Saturday, June 6, 2026: Someone said grief is like glitter.
Dear Sisters and Brothers of Emmaus:
I'm sorry I haven't written for the past couple of weeks. We found out on Friday, May 22nd that our beloved nephew Corey passed away in his sleep during the early hours of that day. It was hard to believe that terrible news and at first I thought someone might have sent us a text by mistake. Sadly, that afternoon my sister Tina, Corey's mother, and his sister Kara confirmed his death for us.
Corey never missed a day of work in 12 years and when he didn't show up his work colleagues grew suspicious. They called Corey's best friend who went to his apartment and found his body. He was only 41 years old.
We had just shared a house with Corey and other family members in Salt Lake City -- a celebration of our niece's PhD graduation. We spend three days retelling family stories, listening to Corey's jokes which he loved telling (he laughed heartily at each one... his audience however mostly groaned...).
His mother, sister Kara and kid brother Brendan were all stricken, disconsolate. Linda and I left early the next morning for Reno. We listened, cried, made meals and generally tried to walk with the family. The phone rang constantly and childhood friends came to visit. Many brought food and flowers and sat for a while. Tina's home has always been a center for friends to gather and this was no different. Linda and Tina welcomed each visitor with warmth, compassion and big hugs an listening hearts.
Then little by little we started work on all the administrative chores that begin with the end of a life. We cleaned the apartment, took down artwork, went to Costco for storage containers etc. We are now planning a memorial service for next Saturday the 13th of June. We have always been close to Corey: Barbara, our three sons, my sisters, their children - so many cousins, so many opportunities to visit, watch Corey play high school sports and take vacations together. His passing leaves me breathless. Please say a prayer for Corey, his family and friends. - David
Here's a reflection I adapted in preparation for a family memorial to be held later in this month.
Someone said grief is like glitter. It cling to everything. Hides in corners. Slips into your socks. on your fingertips when you reaching for a glass of water, or brushing your hair before bed. It settles in places no one else can see. And sometimes, it sparkles. Sometimes, it doesn't.
And I think that's true—not because it makes grief prettier, but because it makes it stubborn, Grief does not knock. It stains. It Stays. People imaging grief as a clean wound: blood, bandage, all better. But really, it's a messy room you can't fully clean, A Scent that lingers after all the windows are opened. A sound you keep hearing long after the music stops.
We all lose people they love— their voices stilled by death. And somehow we bear this wound in our hearts and we keep keep walking and working, grieving and afraid to show or share our deep hurt.
Others of us will crumble at the sound of a name, when we hear a favorite song or share the memory of an outing, a victorious football game, shared song or any of a thousand other memories. memories. There's no proper timeline for learning how to live without Corey, his laugh, his jokes, his warm friendship, his love for his family. Some days we'll do it gracefully. Other days, we'll choke. That's still living.
And maybe that's the kindest and only good thing about grief: it's evidence that someone mattered and that we cared so deeply for that someone. It's evidence that Corey mattered to all of us. Corey left fingerprints on our hearts so brightly the light still catches on them. How lucky we are, how blessed are we, to have shared days, and weeks and months and years of his joyful presence. Those times echo still and find their ways back into our hearts, into our lungs, into our brains and every atom of our selves.
Our grief hurts and that's okay. If our grief glitters in the dark and you cry when no one is looking, that's more than okay. We are not weak for remembering. We are not broken for carrying pieces of Corey with us. That's what makes us real. That's what makes us capable of love.
And love, in all its forms, is the reason we ever grieve at all.
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