“Love is not measured by outcome. It’s measured by presence — and yours was real.”
There’s a guilt that often rides quietly inside grief.
A voice that says: *If I had loved them better... maybe they’d still be here.*
Or: *I should’ve said more. Done more. Been more.*
But love doesn’t prevent loss.
It doesn’t come with guarantees. Or magic spells that keep bodies from breaking.
You showed up. You tried. Maybe imperfectly — but with your whole heart.
And that matters more than anything you couldn’t control.
Grief can make you rewrite the story, over and over. Picking at each choice, every word left unsaid.
But what if you paused that loop and said: *What I gave was enough for the love I knew how to give then.*
You didn’t fail them.
Love doesn’t need to be perfect to be true.
And if they could speak, they’d likely say: *Thank you. You loved me. I knew.*
Sit quietly. Place a hand over your heart. Repeat softly: 'I loved them. That love was real. That love was enough.' Breathe slowly, letting the words settle deeper each time.
Write a blessing for yourself today, starting with: 'I forgive myself for believing that I failed...' Let the words complete themselves honestly. Let grace speak louder than guilt.
Neelam R. “I kept replaying our last week together. Every word I didn’t say. Every moment I wasn’t there. But this helped me see — I did love him. He knew. And holding that truth softened the guilt just enough to breathe again.”
Love doesn’t always save — but it always means something.