When the Tears Finally Fell

I was driving to pick my daughter up from work the other day, when it all just… hit me.

The weight of it. The years. The memories. The loss.
Out of nowhere, my eyes welled up, and before I could brace myself, the tears were streaming down my face.

It wasn’t just one thing. It was everything.
My very first childhood friend, gone.
We met when I was just three years old. She was the definition of a constant. Her laugh, her presence, the way we grew up side-by-side. It’s been seven years since she passed, and yet a few nights ago, it felt like she had just left me.

And then…...him.
The father of my older two children.
Eighteen years since his life was stolen by a tragic, senseless act of violence.
Eighteen years since I received the kind of news that shatters something sacred inside you.

And yet, I never fully grieved.
Because I couldn’t.

Life didn’t pause for my pain. I had to keep moving: for the kids, for survival, for everyone else. But it’s deeper than that.

There’s another reason I didn’t grieve the way I needed to.
Because later in life, as I tried to move on, as I entered other relationships, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to mourn him out loud.
I didn’t want to offend anyone.
Didn’t want my present to feel threatened by my past.
So I silenced my sorrow. I tucked my love, my memories, my heartbreak into hidden corners of my heart, out of sight, out of conversation, out of reach.

But grief doesn’t die just because we hide it.

It waits.
And a few nights ago, behind the wheel of my car, it rose.
Uninvited. Unfiltered. Undeniable.

Grief has a way of showing up in the quiet places, the drive, the pause, the in-between moments when your guard is down and your soul is honest.

And maybe that’s mercy.
Maybe God allows the tears to come not to break us, but to heal us.
Maybe mourning isn’t betrayal to your present, it’s just your heart telling the truth.

A few nights ago, I remembered.
I felt.
I finally gave myself permission to grieve.

If you’ve ever silenced your pain to make others comfortable, I see you.
If you’ve ever felt like you had to “get over it” to move forward, I get it.
But healing doesn’t require permission slips from people who were never there for your private pain.

You’re allowed to mourn.
You’re allowed to miss them.
You’re allowed to cry.
Even now. Especially now.

Grief doesn’t mean you’re stuck.
It means you loved deeply.
It means they mattered.

So let the tears fall.
Let the memories breathe.
And let your heart be honest, because healing begins where truth is welcomed.

Written by: Ebony Headspeth