Jet Mariano

Tag: grief

  • Tú Puedes — The Refining Fire of Grief

    Everything felt blurred… but the message was clear.
    Tú puedes.

    Excerpt
    I thought I would be used to grief by now. I was wrong. But in the middle of it… a quiet message remained: Tú puedes.

    Intro
    March 23, 2026.

    While at work, I received a message from my younger daughter. She had gone into early contractions at 4AM and lost her baby boy at 19 weeks. His name would have been Solis Xavier.

    It felt like I was struck by lightning.

    In that moment, another memory returned—November 20, 2021. My firstborn daughter went through a similar loss. Her baby boy, Kale’l, was just days away from being born.

    I suddenly felt helpless. I stayed in my office for about an hour, trying to process everything, while our President and HR sat with me.

    The grief didn’t feel new.

    But it didn’t feel any lighter either.

    Notes from Life & Loss
    I thought that after everything I had already experienced—my younger brother, my father, my grandson, my sister-in-law—that I would have learned how to handle grief better.

    I thought maybe I would be used to it by now.

    I’ve heard people say, “life goes on.”

    But I realized something.

    I am not wired that way.

    Each loss feels just as deep. Just as real.

    Even when a coworker passed away earlier this year, I was affected.

    Grief doesn’t lessen because it repeats.

    It remains… because love remains.

    Refining Fire (Ensign 2013 Connection)
    In The Refining Fire of Grief, it teaches that grief is not something we outgrow—it is something that refines us.

    Grief is not a sign of weakness.

    It is the evidence that we love.

    And maybe the reason it still hurts…
    is because I still do.

    Turning Point
    The next day, I tried to fight it the only way I knew how.

    I went to the basement and pushed through six rounds—slipping, ducking, rolling, throwing nonstop combinations. It was the most I had ever done.

    But it didn’t help.

    So I went to the temple.

    Before I entered, I noticed something in my car—a simple band with yellow letters:

    “Tú puedes.”

    I didn’t know what it meant at the time.

    But I brought it with me.

    I placed it in front of the temple.

    Everything else felt blurred…
    but that message became clear.

    You can.

    Perspective (Direct Impressions)
    “You can.”
    “You are still standing.”
    “My grace is sufficient.”

    Not that the pain was gone…
    but that I had strength for this moment.

    The road didn’t stop for my grief. It kept going.
    And in the distance… the temple reminded me where to look.


    On the way, I realized something.

    The road doesn’t stop for grief.

    It keeps going.

    And in the distance… the temple remains.

    Not always close.
    But always there.

    Practice (today, not someday)
    Go anyway.
    Pray anyway.
    Show up anyway.

    Even when your heart is heavy.

    Because that is where strength is given.

    Final Reflection
    I thought I would be used to this by now.

    I’m not.

    And maybe that’s not something to fix.

    Maybe that’s something to understand.

    If this is the refining fire…
    then I will endure it.

    Because love is still worth it.

    And in the middle of it all…

    Tú puedes.

    Kale’l and Xavier.
    Not lost. Not gone.
    Just beyond my reach… for now.

    Pocket I’m Keeping
    Tú puedes.

    What I Hear Now (direct quotes)
    “My grace is sufficient for thee.”
    “I will not leave you comfortless.”
    “Be still, and know that I am God.”

    © 2012–2026 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • MIT-8 “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee”

    Oquirrh Temple under the snow moon. A quiet reminder that the light stays, even on nights that hurt.

    Excerpt

    “From the bed of pain, from the pillow wet with tears, we are lifted heavenward by that divine assurance and precious promise: ‘I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.’”

    “Oh, sweet the joy this sentence gives: ‘I know that my Redeemer lives!’”

    Intro

    Some losses come quietly. Others come with shock.

    When I lost my father on my birthday, I learned what it means to cry and still stand. This week, as death again entered my family circle, President Thomas S. Monson’s words returned to me like an anchor dropped in deep water.

    Death has visited my life more than once. Each time feels different. Each time cuts differently. And yet, the promise remains unchanged.

    He will not fail us.
    He will not forsake us.
    And because He lives, those we love live also.

    Notes from President Thomas S. Monson

    President Monson spoke from personal grief. When his beloved wife Frances passed away, he did not speak as a distant theologian. He spoke as a husband who said, “To say that I miss her does not begin to convey the depth of my feelings.”

    Yet he declared:

    “I know that our separation is temporary… This is the knowledge that sustains me.”

    He reminded us that suffering is universal. No life is free from sorrow. The question is not whether we will suffer. The question is whether we will falter or finish.

    He pointed to Job, stripped of everything, who still declared:

    “I know that my Redeemer liveth.”

    President Monson taught that trials refine us. They do not destroy us unless we allow them to. “Good timber does not grow with ease.” Strength is forged in storm.

    And in another sacred testimony, he declared:

    “Because our Savior died at Calvary, death has no hold upon any one of us.”

    Death is not extinction. It is transition.
    “He is not here, but is risen.”

    And because He rose, so shall we.

    Perspective

    When I saw death up close again, I felt shaken. Grief does that. It is real. It is heavy.

    But President Monson’s voice steadied me.

    “Whether it is the best of times or the worst of times, He is with us.”

    That is not poetic language. That is covenant language.

    I have lost my father.
    I have lost my younger brother.
    I have lost my grandson.
    Now my sister-in-law.

    Each loss has a different intensity. Each one leaves a different imprint.

    Yet the doctrine remains constant.

    “If a man die, shall he live again?”

    “If a man die, he shall live again.”

    That is not wishful thinking. That is Resurrection truth.

    Practice (today, not someday)

    Today I will not demand that grief disappear.

    Today I will:

    Pray even when my voice trembles.
    Listen to hymns that remind my heart of heaven.
    Speak hope to my children when they feel unsettled.
    Choose to believe that separation is temporary.

    I will remember that enduring does not mean suppressing pain. It means walking through it with faith intact.

    Today I finish. I do not falter.

    Final Reflection

    President Monson said, “This is the knowledge that sustains.”

    Not eliminates sorrow.
    Not removes tears.
    Sustains.

    There is a difference.

    From the pillow wet with tears, we are lifted heavenward.

    That lifting is real.

    Because He lives, death is not a wall. It is a door.

    Pocket I’m Keeping

    “He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”

    “I know that my Redeemer liveth.”

    Those two promises together are enough.

    What I Hear Now

    “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”

    “Because our Savior died at Calvary, death has no hold upon any one of us.”

    “Oh, sweet the joy this sentence gives: I know that my Redeemer lives.”

    And tonight, that is enough.

    © 2012–2026 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

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