Grief Paused My Clock

Grief has a way of freezing time⏰

On the outside, life is moving. 

But inside?
I felt like the clock had stopped. 

That’s because grief doesn’t always announce itself. 

Sometimes it just shows up—creeps into our routines. 

Freezes us in time.
Pauses our clock.
I know because it happened to me.

The moment my clock stopped 🙁

Grief quietly paused my clock.
At first, I didn’t notice.

Grief doesn’t always scream or cry.

Sometimes it whispers in the background of our lives—slipping into quiet moments and routines that once brought us peace.

I know because I’m living it. Right now.

I like to map out my life months in advance. 

My calendars are usually done 3-4 months ahead of time—like clockwork. I even taught my family how to do it.

For years, this routine kept us steady… until 2025.
That’s when my grandmother passed. 

She was truly a wonderful person.

Someone called Jesus good.
And Jesus corrected them. 
Saying no one is good but God (Mark 10:17-18)…

So, I don’t usually use good to describe people.

But my grandmother?

She was the closest thing to good I’ve ever seen in a person.

She inspires me to love better—to care more deeply for family, friends, and even strangers.

I used to bring her flowers, food, whatever was growing in my garden. She loved it. But always reminded me to give my husband the firstfruits (first harvest of the season). 

She was all about being outside, exploring, and hearing about plants. She would’ve loved watching our chickens frolic around. Fresh fruits and veggies straight from the garden? She loved that too. And wouldn’t hold back if my squash was tough because I left it on the vine too long. My grandmother grew up on her family’s farm and knew the taste of freshly-picked, tender veggies is unmatched.

Now my garden is blooming again… and I wish I could show her. 

It’s bittersweet.

But even in grief, things keep growing.
Including me.
Or at least—I’m trying. 🙁

I thought I’d be prepared

I’ve met grief before. 

But each time—
It takes me somewhere new.
Slowly pulling me away from my routines.

Since my grandmother passed, I’ve gone completely quiet.

❌ No videos of me
❌ No new podcasts

When before I was posting podcasts biweekly + videos nonstop.

Now? I honestly don’t know when I’ll start again.

Grief shows up the way it wants…

Years ago, my grandmother told me she couldn’t live forever.
We both knew that. Still, she lived a long, independent life! 

About six weeks before she passed, I told her about a dream I had: 

In the dream, she was asleep but kept waking herself up. That’s because she was seeing herself wake up in heaven.

It was like she wasn’t ready to leave yet— so, waking herself up was stretching time between here and there.

Truth be told? I didn’t want her to leave yet either. 

*sigh* But what we want isn’t always what we need or what we get.

Grief has many faces

Grief isn’t only about the people we miss. 

We can grieve: 

How we feel today —
And who we used to be.

Where we used to be —
And where we hoped to go.

We can also grieve: 

⚫ People and places
⚫ Routines and reasons
⚫ Dreams and destinations
⚫ Timelines and timetables
⚫ Health and abilities
⚫ Toxic relationships and pure love
⚫ Ideas and identities

TRANSLATION?

Grief hits in many ways — the loss of a loved one, a dream, a plan, or even just the way you thought life would go.

Grief sneaks into the little corners of our lives. And no matter how it shows up, it pushes us into places we’ve never been before.

Grieving an Idea 🌱

This year, I even grieved a garden idea.

For years, I’d been eyeing a garden arbor (arch). 

Nothing flimsy (that bends or twists in the wind). 

But something strong. 

☑️ Tall
☑️ Narrow
☑️ Inviting

I pictured it right at the entrance of my veggie garden.

But when it arrived—
It was the wrong size.

I picked a small arch. 
And ended up with a medium.
😞 My joy faded fast.

I told my husband I needed a minute to grieve the idea in my head—this vision I’d been hyping up for months:

A tall, narrow arch marking the entrance to my veggie garden.

Saying out loud, ‘Yeah, this is disappointing,’ somehow made it less heavy. Maybe because I was admitting how I felt. 

The next day, I gave things a fresh look.

First, I tried the arch at my big garden’s front door. It looked good.

Next, I hauled the arch to my cozy vegetable garden.

I braced for it to feel off—

❌ Too big
❌ Too awkward
❌ Too not what I planned

But plot twist: 

With the sunlight stretching across the garden, light hit, and I realized—it fit.

Not how I planned, but better.

The medium size wasn’t a fail—it was flexible.

⚫ Wide enough for a grand entrance when you wanna show off!

⚫ But also narrow enough to feel tucked-away and cozy.

TRANSLATION?

💡 My failed garden plan actually worked out better than my Pinterest-board brain imagined. Total proof that saying how I feel out loud can help me move through grief. 

Starting again

About the calendar…

On July 13th, I finally took the old one down.

I started again.

It took months to get there.
And yes—it was hard.

But here’s what I know:

Grief changes things.
It takes some of what we knew away—
But it also makes space for something different.

Another thing…

Grief doesn’t stop time (it just feels like it).
Things are still moving and growing.

And I’m choosing to move through my grief.

If you’re here—or if you’ve been like me, grieving a loved one or dream that didn’t happen—please know this:

Even the smallest step forward counts. 💜
And if you don’t fully get back into the rhythm, starting is enough.

Drop a comment and let me know what you think — I’d love to hear from you. ♡♡♡