This Ground.

This ground, freshly cut, still soft, holds more than a body. It holds years. Laughter. Lessons. The weight of a name now whispered more than spoken. I stand here, hands trembling, trying to make sense of goodbye in a world that never feels ready to lose. "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." But I’ll be honest, today I don’t feel wise. Just broken.Just small. We count birthdays, we count blessings, but we never learn how to count what we lose. I wanted more time. More calls. One more hug that lasted longer than the moment ever allowed. And yet, even here, in the shadow of the grave, there is something sacred. A stillness that speaks louder than the noise of the world. A pause that reminds me life is breath, Not bank accounts. Not busyness. Just breath. So I breathe now. Learning to number my days, not in fear, but in gratitude. Not in rushing, but in reverence. Lord Help me carry this loss not as weight, but as wisdom. Not as punishment, but as proof that love once lived here. And still does.