My son was just 23 when he died.
This is a reflection on what grief has taught me over these years.
The Silence Around Grief
We don’t talk enough about grief in our society – not our own, not others’. We’ve created a culture where grief is something to be overcome quickly, quietly, and privately. We expect people to “move on” and “get back to normal,” as if there could ever be a normal after profound loss.
Part of this problem stems from misconceptions about grief itself. Many of us learned about the “five stages of grief” – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance – as if grief were a linear journey with a clear endpoint. But this model was never intended for the bereaved. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross originally developed these stages to describe what terminally ill patients experienced when facing their own mortality, not what those left behind would feel after a loved one’s death.
Grief doesn’t follow a predictable pattern. It doesn’t resolve neatly. And contrary to popular belief, “acceptance” isn’t the final destination where pain ceases to exist. The reality of grief is far more complex, personal, and enduring.
What Grief Has Taught Me
There is no “getting over it”
There is no timeline
It’s messy
Its never ending
Its personal
Everyone grieves differently
It is not linear
Most people are uncomfortable around a grieving person
Most people think that talking about the person who has died is best avoided for fear of upsetting the bereaved, mic drop, they are already upset and love talking about their person, that is what fills their cup, it means they are not forgotten, that they still live in the minds and hearts of others
Love is woven through every tear, every agonising heart wrenching sob
That love doesn’t die with their death
Talking to them helps
Writing to them helps
Friends and family who share stories helps
Friends and family who reach out and don’t try to fix helps
Friends and family who remember helps
Friends and family who listen helps
Living your life fully helps
Poetry helps
Michael Rosen’s Sad helps
Understanding that we are all energy, which never dies, it just gets rearranged so that you can feel the energy of your person after their death
Grief can arrive like a tsunami when you least expect it
Certain dates, songs, places, or smells can trigger memories both painful and precious
The first year is not necessarily the hardest – sometimes year two or three hit differently
Sometimes you can laugh and grieve in the same breath
Some days breathing is enough
Joy and grief can coexist – they are not opposites
Sometimes the smallest kindnesses from others mean the most
There is no right way to honour their memory
Creating rituals to remember them provides comfort
Sometimes grief feels like a physical weight in your chest
The world keeps moving even when yours has stopped
It’s okay to be angry at the unfairness of it all
It’s okay to feel relief alongside loss
Secondary losses compound grief – the future you imagined together, the milestones never reached
Grief can be exhausting, both physically and emotionally
Sometimes you grieve what you never had the chance to say
Forgiveness – of yourself, of others, sometimes of them – is part of the journey
The shape of grief changes over time, but it doesn’t disappear
Finding meaning doesn’t mean it happened for a reason
Some questions will never have answers
Some days their absence feels more present than others
There are gifts in grief, though you never would have chosen this path to receive them
You carry them with you always, in ways both visible and invisible
Their life, however brief, has meaning that continues to unfold
You learn to grow around the grief, not through it
Love remains. Always.
The Unexpected Wisdom of Grief
When my son died, I was thrust into a club no one ever wants to join – the club of bereaved parents. It’s a lifetime membership with no orientation guide. You learn as you go, stumbling through darkness, feeling your way forward.
What I’ve discovered in these 12 years is that grief isn’t something to overcome; it’s something to integrate. The love I have for my son didn’t die when he did. It transformed. It found new ways to express itself. Sometimes that expression is tears. Sometimes it’s laughter at a memory suddenly surfacing. Sometimes it’s recognising parts of him living on in others.
I’ve learned that the people who truly support you in grief are those who aren’t afraid of your pain. They don’t try to fix it because they understand it’s not fixable. Instead, they sit with you in it. They speak your loved one’s name without hesitation. They share stories. They remember birthdays and anniversaries. They understand that your relationship with the person you lost continues, just in a different form.
Living With Grief
I realise that grief has been both my heaviest burden and my greatest teacher. It has shown me the depth of human resilience. It has clarified what truly matters. It has connected me to others who understand this particular pain.
If you’re grieving, know that there is no “right way” to do it. Your grief is as unique as your relationship with the person you lost. Be gentle with yourself on the hard days. Find people who can bear witness to your pain without trying to diminish it. Create space to remember and honour your loved one in ways that feel right to you.
And if you know someone who’s grieving, don’t be afraid to mention their loved one’s name. Share memories. Mark significant dates on your calendar. Don’t worry about saying the wrong thing – simply being present and acknowledging their loss means more than finding the perfect words.
In the end, grief is the price we pay for love. And while I would give anything to have my son back, I wouldn’t trade the love we shared to avoid this pain. That love continues to shape who I am and how I move through the world. It’s a love that transcends death, a love that remains even as I continue to learn how to carry this grief.
In loving memory of Sam, 1989-2013