Until today, I hadn’t realized just how deep in grief I’ve been.

I should have given birth this year.

My due date would have been anytime between December 28th to January 4th. They couldn’t really tell, as my baby never progressed the way they should have.

Their little heartbeat was clear as day on May 11th—pounding away with vigor and zest. And by June 1st, their heart had stopped beating completely.

I never understood the complexities of a miscarriage until I went through one. I never understood how it felt like a million shards of glass to the heart, or that I could lose a huge part of myself in it.

The year is not over, and yet I sit here in complete and utter grief. Grief for my baby, my sister’s baby, and for everyone who has ever lost someone.

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I am in deep grief for what was to be, what was to come, and who we were. I am in deep grief for our world as we knew it.

We are all grieving right now. Grieving our world which has died. Grieving life as we had lived before and those of us who are still here, grieving all that we knew and cherished: lost friendships, lost lovers, lost children, lost parents, lost souls.

I am grieving the simplicity of it all. The sheer ignorance of how we lived our lives in the western world. The bliss I felt just living every day—privileged and unaware of all the hate, anger, and animosity.

But grief and heartache have beauty in them.

Grief pushes us to be better, to carry those with us in ways we never thought possible. We live with a stronger palette for life than we ever knew we had, pushing for more. Grief gives us reason, purpose, and heart—it kills us and simultaneously brings us back to life.

When I am feeling the most ambitious, I am my brother. He was the most driven and cheerful person I knew. He had the heart of 10 men and I looked up to his tenacity and strength.

When I am nurturing and loving to myself, I am nurturing my baby who I was never able to meet or hold.

When I am showing compassion and light, I am every soul in this world: old and young, black and white, gay or straight, trans and pan. I am feeding the world with what it needs the most right now: lightness of all kinds.

Grief is transformative. It is awful and terrible and something none of us can avoid.

It is, in a way, the one thing that connects us all. And in that dark place, it is the only thing that we all have in common—the one thing that saves us.

What a comforting thought and the one beautiful thing I can take from standing in this grief.

It is universal. It is personal. It is transcendent. It is bigger than all of us.

And none of us will ever be alone in it.

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