Freedom, Grief, and the Families Who Carry Both

Reflections During America’s 250th Anniversary

As America marks its 250th Anniversary, many people celebrated with fireworks, parades, cookouts, and gatherings with family and friends.

As a Puerto Rican woman, I experience this moment a little differently.

While I am an American citizen, I am also deeply aware of my people’s history, the sacrifices they have endured, and the complex relationship Puerto Rico has had with the United States. My reflections this weekend was less about celebration and more about the people we love, the losses we carry, and the resilience that allows us to keep moving forward.

Last week, my family experienced an unexpected and heartbreaking loss.

We said goodbye to my eldest cousin’s best friend. She also became family by marriage and although that marriage eventually ended, our relationship with her never did. She remained very much a part of our family, and if I’m being honest, I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t part of our tribe.

Some people come into your life through marriage. Others become family because of the love they give, the memories they create, and the place they earn in your heart. She was one of those people.

Her passing leaves behind three beautiful daughters, a young grandson, a grieving family, and countless friends whose lives are forever changed by her absence.

The loss was sudden. It hit us hard.

And like so often happens with grief, it reopened wounds that many of us were still trying to heal.

One of the most meaningful parts of this experience was attending her services. She was Muslim, and as a Christian, I had never experienced Islamic funeral traditions before. I was deeply moved by the reverence, the humility, the prayers, and the overwhelming sense of community surrounding her family.

Although our faith traditions are different, our grief was the same.

Watching family and friends gather to honor her life reminded me that compassion transcends religion. In moments of profound loss, we are not separated by our beliefs. We are united by our humanity.

As I reflected on all of this, I found myself thinking about another layer of grief that often goes unseen.

When the person you love is incarcerated, grief becomes even more complicated.

Your spouse wants to sit beside you. They want to wrap their arms around you, attend the funeral, comfort your family, and help shoulder the weight of unimaginable loss.

Instead, they grieve from behind prison walls. For those of us on the outside, their absence becomes part of our grief.

While we mourn the person we’ve lost, we are also painfully aware that the person we lean on most cannot physically be there.

We carry two heartbreaks at once.

It is a kind of grief that many justice-impacted families understand, yet it is rarely acknowledged.

This weekend, while many celebrated freedom, I found myself thinking about the many forms of separation that families quietly endure.

I thought about children missing a parent and spouses carrying life’s burdens alone.

I thought about caregivers trying to hold everyone together, and families divided by incarceration.

And I thought ALOT about how quickly life can change for any one of us.

If there is one lesson this week has reinforced, it is this:

Love people while you have the opportunity. Tell them what they mean to you.

Extend grace generously.

Remain open to learning from people whose traditions, beliefs, or life experiences may be different from your own. Because in the end, love speaks every language.

Grief recognizes no borders. And our shared humanity is always greater than the things that divide us.

With love,

Shawndesse “Missez M” Morales

Founder, Stronger Than the Sentence™

Because Families Serve Time Too™

Silence Serves No One™