Grief is the Mirror for Beauty

This Isn’t a Healing Guide

This isn’t a feel-good story riddled with toxic positivity and advice on how you should buckle up your bootstraps and get over it when you’ve suffered a great loss. Neither is it a tale of a rushed urge to heal and stop feeling pain. This story doesn’t offer any expectations or pressure – it is merely my lived experience. The unexpected moments where past wounds were surfaced long after my loss. The instances where I started to feel joy again – and the guilt that accompanied it. The paradox of feeling heartbreak and peace at once and not only being okay with that, but realizing it was the unlock to my ultimate happiness.

When Loss Arrives Without Warning

If you’ve never lost someone unexpectedly, it’s quite an odd experience. I’m not diminishing the impact of losing someone when you know in advance that their time is coming soon. All loss is extremely painful. But unexpected loss hits you in a different way.

One day, my partner and I were celebrating Thanksgiving and our 4th anniversary. By the next morning, he was gone before I even woke up. Surreal is an understatement. Shock is a given.

I remember numbingly trying to focus with a clear head to call 911 and explain my situation. I remember standing by helplessly as EMTs attempted to revive him, while in my heart I’d already known he was beyond saving. I remember them gently telling me I had to step outside so they could carry the body out and clean up the blood and all evidence of them having been there to minimize my shock. I simply nodded in agreement. I remember reluctantly calling his mother to tell her what had happened, knowing it would break her in a way she’d never fully recover from. And I remember my former husband dropping my kids off later that morning. They ran towards the house with excitement to see us, only for me to have to tell them their stepdad was never coming back.

The Aftermath: Moving in Slow Motion

I can only describe the weeks that followed as complete surrender. It irked me when I had to put on a happy face to interact with the plumbers who came to replace my faucet days after he died. It took a lot of energy to “act normal,” even if I’d pulled myself away from most social interactions to give myself the space I needed. My work gave me 6 weeks of bereavement leave, for which I was extremely grateful. That time allowed me to take time moment by moment, to feel and allow everything – not force it down or bury it – which was key to my healing.

So, during that time, I only had one agenda: to be present every day – allowing feelings to surface, allowing myself to work in the house cleaning up and removing his old belongings – but at my pace. If anything felt too heavy, I’d stop and rest. And I rested a lot, usually napping between 1-3 hours several times a day. The emotional weight that accompanied going through his bedroom closet was enough to put me back for the rest of the day.

When the Weight Finally Began to Lift

I remember the day clearly. I stepped out into the early afternoon sun with my English Bulldog, Stella. I stood in silent contemplation as she rummaged through the backyard, happily sniffing and exploring. And then something unexpected happened – I started singing. It was probably an old 90s song, but in this moment, I halted. I was singing. This was the first time I expressed any kind of joy or happiness since he died that November morning just a few weeks ago. And realizing I felt happiness triggered even more emotions. And I just observed them all and allowed them to co-mingle in my body like an unchoreographed dance troupe.

I know some people have tried to explain what heartbreak feels like. For me, my heart was in constant ache – there was no off button. I’d get a temporary reprieve while I slept – once I was able to actually fall asleep, and if I didn’t wake up in the night and remember my reality. But that physical ache – that is something I will never forget.

So, in this moment, that ache was still there. But so was something else: happiness. I stood there in contemplation of this striking paradox. And despite all the swirling of emotions, I felt one overarching feeling: peace.

What They Don’t Tell You About Grief

I think most of us – whether or not we’ve personally experienced great loss – can understand and empathize with the idea of mourning a person’s presence in our lives. That part, I absolutely expected and experienced every day. The part that nobody really talks about is the unresolved issues.

No relationship is perfect, and even with love at the center and a commitment by both people to grow together, there are some things that will never be resolved between two people. And those don’t necessarily have to be deal-breakers. Two people will never see eye to eye on everything.

My partner and I had a relationship where we allowed the other to be themselves because we both valued our own freedom so much. With that type of relationship, you decide which things are game-changers and deal-breakers and you resolve them. For more menial issues, they are often left unacknowledged or unresolved. And those are the things that came up in my grieving process.

The Real Challenge of Letting Go

Unconditional love really is about letting go. But even when we love someone greatly and we surrender our conditions, we still have hearts that hurt. During the months after he died, those issues would resurface for me, except now, they arose accompanied by their new friend – guilt.

How could I think bad thoughts about the man I love who just died? Isn’t that dishonor? Can he “hear” my thoughts now and know what I’m thinking?

These things just came up out of nowhere, and that’s the part I wasn’t at all prepared for. So, I really had to do a lot of inner work surrounding these thoughts and feelings. I had to rediscover myself and my own worth, decide where I may have abandoned myself under the guise of love, and navigate all of that while releasing him from blame or judgment.

Grief as a Mirror for Love, Beauty and Growth

The loss of my partner was the single most impactful event of my entire life, even up until now. But it was also the biggest catalyst for me to heal and grow – not just through the grieving process, but by allowing grief to be the mirror that reflected beauty back to me. The beauty and preciousness of what was. The beauty of my soul in all its messy ugliness and complexity. The beauty of joy, happiness and peace in harmony with heartache, longing and loss. And the beauty that I am seen and loved exactly as I am.