It was on a Monday, the Monday before that Tuesday. The Tuesday that would be the six week anniversary of the hardest goodbye I’ve ever had to make—holding my Bentley-girl as she took her last breath. Death isn’t a stranger to me, but hers was the most profound. Losing Bentley felt like losing a part of me; I’m no longer whole. Tears rivulet at the most random and awkward moments. Grief isn’t something to be rushed. Feelings must be properly felt to be properly dealt with—and that is a healthy part of grieving.

There’s a quote attributed to Queen Elizabeth II that I’ve not been able to shake from my thoughts: Grief is the price we pay for love. And isn’t it though? When you’re aching so viscerally that your heart feels shredded, you know, you know, you loved deeply.

Tuesdays, I’ve began to dread them. Tuesdays mark that another week has passed without her presence here by my side, gentle snores, waggly-tail walks, comforting nudges, vocally demanding snacks, snuggling extra close. I spend Tuesdays mostly catatonic—unapologetically. And while I, perhaps, feel misunderstood at times, I know I’m seen and understood by the One who knows me most and loves me best. He’s proven it.

So back to the Monday, the one before that Tuesday— I was reading through Isaiah 37 and 38 about Sennacherib’s fall and Hezekiah’s illness (and miracle!). Aren’t those quite the names?! They’re characters in quite the story too. Sit down with a cup of tea and your favorite Bible and read this story. Look for the miracle (no spoiler alerts). One of my favorite authors, Wendy Speake, writes that “those who know the Word of God are more likely to know the voice of God.” While I’m in the middle of reading about these battles and angels and prophecies and sicknesses, I read a verse that slams into my heart, making my pulse race, and I pause to go back and read it again and again and again.

“…Thus says the LORD, the God of David your father: I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears….”(Isaiah 38:5 ESV, emphasis mine).

That was enough, all I needed. Being misunderstood or feeling pressured to grieve or not grieve a certain way doesn’t matter. What matters is this love-letter whisper from my Abba: I have seen your tears. I’m seen, held, loved, understood, and it is enough. More than enough.

Today marks eight weeks. He still sees my tears, and He still holds me close. Thank you, Abba. Love, Me.