When we carry the people we've loved in our hearts, in our conversations, and into the work we do and the actions we take, we bring them forward and allow them to not only be an element in our lives still, but to make an impact. In that same way, they bring us forward, toward them. We do this thing, together. We rebuild, together.

My favorite poems about grief do either one of two things: express my own experience in words in a way I never could or call on me to think differently about my experience. It’s a special thing when a poem can do both. Today I’m paying forward a beautiful grief poem written by Denise Levertov. May it call up your compassion the way it does for me.

Over a decade after losing my brother to suicide, I still wonder “Why him?” and grieve for what could have been. We need to be allowed those times, too. We need to say “Let me be angry.” “Let me have this pain.” “Let me find my way through it.” We must be allowed to be real and human. There is always work to be done.

These November affirmations are my tribute to a time of sacred intent and a token of my growing fondness for the journey that links all things. These affirmations are small decisions to carry on with the meaningful and often demanding work you feel called to do. To stay true to the process. To trust in what we love.

“The word blessing evokes a sense of warmth and protection; it suggests that no life is alone or unreachable.” As this Irish poet shows us, a blessing for transitions (of many kinds) can hold us, guide us, and show us that we don't have to go it alone. We are meant to help and be helped along the way.

Our wedding vows are an ode to the power of love, and friendship, and hope. Because that's how we make it through the difficult things. Our special day, like all I ever share here in writing, was a celebration of how far we’ve all come, and who we've chosen to become. I hope our wedding vows make you feel something.

This is a prayer for peace for all of us who've known the power of grief and the balm of friendship, who've been touched by the hands of despair but who still choose life. Wherever you are now -- wherever you've been and wherever you're going next -- may you open your heart to the freedom that's still available to you, whatever it is you decide that freedom means for you.

The older I get, the more I feel that home is the place where your heart goes to rest. When you grieve the loss of someone you love, it can be hard to find that sense of home – because that someone you love was, in a way, your home. This grief poem is about rediscovering that sense of home again, right where you stand.

This science poem is, oh, so beautiful, and that is a VERY big understatement. It's written by theoretical astrophysicist Katie Mack. She studies dark matter, the early universe, galaxy formation, black holes, cosmic strings, and the ultimate fate of the cosmos. This stunning poem of hers, titled Disorientation, is one of the best things I've ever read and listened to.