There are moments in life that don’t come with closure. No final hug. No whispered “I love you.” Just silence—and the echo of everything you wish you’d said.

I lost my grandmother, Krumholtz, without getting to say goodbye. She was the one person I loved with all my heart. Her presence shaped me—quietly, fiercely, faithfully. And when she left this world, I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t told her how much she meant to me. I hadn’t thanked her for the strength she passed down, or the way she saw me when I felt invisible.

That grief doesn’t fade. But it teaches.

It teaches me to speak love while people are still here to hear it. To pause the hustle and say the thing that matters. To forgive faster. To show up more fully. Because we don’t always get a warning. Sometimes, the goodbye is stolen—and all we’re left with is the legacy of how we lived before it.

So  from that place. From the ache of unfinished goodbyes. From the urgency of presence. From the belief that love, when spoken aloud, becomes a kind of armor—for us and for those we cherish.

If you’re reading this, maybe there’s someone you’ve been meaning to call. Someone who deserves to hear your heart before it’s too late. Don’t wait.

Say it now.

For Grandma Krumholtz. I love you. I always will.

John 14:27 “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”