I was sitting in therapy, finally grieving the loss of my grandmother. When I lost her, I was in my first semester of college. I had been away from home for less than six months. When I think about it now, I wonder why God felt like that was a good time. But at that moment, when I heard my mom’s voice through the coldness of my phone on my ear, say, “there’s nothing else they can do,” I wasn’t upset. Somehow I knew it was her time, somehow I knew she was ready. Somehow, with 431 miles between us, I was able to let her go. 

Grieving that loss made sense. It made sense that I missed talking to her, so much that years later, I was still picking up my phone to call and give her good news, until I remembered…I couldn’t. It made sense that every year since 2009, birthdays have felt a little different. It makes sense because I knew her love. What didn’t make sense to me was what would happen just 48 hours after leaving my therapy session. 

I was given the assignment of writing my grandmother a letter. I was hesitant, and I told my therapist this because what do you say when you know you won’t get a response. How could I pour my heart out when I knew she wouldn’t be there to catch my tears like she had done time and time before. She was my safe place. And writing a letter after my safe place had broken wide open seemed like the most ridiculous thing ever.

“You know what she’d say,” she said. “You know exactly how she would respond. Write the letter, and if you need to, write a letter back to yourself saying what you know she would say in response.” That’s what my therapist told me.

I tried it. I sat there thinking of what I would say to her. I don’t know if it was because I had said it all already and there were no words left, but nothing came. And then it became apparent to me, I didn’t need to write my grandmother a letter, there were no words left unspoken. But there was a letter I needed to write, I needed to write a letter to my grandfather.

For a moment, I felt numb. Unsure of how to process this all, uncertain of what I would say. I had no idea that this would be the first step in mourning a love that I never knew. My grandfather passed away before I was born, my dad was just a teenager, and I was unaware of the level of impact that had on my life. I didn’t know I needed to grieve that loss too. 

Once I began writing, the words flowed effortlessly, and so did the tears. 

“I wasn’t ready for the pierce my heart would feel the first time I heard my niece call my dad, papa. Or the looming thoughts that would come when I watched him give her piggyback rides. I didn’t envy her when they shared ice cream together, but the little girl in me mourned. Seeing her run into his arms accompanied by that contagious laugh and smile she would give. I knew it melted his heart. And I wondered how your heart would have felt had I had the opportunity to run into yours. And isn’t it ironic that an attack on your heart is what took you away from me? At that moment, your heart is all I wanted.”

Even as I think back on the day I wrote this letter, as I read pieces of it, my eyes began to swell with tears. But it’s okay. Because you can mourn a loss of the love you never knew. The person you never met can still hold a special place in your heart. You can wonder what it would have been like to hear their voice or touch their hand. You can wish you had more pieces to the story. You can wonder what they would have thought of you or if they would have been proud. You can imagine car rides and ice cream dates, birthday hugs, and Christmas laughter. And you can hurt because none of that can be. But in the midst of all of that, this is what I need you to remember; God is sovereign. I don’t understand why God called the only grandparent I knew home just a few months after I moved 7 hours away for college. And I don’t understand why my grandfather passed away before he was able to see my dad mature into a man or meet me, his granddaughter. But I do believe that God is sovereign. So as I mourn the love I never knew, I rest by believing that God knows what He is doing. It doesn’t take away the hurt, but it does bring meaning to my circumstances. And that gives me hope, hope that all things will work together for good. 

So whatever loss you are mourning, whether it be of a love you knew or would have hope to have known, mourn well. Continue to live with confidence and know that everything comes from or through the hands of God. You are not without hope. You are not without love. Even when He can’t be understood, He can be trusted.