Quiet Courage in Grief

I used to think courage was loud. That it announced itself with grand gestures and bold

declarations. Then I met Sarah at the grief support group, and she taught me

otherwise. She sat in the corner every Tuesday evening, hands folded, never speaking.

Just listening. I was the opposite, filling silence with words about losing my brother,

as if talking could somehow bring him back. Six weeks passed before she finally

spoke. Her voice was barely a whisper. My daughter died three years ago,

and I still set her place at dinner sometimes. The room went silent. Someone coughed.

I felt my chest tighten. But here's what nobody tells you about grief.