A Reminder: Grief Will Always Be Part of Me

I’ve been thinking a lot lately — and honestly, writing these blogs often becomes my way of processing what’s swirling around in my head and heart. Today, I want to share something that keeps coming up for me: grief isn’t something that goes away. It becomes part of who I am.

There was a time when I thought grief was a season. Something I’d "get through" or "move past." But now I realize it’s more like a companion — sometimes loud, sometimes quiet, but always walking with me. "

I’m not writing this from some place of "all better now." I'm writing as someone who still sometimes tears up in unexpected moments, who still misses what was lost, who still has days of heavy sighs. And maybe you do too.

C.S. Lewis in his book "A Grief Observed" is quoted to say, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning” For me grief isn’t just sadness or pain or even a fear. It’s a shift. It’s learning how to live in a world that’s been rearranged, without asking me if I was okay with the change. It’s messy, unpredictable, and not something that fits neatly into timelines or checklists. As a matter of truth (for me), we are kind of forced to stumble forward. We must realize that this is not a sprint; we stumble along, and shuffle along and sometimes just press pause (rest to find strength), but we keep going. WE MUST KEEP GOING FORWARD.

I’ve come to see that grief shapes the way I see the world now. It’s made me softer in some places and maybe a bit guarded in others. It’s deepened my empathy for others who are hurting. It’s changed the way I love — with a little more urgency, a little more tenderness. But in the spirit of being honest, I must admit that it has also made me ultra-sensitive and irritable. Mostly, I think it has given me reminders, etched into my soul, of the people and moments that mattered so deeply. Those reminders are bittersweet, but they’re sacred. It’s those reminders that make the difficult and hard moments bearable.

I used to think I needed to push grief away or fix it. Now I let it sit with me. Sometimes it whispers; sometimes it doesn’t say anything at all. But it's there, and I don’t try to shoo it away anymore. Instead, I try to learn from it. I speak up (thank God for a patient wife) and voice my discomfort at my table, but I have to acknowledge its presence.

• I’ve learned that my tears aren’t weakness (as frustrating as it might be). They’re proof of love.
• I’ve learned that talking about my losses doesn’t reopen wounds; it helps heal them in layers.
• And I’ve learned that I can laugh, plan, hope, and still carry grief with me. There’s room for both.

Probably the hardest of all is the tension between holding on and moving forward. But I don’t believe in "moving on" anymore. Instead, I believe in walking forward, carrying my grief like a story I tell with love and reverence. Sometimes that means lighting a candle on a hard anniversary. Sometimes it’s writing here, hoping that someone reads this and knows that they are not alone.

Grief reminds me that I’ve loved deeply. It reminds me that life is fragile, fleeting, and beautiful. And while grief will always be part of me, it doesn’t define me. It shapes me — sometimes painfully, but also beautifully.

So, if you’re carrying grief today, I hope this little piece of my heart reminds you: you’re not alone. We’re stumbling forward together. And in the midst of all of it, there is still hope, still beauty, and still moments of light.

We keep going. We stumble forward.