating an experience that feels grounding and comforting.

As I wrote, I noticed how my hand doesn’t move the way it once did. What used to be second nature—forming letters, gliding words across the page—now requires conscious effort. My brain has to slow down and remind my hand how to shape each letter. It struck me how much this resembles grief.

In grief, the most ordinary parts of life suddenly take effort. Things we did without thought like brushing our hair, preparing a meal, even remembering to smile – can feel like monumental tasks. I’ve had clients who needed sticky notes on their bathroom mirror reminding them to brush their teeth or comb their hair, because their brains simply couldn’t carry the weight of grief and routine all at once.

And yet, just as my hand remembers with practice, our lives slowly stitch themselves back together through small, conscious acts of healing.

The Power of Little Moments

I’ve been noticing the little moments that bring my heart a quiet kind of healing:

• Running into a friend unexpectedly at the grocery store.
• Listening to a 20-month-old child’s babble in their own beautiful language.
• Watching my granddaughters – 4 and 6 – lost in their playful, silly world together.

Alone, each of these moments may seem small. But gathered together, they weave something bigger: the texture of life, reminding me of joy that can still be found amidst loss.

Broken Apart, Reassembled

Frances Weller, in The Wild Edge of Sorrow, writes:

“We are remade in times of grief, broken apart and reassembled.”

I have felt broken apart these past few months. My husband’s severe illness and the role of caregiving it required. The chronic pain my body has carried for two years. The heartbreaking loss of two dear friends within months of each other.

I’ve discovered that resilience doesn’t rebound as quickly as it once did. But I’ve also discovered something else: the healing that comes from anchoring myself in present moments. Running my fingers through my dog’s fur. Watching my grandchildren live without thought for tomorrow. Planning only for a day, instead of the pressure of mapping out a week.

Why the Little Things Matter

This is why the B.R.E.A.T.H.E. Coaching Model for Grief™ resonates so deeply with me, my students and my clients. It isn’t about rushing to “get over” grief. It’s about slowing down enough to notice the little things—the ones that, when put together, create a more livable and hope-filled experience.

Like my journal this morning—simple pages bound together with care—the little things can become the container that holds us steady.

We don’t heal by doing it all at once. We heal by noticing, by practicing and by allowing ourselves to be reassembled into something new.