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Six Years Later, Grief, Grace, and the Beauty of Being Rebuilt

I used to think brokenness was the end of the story.
Now I see it differently, like kintsugi, where the cracks are filled with gold.
Today marks six years since I lost my mother… and began to understand that even in loss, God is still creating something beautiful.

March 25, 2020

A date that lives quietly but firmly in my heart.
The day the world lost a remarkable woman, and I lost my mother.

It marked the beginning of the lowest, most disorienting season of my life.

Grief has a way of undoing you. It strips life down to its essentials, forcing you to confront emotions you did not know you could carry. And yet, hidden within that undoing is a quiet paradox, sometimes the very things that break us are the same things God uses to rebuild us.

Learning to Survive the Valley

There are pains that words struggle to hold.

I have cried. I have wept. I have felt grief not just emotionally, but physically, in the heaviness of my chest, in the exhaustion that sleep could not fix.

What I did not understand then is that grief is not linear.
It does not move neatly from beginning to end.

It circles.
It lingers.
It returns unannounced.

I have walked through denial, anger, sorrow, and acceptance, only to find myself revisiting them again. Healing is not about moving on, but about learning how to carry what remains.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, I began to live again.

The Woman Who Shaped Me

My mother was more than a parent; she was a foundation.

She was my place of safety, but also my greatest example of strength. She faced life’s challenges with quiet resilience, teaching me that being knocked down does not mean defeat, it means learning how to rise.

She carried a deep conviction for justice and fairness. She could not ignore wrong, whether in large societal issues or in small, everyday moments. She lived with integrity, choosing what was right over what was easy.

That kind of life leaves a mark.
And it left one on me.

The Courage to Be Truthful

Of all the lessons she left behind, one continues to shape me daily, the courage to be forthright.

My mother spoke with clarity, honesty, and conviction. You never had to guess where you stood with her, and there was comfort in that certainty.

In a world that often rewards silence or softens truth, I am learning that honesty is not something to fear, it is something to honour.

Forthrightness is not harshness.
It is wholeness.
It is the courage to live truthfully, with yourself and with others.

And in many ways, it is a form of love.

Becoming Kintsugi

When I look at my life now, one image comes to mind, kintsugi, the art of repairing broken pottery with gold.

In 2020, my life shattered. The pieces felt impossible to gather.

But God began a quiet work of restoration.

Not by erasing the cracks.
Not by pretending the break never happened.
But by filling those very fractures with something stronger.

The loss is still real.
The absence still exists.

But so does the growth.

The cracks now carry meaning, resilience shaped in pain, clarity born in silence, and values that have become anchors in my life.

I am not less because I was broken.
I am different.
And I am stronger.

What Grief Has Taught Me

There is a strange clarity that comes with loss.

In the silence she left behind, my mother’s voice has become clearer.

And through that clarity, I have learned:

• Resilience is formed in the valley, not on the mountaintop.
• Justice is not optional; it is a responsibility we carry for one another.
• Truth, even when uncomfortable, is a pathway to healing.

These are not just lessons I remember.
They are values I am choosing to live.

More Than Remembering

Today marks six years.

And while there is still grief, there is also gratitude.

I am no longer only mourning what I lost.
I am honouring what was given.

Her life is not just something I remember, it is something I carry forward.

In how I think.
In how I live.
In how I choose what is right.

I am not the same person I was in 2020.
And though I would never have chosen this path, I cannot deny the depth it has formed in me.

There is, indeed, gold in these cracks.

A Concluding Prayer

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the gift of my mother’s life and the imprint she left on my heart. Even in loss, I see Your grace, steady, present, and faithful.

You have walked with me through the tears, the exhaustion, and the quiet breaking. And You have been the One holding me together.

Today, I surrender my grief to You.
The parts I understand, and the parts I do not.

Teach me to live well with what remains.
To walk in resilience.
To pursue justice.
To speak truth with courage and grace.

Let my life reflect Your redemptive work.
Make me a living kintsugi, where every broken place is filled with Your gold.

And may I honour her, not only in memory, but in the life I choose to live.

In Your name I pray,
Amen.