Grief

Grief doesn’t ask for permission.

It moves in, takes up space, and rearranges your life without your consent.

Leaving behind a hollow silence.

It’s not linear or polite.

Some days, it’s a dull ache, a background noise you learn to live with.

Other days, it crashes over you, a tidal wave that leaves you gasping for air.

It doesn’t just happen—it becomes a new part of your life.

Grief changes you.

It cuts into you without warning.

And carves out spaces you didn’t know could be empty.

This year bruised my heart more than previous years.

Not only because I’ve experienced first hand how grief feels pressing against your chest.

But, also because of the secondhand storm that comes from watching so many people I care about, try to carry the unbearable weight of their losses.

There’s something uniquely helpless about watching someone you love grapple with sorrow you can’t fix.

You want to carry it for them, take some of the burden.

But grief is personal, solitary.

No matter how many hands are extended.

Watching as each step they take forward feels like a small miracle.

And yet seeing how the weight of their grief threatens to pull them under.

There is a strange beauty in it.

Not in the pain itself, but in the resilience I’ve seen in those people.

In the way they wake up each day and try again.

It’s in the tears they don’t hide, the memories they hold onto so fiercely and in the small moments of laughter they manage to reclaim.

It’s in the way they keep going, even when it feels impossible.

This year has taught me that grief isn’t just about loss—it’s about love, too.

The kind of love that leaves an imprint so deep, its absence shakes your foundation.

And the kind of love that reaches out, again and again, even when words feel inadequate.

I’ve learned that hope with grief doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay.

It means finding moments of light in the shadows.

Trusting that even in your darkest hours, you are not alone.

It’s in the people who reach for you, in the stories you share, in the way you carry their legacy forward.

It’s in the small but undeniable truth that grief, as painful as it is, is a reminder that you have known love—and love, even in its absence, is still worth holding on to.

So feel it all. Rage, cry, remember, smile.

Let the grief be what it needs to be.

You don’t have to heal all at once, and you don’t have to find meaning in it today.

My heart is bruised, yes—but it’s also softened.

Grief has a way of showing us what really matters.

It reminds us of the fragility of life and the strength and importance of connection.

And while I wouldn’t wish the pain on anyone, I’ve learned that sometimes, all we can do is stand beside each other in the storm.