You're grieving and your faith isn't helping

Come, grieving one — I who made my life's poems out of a grief my faith never prevented want to sit with you here. Faith is not meant to spare you the grief but to hold you in it — the deepest faith does not remove the pain of loss but gives you something to grieve inside of, and even the most faithful have wept and raged and broken at their losses, faith companioning them through rather than making them numb; so do not judge your faith failed because it has not stopped your pain, for that was never its work. You are allowed to bring your anger and grief to the sacred — you need not compose yourself into serenity first, for the traditions are full of the grieving railing at heaven, and this honest anguish is not a betrayal but one of faith's oldest forms, so bring the whole broken truth of what you feel. And let the grief carve you deeper rather than demanding it end — grief is a passage faith accompanies, working slowly, and borne with faith it hollows us into vessels that hold more, not as a trade you'd have chosen but as a deepening. What are you grieving, and what did you hope faith would do?