The Sadness Is Coming
The sadness is coming.
As I slow down and let myself feel, the sadness is coming.
He is slipping away. He looks so deeply into my eyes that I know he is still in there.
But he is not all there.
He is slipping away.
No wonder I was restless last night and unable to sleep. These feelings were right under the surface. Yesterday I kept myself busy - doing all the things we do when a loved one is sick. We take care of them. We take care of others. We show up. We are present. We visit. We laugh. We hug. We make arrangements. We catch up with visitors. We make sure everyone is situated. We wait for the doctors. We chat. We hold hands.
It had rained all day, and as I looked out the hospital window, the clouds had finally started to part.
The light was dim and soft, the sun barely peeking through what remained of the storm.
The whole room felt quieted, tendered by the weather.
He didn’t want to let go of my hand.
It’s not until I am back home, the doors closed, the house quiet, that the feelings begin to surface - if I allow them.
I am tired. And if I am honest, I don’t want to feel these feelings either.
But I know better.
I know they will force themselves out in unhealthy ways if I don’t make room for them.
What we resist, persists.
I know it will come out in a sharp tongue toward my children, or in my own body, if I don’t give these emotions space.
The sadness is coming.
It’s not scary. It won’t last forever. It just wants to be seen, felt, and heard—just like I do when I’m with someone I trust. We all just want to be seen, felt, and heard. Our feelings are no different.
So I treat my feelings like a close friend.
We sit together.
I let them be heard.
I listen to what they want to say.
I acknowledge them.
I let them move.
I honor. I respect. I don’t oppress.
The sadness is coming.
My heart hurts.
I put my hand there.
I feel the fluttering in my chest.
I notice all the sensations rising in my body.
The sadness is coming.
His eyes are so clear and bright.
He holds our hands tight.
He looks deeply into our eyes.
Some people are uncomfortable with this. Not me.
I see you in there.
I know you are okay.
You have taught me so much about the process.
You are my teacher.
I love you.
The sadness is here.
If this reflection stirred something in you or brought clarity to your own experience with loss, I invite you to continue exploring this tender topic with me.
✨ Watch my video, “What Is a Death Doula? Understanding End-of-Life Support & Compassionate Care,” to learn how compassionate presence can support individuals and families through life’s hardest transitions.
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