Grief shows up in many ways. The evidence arrives as awareness. When you’re aware, in my case, that I’ve allowed a stack of books to pile up on the closet floor under pillows that are never used. Or when I noticed I have makeup brushes and numerous lipsticks mixed in together with eyebrow tint and mascara. The dust at the bottom of the bin is evidence of a life disrupted. It is also evidence of shock, sadness, disbelief, disruption, grief, and then loss.

My younger sister and best friend, LaVonne, died last July from pancreatic cancer, four months after her diagnosis. I don’t want to write the cliche, “a part of me died with her,” but it did. It happened exactly that way. My stories were her stories were our stories.

It was a year ago in March, she said, “It could be cancer.” And I said, “You don’t have cancer.” She had cancer. Neither one of us really wanted to think it could be cancer. I was the first person she told when the tests came back, and she kept it that way for a few days. She knew stage four metastatic pancreatic cancer wasn’t going to be a trip to Disneyland. So did I.

We made the best of it, though with a pajama party, a day at the spa, a family reunion, brunch, and just hanging out together. My favorite memory happened a week before she passed away. We colored together. Two middle-aged women with a big box of crayons and a couple of dollar-store coloring books on a Sunday afternoon. Bliss on a stick. Happy as clams. Whatever that means.

One grief retreat, a class throughout the winter and fall, a couple of minimally helpful books, and I made it through the fall and winter. Knowing she’s not in pain anymore doesn’t change the evidence that she’s no longer here.

The evidence also shows up as indecision. Some people try a vacation after someone dies. I was on deadline for a book and had missed some time at work, so I simply returned.

It isn’t that I didn’t take care of myself. I took more naps, signed up for yoga classes (and went), and tried to re-engage with my life before my sister became sick and passed away. Still, it didn’t really quite stick, if you know what I mean. Things aren’t the same after you’ve lost someone you loved. You’re not the same. I kept trying to find my rhythm and motivation again. More evidence of grief was in its place.

But today, I’m booking an actual vacation away from the deadlines, stress, and commitments. I’m going to see another best friend of mine who moved away three years ago. And, I can feel the undercurrent of sadness lifting as winter turns to spring. I can see the evidence of that, too, as I wipe away the dust that’s accumulated.

I felt like I was relatively on top of things. The evidence shows I did what mattered most. Both during her illness and after. Some days, just showing up for my life was the present I gave both of us. I had one. She didn’t. Survivor’s guilt? Maybe.

For those who are grieving the loss of a spouse, sibling, child, grandchild, or parent, know you will find evidence of this season, and I hope you see you were right where you needed to be. There’s no rushing any of this, even though we would very much like to get it done and over with. Grief has its own timeline.

I can also see evidence of movement, of joy, on the horizon. Not only by booking a trip, but by keeping a clean desk and reviving my interest in things I cared about before my sister got sick. Cancer hijacked my life, too, for a while. I’m finding my way back, though. Changed for the better and ready to live again. Grief has a season. So does renewal. God is at work in both.