A Love Transformed
Sometimes grief is not about letting go…
but learning how to carry what can no longer be held.
Before it ever met the open sky,
the dragonfly knew only water,
hidden beneath the surface,
moving through a world of shadows.
Perhaps grief begins there too...
beneath the surface,
where the world carries on above us:
voices, footsteps, morning light,
while inside...
everything has changed,
as we learn to live in a world without you.
Then one day,
the dragonfly rises.
It leaves the water behind,
its old skin resting there,
empty, translucent,
a quiet reminder of what it once was.
Perhaps grief is like this.
We do not simply overcome it.
We are changed by it.
We emerge carrying
the shape of what we have lost,
still tender,
still learning how to breathe.
And perhaps that is why
the dragonfly speaks to me,
reminding me that love
can survive transformation.
What we have lost
lives on in different ways,
woven into who we are.
Sometimes,
it becomes the quiet strength beneath our wings.
Sometimes,
it is the reason we notice the light.
So when a dragonfly passes softly through the air,
I will not ask where it is going.
I will simply watch.
And perhaps love is what remains
when everything else has changed,
unseen,
but still moving quietly through us.
So I let the dragonfly rise.
I let the sky receive it.
And as its wings catch the fading light,
the distance between loss and love
feels very small.
Those we love, may fade from sight,
but never from our hearts.
✨🙌🏾💫