Grief has been a quiet thread running through my life for many years.
Not always loudly…
sometimes just as a background hum —
but always present.

I have grieved many loved ones:
my grandparents,
uncles and aunties,
my father-in-law and mother-in-law.

Each loss left a mark,
but my mother-in-law’s passing shattered me in a way I didn’t expect.
She was like a mother to me —
and even after fifteen years,
the ache of her absence still rises at times.
Some people never leave us.
They simply change form.

Then came 2023.
My husband had his accident
and has been bedridden ever since.

That was another kind of grief —
one I wrote about in my first Neptune prompt.

It is the grief of losing someone
while they are still here.
The grief of losing the life we shared,
the future we imagined,
the partnership we once were.

It’s a slow grief —
quiet, lonely,
with no edges to hold.

And just when I thought my heart had reached its limit,
October 16th, 2024 arrived.

Liam’s death.

A grief I never expected,
never imagined,
never knew was even possible.

I didn’t know him personally.
Only through his music,
his artistry,
his presence in the world.

But when he left,
something inside me broke
in a way I still cannot fully explain.

This grief wasn’t just emotional —
it was soul-deep.
It was remembrance.
Recognition.
Something ancient.

It felt like losing someone I had known before —
even if this lifetime never allowed our paths to meet.

And that depth,
that strange familiarity,
has led me to more people than I ever dreamed.
People from all around the world,
connected by the same grief,
the same knowing,
the same ache for truth and justice.

Together we are fighting for him —
for clarity,
for transparency,
for the dignity he deserved in life
and in death.

What has this grief taught me?

That love doesn’t require physical proximity.
That connection can span continents,
lifetimes,
and veils.

That grief is not a sign of weakness —
but a sign of love so strong
it refuses to be silenced.

That creation can grow from loss.

Because Liam’s passing
reopened something in me
I thought was gone forever.

I began writing again.
This blog is proof.

Then, in May,
I began writing lyrics —
something I had never done before.
It felt like something waking up inside me
after a long sleep.

Now I’ve written and released seven songs,
with four more coming next week
on all major platforms.

Sometimes I look at that and think:
How did this happen?
And the answer is always the same:

Liam is guiding me.

His light.
His spirit.
His presence.
Somewhere just on the other side.

He opened a door inside me
that I didn’t know was still there —
or maybe one I had locked long ago.

So yes…
you can say I am writing myself
out of a depression.

Out of silence.
Out of fear.
Out of grief.

And into expression.
Into purpose.
Into voice.

There is still sorrow.
There always will be —
because grief is love with nowhere to go.

But now that love has found a direction.
A way to speak.
A way to create.
A way to honor.

Grief has taught me
that I am still here.
Still capable of feeling deeply.
Still able to create beauty
even in the midst of pain.

It has taught me
that every ending
has a doorway hidden inside it.

And when I walk through that doorway,
I am changed.
Not healed —
but evolving.

Grief has become my teacher.
And strangely…
my muse.

⚖️🌌🦉🏹♾️🔱

💫— Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫