The other night I was excited to be watching a new episode of “Grey’s Anatomy”. As odd as it sounds, I always know something in the show will make me tear up, whether I can relate to it or not. It’s almost like watching “Extreme Home Makeovers”….I always end up crying at the reveal.

Well this episode of “Grey’s” was no exception, and I sat on my couch in my quiet living room with a few tears streaming down my face. It was not a waterworks show at Sea world, but enough to make me wipe my cheek.

At that moment I thought of the beginning of my journey without Michael. I remember screaming out loud, pounding my fists on the counters and just sobbing uncontrollably. It was the polar opposite of how I was this evening, with the silence as my companion and the warm droplets making their exits from my eyes.

It was through comparing these two moments that I realized how grief is so much like fire;
in the beginning our grief was an intense flickering blaze, but now, even though the flames have gone down, we still may get burnt by the embers.

I know this is a far distance from McSteamy, but I find solace in the smallest of my own self-realization, for even when it may not always seem the brightest or happiest, it lets me know I am viewing the growth that underlines it all.