07/11/2026
When Grief Comes Early
I want to talk about something tonight that a lot of us feel but don't have a name for: anticipatory grief.
It's the grief that shows up before the loss. The mourning that starts while the person you love is still right here with you.
I've been living this one myself.
I've lived with my mom for over 20 years, and I've taken on a greater role in her care these last five.
On June 1st, 2026, everything changed. She just dropped to the ground, and in that moment I thought I'd lost her.
The Fairborn medics got her to the hospital, and there have been several times since then when we thought she was going to pass — and she keeps bouncing back. She's 95. Now it's good days and bad days.
I see her four or five nights a week. I go up there and feed her dinner. And on the drive home, I've noticed this ache I couldn't explain at first — a sadness about a change that's already begun. For a while I felt selfish for even feeling it. She's the one going through the hardest part. Who am I to grieve?
But here's what I've learned: grief isn't a contest. I'm not saying my pain is greater than anyone else's — I'm just being honest that "harder for her" doesn't mean "not hard for me." You can love someone with everything you've got, show up for them again and again, and still carry your own sorrow about the changes coming.
That sorrow isn't selfish. It's a measure of how much they mean to you.
If you're walking through this too, here are a few things holding me steady:
You can't fix the fear — and that's not your job. I can be there. I can be a support. But I can't reach in and take away the fear or the loneliness she feels. That part is bigger than me, and I've had to release it. Where my arms can't reach, I trust God's already are.
Take care of yourself, or you'll have nothing left to give. If I run myself into the ground, I can't keep showing up. Tending your own heart is what makes the loving sustainable.
Meet them where they are. Not where you wish they were. Not rushing them through it. Just meet them there, with patience, trying to see it through their eyes.
Let the feelings come — they don't get the final word. I still feel the fear and the sadness some nights. But underneath it there's a peace that doesn't depend on me having it all figured out.
If you're watching someone you love slip away a little at a time — grieving them while they're still here — you're not crazy, and you're not selfish.
You're loving them through a hard season. And I want you to know: you're not alone.