Dealing With the Loss of a Loved One
How to Embrace the Grief of Losing a Loved One
Hey there, friend. Let’s sit down for a chat about something heavy, losing someone you love. It’s one of those things that hits you like a freight train, right? One minute, life’s humming along, and the next, bam—everything’s different. I’ve been there, and I know it’s a mess of feelings that don’t come with a rulebook. So, let’s talk about how to wade through the grief, step by muddy step, in a way that feels real and human. No platitudes, just some honest thoughts.
First off, let’s get this out there: grief sucks. There’s no sugarcoating it. It’s this weird cocktail of sadness, anger, confusion, and sometimes even guilt, all swirling around in your chest. And the worst part? It doesn’t stick to a schedule. You might be fine one day, sipping your coffee, and then a song comes on the radio that reminds you of them, and suddenly you’re a puddle on the floor. That’s normal. Totally, completely normal. So, step one is giving yourself permission to feel whatever comes up—good, bad, or ugly.
Now, when it first happens, it’s like the world stops spinning, but somehow everyone else keeps going. People might tell you, “Oh, they’re in a better place,” or “Time heals all wounds.” And yeah, they mean well, but it can feel like they’re tossing you a life preserver made of cardboard. Here’s the thing: you don’t have to nod and smile. If you’re mad, be mad. If you’re numb, be numb. I remember when I lost my grandma, I’d just sit there staring at the wall for hours, and my brain was like, “Nope, not today.” That’s okay. Your heart’s doing triage—it’s figuring out how to keep you upright when everything’s falling apart.
One trick that helped me—and maybe it’ll help you—is finding a way to let it out. You don’t have to be Shakespeare or Picasso, but getting those feelings outside your head can lighten the load. For me, it was writing letters to her. I’d scribble down everything I wished I’d said, like how she made the best apple pie or how she’d always sneak me an extra cookie when Mom wasn’t looking. I never sent them, obviously, but putting it on paper felt like I was still talking to her. Maybe for you, it’s painting, or blasting music and screaming into a pillow. Whatever works—just don’t bottle it up until you’re a pressure cooker ready to blow.
Now, let’s talk about the people around you. Friends and family can be a lifeline, but they can also be a little clueless. Some will show up with casseroles and hugs, and that’s gold. Others might vanish because they don’t know what to say, or worse, they’ll say the wrong thing. I had a buddy who told me, “You’ll get over it soon,” like I’d just stubbed my toe. I wanted to chuck my shoe at him. Point is, lean on the ones who get it, and don’t waste energy on the ones who don’t. You’re allowed to set boundaries—like, “Hey, I’m not up for chit-chat today, but I’ll let you know when I am.” People worth keeping around will understand.
Oh, and speaking of people—don’t be afraid to ask for help if you’re drowning. I’m not just talking about a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes grief gets so big it’s like quicksand, and you can’t climb out alone. Therapists, support groups, even a hotline—they’re there for a reason. I held off for ages because I thought, “I should be able to handle this,” but when I finally talked to someone, it was like unclogging a drain. Everything started flowing again, even if it was slow. There’s no shame in it—grief’s a beast, and you don’t have to fight it solo.
Here’s another thing: your body’s in on this too. Grief isn’t just in your head—it’s in your bones. You might feel like a zombie, barely sleeping, or eating nothing but toast for a week. That was me—I’d forget to eat, then wonder why I was shaky and cranky. So, try to take care of the basics, even when it feels pointless. A glass of water, a walk around the block, a nap when your eyes won’t stay open. It’s not about “fixing” anything—it’s about keeping the engine running so you don’t stall out completely.
Now, let’s get real about time. Everyone says it gets better with time, and yeah, they’re kinda right, but it’s not a straight line. It’s more like a rollercoaster with loops and drops you don’t see coming. The first holidays, birthdays, anniversaries—they’re brutal. I remember the first Christmas without Grandma, and the empty spot at the table hit me like a punch. But here’s the flip side: over time, the sharp edges dull a bit. You start remembering the good stuff without it cutting so deep. It doesn’t mean you forget them—it means you learn to carry them differently.
And that’s a big piece of this puzzle: figuring out how to keep them with you. For me, it’s little things—like wearing Grandma’s old scarf or making her pie recipe (though mine’s never as good). Maybe for you, it’s planting their favorite flowers or telling their dumb jokes to your kids. It’s not about moving on—it’s about weaving them into your life in a way that feels right. They’re still part of your story, just in a new chapter.
One last thought: be patient with yourself. Grief doesn’t have an expiration date. Some days, you’ll feel like you’re “over it,” and then it’ll sneak up on you years later, and that’s fine. I still get teary sometimes when I smell cinnamon, because it reminds me of her kitchen. It’s not failure—it’s love sticking around. So, cut yourself some slack. You’re not supposed to have it all figured out.
So, yeah, losing someone you love is a gut-wrenching, messy ride. There’s no “right” way to do it, but there’s your way—and that’s enough. Feel what you feel, lean on who you can, and keep them close however you need to. You’re not alone in this, even when it feels like it. Take it one breath at a time, friend—you’ve got this, even when you don’t think you do.
Thank you for your time, and know that I envelope you in my heart. I Love You.
