When the Sun Knew My Pain: How Grief Woke Me From the Inside Out
After nearly ten months of surviving in silence, the sun met me with something I hadn’t felt in a long time—truth. Not in words, but in warmth… in stillness… in the quiet knowing that my entire being was in pain.
GROUNDING WITH C'AH
C'ah Sole
4/14/20251 min read
It happened as the sun began to rise.
I found myself outside, barefoot, wrapped in the softest silence, watching the morning light stretch across the sky like a promise. For fifteen years, fibromyalgia has lived in my body—an uninvited guest I’ve learned to breathe around. But that morning… that sacred morning… I realized something far deeper.
I wasn’t just in physical pain. My entire existence was aching.
From the tip of the longest hair on my head to the edge of my smallest toe, I was hurting. Not just in my bones, but in my soul. In my memory. In the hollowed place where my son used to be.
I whispered to the sun, “Comfort my brothers. Comfort my sisters.”
I thought of you—yes, you—the one who wakes up and is instantly gripped by tears. The one who makes it to the edge of the bed, only to fall back under the weight of remembering. The one who walks into a hallway, a kitchen, sees a photo—and suddenly the day collapses.
I see you. I feel you.
And even though words can’t hold all this pain, I offer the only ones that ever help me:
“Breathe.”
“You are not alone.”
This blog isn’t to fix you.
It’s a hand on your back as you kneel. A whisper in the dark. A reminder that someone else has been here too.
I wrote The Autopsy Journal in the aftermath of everything.
It is my truth, my breaking, my attempt to find breath again.
And if you’re ready to hold something sacred in your hands,
you can find it here: CahSole.com/TheAutopsyJournal
May the sun rise for you too.
