What Grief Feels Like Today

Grief doesn’t stay the same. That’s one of the hardest things to explain.

People think grief is something you move through, like a storm that eventually passes. But that hasn’t been my experience. Grief doesn’t pass; it shifts. It changes shape. It finds new ways to show up.

Some days, it’s loud. It sits heavy on my chest, making everything feel harder than it should. Simple things like getting out of bed, answering a message, or decision-making feels like climbing uphill.

Other days, it’s quiet. So quiet I almost think it’s gone. Until regret. Like when I visit my grandchildren and wonder how they would interact with their grandfather

But then something small happens. A smell. A song. A memory I didn’t expect. And suddenly, I’m right back in it, not in the same way, but in a way that reminds me it never really left.

Today, grief feels like an undercurrent. It’s not always visible, but it’s always there, moving beneath the surface of everything else. I can laugh. I can show up. I can even feel joy. But grief doesn’t disappear in those moments; it just makes room.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning. Grief isn’t something I have to fight or fix. It’s something I’m learning to carry, even after 22 years. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But honestly. Because pretending it’s gone doesn’t heal anything. 

But naming it and acknowledging it, even on the days it whispers instead of shouting, changes something. It creates space. I have a coffee mug that says it perfectly: holding Joy and Sorrow at once. 

And in that space, I’m beginning to understand that grief isn’t just about what I’ve lost. It’s also about how deeply I’ve loved. Love is the footbridge between sorrow and joy. We experience both in this lifetime. Sorrow can shift our footing, and it may take a while to find our balance again, but eventually we can embrace our memories without sadness and treasure them with joy.