By Tonya Allen

There are days when grief hurts so deeply that I can feel it in places I cannot explain. There are days when the tears come without warning, when a memory can take me back to a moment I wish I could relive, and when the reality that Bobby is no longer here feels almost impossible to accept. But then there are other days—days when I don’t cry, I don’t feel overwhelmed, and I don’t necessarily feel sad. I just feel… blah.

I have learned that “blah” is a real part of grief, too.

Sometimes I wake up, get dressed, go to work, answer the phone, talk to people, laugh at something funny, and continue with my day. From the outside, everything may look completely normal. No one would necessarily know that I am carrying something heavy inside. Nothing dramatic has happened. There isn’t always a particular memory that triggered it. I simply feel different. I feel emotionally tired. I feel like I am moving through the day because I know what I am supposed to do, but my heart isn’t always fully present.

That is one of the strange things about grief. It doesn’t always look the way people expect it to look. We often associate grief with crying, sadness, anger, and heartbreak. Those emotions are certainly part of my journey, but grief can also look like silence. It can look like sitting quietly and not wanting to talk. It can look like being tired even when you have done nothing physically exhausting. It can look like laughing with your family and then remembering the person who isn’t there. It can even look like having a good day and still feeling like something is missing.

Sometimes grief isn’t a storm. Sometimes it is simply a cloud hanging over the day.

Blah.

And I’ve had to learn not to feel guilty about it.

Feeling “blah” doesn’t mean I love Bobby any less. It doesn’t mean I have forgotten him. It doesn’t mean I am moving on without him. It doesn’t mean that because I didn’t cry today, I didn’t think about him. Love doesn’t disappear just because the tears aren’t flowing. Missing someone doesn’t always have to be expressed through tears.

Some days I miss Bobby with tears. Some days I miss him with a smile because a memory comes to mind. Some days I miss him through silence. And some days, I simply find myself thinking, “I miss my son.” There may not be tears. There may not be an explanation. There is just the realization that someone who should still be here isn’t.

I think sometimes I am simply tired.

There is an exhaustion that comes with grief that people don’t always see. It is exhausting to miss someone. It is exhausting to carry memories. It is exhausting to explain why certain days are harder than others. It is exhausting to try to be strong when, truthfully, you don’t always feel strong. There are moments when I don’t need another reminder to “stay strong.” Sometimes I just need permission to say, “I’m tired.”

Grief has taught me that I don’t have to turn every difficult day into a testimony. I don’t have to find the perfect words. I don’t have to explain every emotion. I don’t have to make every moment of sadness meaningful. Sometimes I can simply acknowledge that today feels different and give myself permission to feel whatever I feel.

And that includes feeling nothing much at all.

My faith reminds me that God’s presence is not determined by my emotions. There are days when I can pray with tears streaming down my face, and there are days when my prayer is little more than, “Lord, help me.” There are days when Scripture brings immediate comfort, and there are days when I read the words but still feel tired.

But God hasn’t moved.

My feelings may change from day to day, but God remains constant. Psalm 34:18 reminds us that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted. I believe He is close not only when my heart is visibly breaking, but also when I am sitting quietly, emotionally exhausted, trying to make it through another day.

God meets me in the tears.

He meets me in the memories.

He meets me in the silence.

And yes, He meets me in the blah.

I am learning that I cannot measure my healing by how I feel on one particular day. Grief doesn’t follow a straight line. There are good days and difficult days. There are days when I feel like I am making progress and days when something small reminds me of what I’ve lost. There are days when I feel strong and days when I simply feel tired.

None of those days erase the others.

I don’t have to apologize for having a blah day. I don’t have to question my love for Bobby because I didn’t cry. I don’t have to force myself to feel something simply because I think grief is supposed to look a certain way.

I can breathe.

I can rest.

I can pray.

I can remember.

And I can keep going.

Losing Bobby changed my life. There is no version of my life where I simply erase that chapter and continue as if it never happened. Bobby is forever a part of my story. He is part of the memories that make me smile, the moments that make me cry, the prayers I pray, and the work I continue to do in his name. He is part of the love I carry with me every day.

I’ve learned that grief has many faces. Sometimes grief cries. Sometimes grief remembers. Sometimes grief worships. Sometimes grief serves. Sometimes grief smiles. Sometimes grief sits quietly.

And sometimes…

grief just feels blah.

I’ve decided that I don’t have to fight every feeling. I can acknowledge it. I can sit with it. I can give myself grace. I can trust God with the parts of my grief that I understand and the parts I don’t.

Because even on the days when I don’t have the strength to carry my grief, God is still carrying me.

And maybe that is what I need to remember most on the blah days: I don’t have to figure everything out today.

I just have to keep breathing, keep trusting, and keep taking the next step.

One day at a time.

One memory at a time.

One prayer at a time.

And sometimes, one blah day at a time.

Tonya Allen can be reached at [email protected].

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