For You

There’s an old adage that says; it’s not what happens to you, but what happens for you.

And honestly? That phrase used to make me want to scream.

Because when you’re holding the ashes of a life that will never be again…when someone you love dies without reason. Without warning. How do you wrap that into something for me?

Grief doesn’t like tidy answers. It wants the raw truth.

And the truth is, some of what happened broke me open in ways I never wanted.

Grief took a piece of me I can never get back.

And I don’t want it back—not really.

I want him back.

I want my brother,Griffin.

This void feels like it happened to me, not for me.

Moving on in grief is not a loop—it’s a ladder. 

With every rung, I change. I leave parts of myself behind, sometimes because I have to, sometimes because I’ve outgrown those parts in the most painful ways imaginable.

But…

In the climbing of that ladder, I have also made space for something new.

This is where the contradiction lives: I hate what I’ve lost but I’m grateful for what I’ve found.

In the untidy space of raw grief, I found myself in rooms with people who understand the language of loss.

I found LITT, a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

I found a slower pace, a deeper breath, a different way of living.

I don’t rush through life the way I used to. Or at least I try not to.

My awareness of the life around me is heightened

I notice things now—the light through the trees, the way my son’s voice changes when he’s excited, the way sourdough feels under my hands when it’s ready to rise.

I soak it in because I know so well what it’s like to lose the chance to see any of it again.

So maybe some of it was for me. 

The growth. 

The connection.

The clarity.

But the loss itself?

No. Absolutely not.

That didn’t need to happen for me. I refuse to romanticize devastation.

Some things just happen. And they hurt like hell.

From the hurt, we get to choose what we carry forward.

We get to decide how we climb that ladder out.

And in the rising, I carry him.

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Olivia Harrell lives in Baldwin, Maryland, with her husband, two young children, and a Bulldog named Lola. She lost her brother, Griffin, to an accidental overdose from Fentanyl on September 25, 2023. Her monthly blog examines the twists and turns of grief and healing. Olivia loves to spend time with her family, make sourdough from scratch, and exercise. She is also incredibly thankful for the community of LITT and invites others with a similar loss to participate in LITT’s Sibling Support Group. For more information click here.