Acceptance -

A Journey of Growth and Understanding

Acceptance is a journey

I’ve come to appreciate that acceptance is truly a journey, not just a destination. This path unfolds over time, enriching my understanding of life and the complexities of loss. Grief can feel overwhelming, but I've learned that it requires patience and self-compassion.

I vividly recall my initial attempts to accept the reality of my son’s death; it seemed daunting at first. Ultimately, acceptance isn’t about agreeing with what happened. While I may still struggle with the profound loss of my son, I believe in the power of growth and healing that comes through this journey. Every step offers new insights and hope, guiding me forward with resilience and love.

According to Webster's Dictionary, acceptance is "a readiness or willingness to accept or approve of a given circumstance."

But acceptance doesn't mean I stop saying Kevin's name or forget who he was. It doesn't mean letting go of the memories still so vivid in my heart—the sound of his voice, his laughter, his music, his essence, and the way he used to hug me. Remembering him is how I continue to cherish his life. He will always be my son. Forgetting him, or any of my loved ones who have passed, is not what acceptance means.

Throughout the years, I've focused on integrating my son's memories into my life, allowing me to shape a new normal. This new normal includes finding joy in small moments, cherishing the time I have with my other loved ones, and pursuing activities that bring me comfort and peace. While I must live without his physical presence, this journey has offered me both challenges and moments of healing.

At night, I listen to devotional content through my AirPods to calm my mind and spirit. Sometimes, I use a sleep aid to help me get a good night's rest. I visit the cemetery each month to remember Kevin, especially when friends and family come from out of town or abroad. These visits help honor his memory. Each visit reminds me of the changes I am going through and shows me the love and support around me. While the journey is arduous, I try to find a balance between my heartache and comfort as I continue to move forward.

But I've learned to live with the ache. I've learned to let love and sorrow coexist in my heart. That, too, is acceptance. It's not a betrayal of love or memory but a reflection of the love that remains.

At times, I fear that trying to accept Kevin's death means I'm letting him go or moving on. But I know now that's not true. I carry him with me in every breath, every act of kindness, every tear, and every prayer. I honor his life by choosing to continue living mine—heartbroken, changed, and transformed, guided by love and grace.

In the early stages of grief, accepting that I need help and acknowledging the need to heal not just emotionally, but physically, starting with my immune system, was a significant turning point. I turned to counseling and group therapy, and the support I received was invaluable. I learned how to transform pain into a source of growth and transformation. I stopped resisting the upheaval in my life and began to understand that this journey has now become a part of me.

Seeking help is not weakness but courage. It reminds me I am not alone and that healing happens in community. Accepting help doesn't erase the pain; it gives me the strength to walk through it. Acceptance also means staying present, even when the moment is unbearable. Emotions are never static, and it's okay to feel them fully as they come.

Even five years later, I still grapple with questions like, 'What could I have done differently?' Did I miss something? I often wonder if Kevin might have benefited from more help, more support. I know that Kevin's death is not a measure of my love. I loved Kevin deeply and accepted that I did my best with a complicated illness that I never fully comprehended.

True acceptance means allowing myself to feel the full weight of this loss, to own my emotions, and to take responsibility for how I move forward. Avoiding emotional truth can cause even more harm—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The sadness and confusion are still hard to bear, and I accept them.

I've learned I don't have to do this alone. God has placed people along my path—a minister who understands, friends who sit quietly beside me, books that speak to my pain, and communities that let me be honest and real. Avoiding emotions or numbing with unhealthy coping, such as alcohol or distractions, can only deepen the struggle. Acceptance invites us to choose healing practices instead. It's the support and understanding of these communities that make the journey of acceptance less lonely and more bearable.

Difficult emotions can be overwhelming, and our instinct may be to run from them. But with practice, we can learn to accept them with compassion. Healthy strategies, such as exercise, prayer, community, reflection, and writing, help me understand where I am and what I need.

I've experienced how grace shows up in unexpected ways. I accepted that only through faith, and allow the sovereign God to hold and walk with me, even when the road is long and dark. This belief provides me with comfort and hope, reminding me that I am not alone in my journey of acceptance. Faith is a powerful source of comfort and hope in the journey of acceptance, reminding us that we are never truly alone.

Sadness and fear still visit often. But when shame shows up, I want to hide from it. Suicide carries a heavy stigma, and I didn't want to feel that shame. But I've learned that rejecting or suppressing it gives it more power. By accepting and processing shame, its grip on me loosens. Accepting vulnerability becomes healing.

Now, I give myself more compassion. Sometimes, after expressing deep emotion, I worry I've said too much or been"too vulnerable." But I've found that it brings a surprising sense of freedom. That's part of why I write—not to seek sympathy, but because sharing honestly often brings kindness and connection.

What Acceptance Really Means

• Allowing your feelings to exist without suppression or judgment.

• Letting go of the need to control your emotions and realizing they are not dangerous—it's how we handle them that matters.

• Being fully present with your emotional reality and practicing authenticity.

  
  

In my previous three posts, I reflected on control, change, and transformation. This post focuses on acceptance.

According to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, acceptance is the final stage of the grief process. While grief is not linear, and real life rarely follows neat models, her framework offers guidance. In my lived experience, grief is messy. Still, having a map, even an imperfect one, helps.

There are days when grief feels too heavy to carry. The longing for my child, the ache that never quiets, the memories that resurface without warning, and on those days, acceptance feels distant, like a place I should reach but can't quite find.

But I am comforted by this verse:

"He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Surely He took up our pain and bore our suffering…" — Isaiah 53:3-4 (NIV)

Jesus knows our sorrow. God doesn't ask us to deny grief or rush through it. He bears it with us. Acceptance isn't about having answers. It's about allowing ourselves to be held in our questions, knowing He is with us.

If this message resonates with you, I invite you to leave a comment or share it with someone who may find comfort in hearing about the journey of acceptance following loss. Your support can make a difference for someone who needs it right now.