The past few weeks have been rough. It was days of dealing with a family loss, illness, and a oh so slow recovery. At the beginning of this month, our family said goodbye to my mother-in-law — and I’m still struggling to find the right words for someone who seemed to live her entire life putting others first.

She was truly one of the most selfless, loving, kind, and loyal people I have ever met. The kind of woman who remembered the small details, who showed up without being asked, who gave quietly and consistently without ever keeping score. Her love wasn’t loud or performative — it was steady. Reliable. Fierce in the gentlest way.

She loved her family with a depth that felt immovable. Through every hard season, every celebration, every ordinary weekday, she was there. There was no doubt about where her loyalty stood. It was unwavering.

And when we laid her to rest, I wasn’t there.

A horrific Fibromyalgia flare up hit just days before the funeral. It had been building up in the days prior to her passing, but I tried to ignore it to be there for my husband and my father-in-law. It was the kind of flare up that feels like your body is filled with wet cement and fire at the same time. The kind that makes even sitting upright feel impossible. I wanted to push through. I wanted to be strong enough. I wanted to show up for my husband, for my in-laws, for her.

Instead, I stayed home in bed.

The guilt has been immense. Grief already carries its own heaviness, but layered with guilt, it feels suffocating. I keep replaying it — wondering if I could have forced myself, if I should have tried harder, if she would have understood.

The truth I’m slowly, painfully learning is that emotional stress and Fibromyalgia are deeply intertwined. The anticipatory grief, the heartbreak, the anxiety of loss — my body absorbs it all. What begins in my heart inevitably shows up in my muscles, my joints, my exhaustion. My body keeps score of emotions I haven’t even had time to process.

The days before and after my mother-in-law’s passing have forced me to see that connection more clearly than ever.

I know she would have told me to rest. She would have told me to take care of myself. That was who she was — always worrying about everyone else first.

I hope she knows how deeply she was loved. I hope she knows that even from my bed, wrapped in heating pads and tears, I was honoring her in the only way I could.

And I hope, in time, I can extend myself the same grace she so freely gave to everyone else.