The Long Road of Grief and Love

Grief has no clear beginning, no mapped-out path, and no defined destination. It is not a journey one embarks upon and completes, nor is it a task that can be checked off once it is finished. And yet, so often, the world seems to insist that it should be otherwise—that sorrow ought to be measured, contained, given a proper time and place and then gently ushered away. It is as though the presence of grief unsettles those who do not wish to see it, those who fear that its weight might draw them, too, into the depths. But grief is not something to be rushed or forced into retreat. It is not a disorder to be treated, nor a burden to be cast aside. It is, at its core, an expression of love. And love does not simply end.

When someone I have cherished is gone, their absence is not something that fades into nothingness. It is an imprint, an echo, a presence that remains even in their physical departure. At first, that absence is a wound—raw and unguarded, incapable of being soothed by words or time. It is a hollowing out of all that once was, a sudden rupture in the fabric of my days. The world moves on as though nothing has changed, but within me, everything is altered. I wake to the same light filtering through the window, but it falls differently now. I walk familiar paths, but they feel unfamiliar, stripped of the presence that once filled them. I speak words into the air, knowing they will never reach the ears that once listened.

And yet, in the deepest part of me, I know I do not wish to ‘move on’ in the way the world implies, if it means forgetting. I do not want to cross some imaginary threshold where the sorrow has been tidied away, where I no longer feel the pull of love reaching across time. For to grieve is to remember, and to remember is to keep love alive. The pain of absence is simply the other side of love’s presence. They are not separate things, but two threads woven together in the tapestry of a life shared.

I have learned, over time, that grief does not go away. It does not dissolve or disappear. Instead, it changes. It becomes something different—not softer, necessarily, but something I have learned to carry. In the beginning, it is heavy, an unbearable weight that presses down with each step. But slowly, as days stretch into months and years, I find that I have grown stronger beneath it. Not because I have conquered grief, but because I have made space for it within me.

And in that space, something unexpected happens. Love does not recede—it deepens. The absence that once felt like an endless chasm becomes something else entirely. It becomes sacred ground, a place where love and memory meet, where sorrow and gratitude intertwine. I begin to understand that love is not confined to time, that it is not bound by the limits of presence or absence. It continues, finding new ways to manifest—sometimes in the quiet whisper of a familiar song, sometimes in the light that catches the edge of a flower’s petal, sometimes in the way I suddenly recall a voice, a laughter, a hand reaching for mine.

The world tells us that healing means letting go, but I have come to believe otherwise. True healing is not about release, but about integration. It is about allowing grief to take its place within me, not as an enemy to be battled, but as a companion who walks beside me. I do not grieve because I am broken; I grieve because I have loved. And that love, even in the presence of sorrow, is still a gift.

In time, I come to understand that sorrow and joy are not opposites. They do not cancel each other out. Instead, they exist side by side, woven together like the shifting tides—ebbing and flowing, rising and receding, but always there. There are days when tears come easily, unbidden, catching me in the quiet spaces between moments. And there are days when I smile, not in spite of grief, but because of it—because I remember, because I still feel the love that was given and received, because I know that love does not end with loss.

No one walks the path of grief in the same way. Some keep their sorrow close, a quiet ember they tend to in solitude. Others let it spill forth, shared openly with those who can bear witness. There is no right or wrong way to mourn. There is only what is true for each heart, what each soul needs to navigate this uncharted terrain.

For me, grief is not something to be conquered. It is not a storm to be weathered until the sky clears. It is something far more profound—a deepening, a widening, an opening of the heart. It is a reminder that love is vast, that it does not disappear even when the one we love is no longer here. It is an invitation, not to forget, but to remember—to remember fully, to remember deeply, to remember in a way that does not diminish the past, but carries it forward into the present.

And so, I do not seek to ‘move on’ from grief, as though it were a place I could leave behind. Instead, I choose to move forward with it, allowing it to shape me, to teach me, to remind me always of the love that made it possible in the first place. For if love is what gives life its beauty, then grief, too, must hold something sacred within it. And in honoring my sorrow, I am also honoring the love that will always remain.

BLESSING

Dear Friend,

May you be granted the grace to honor your grief as a sacred companion, knowing that it does not ask to be cast away but to be welcomed as part of the love that still lingers. May you find the courage to resist the voices that urge you to move on before your heart is ready, trusting instead in the slow unfolding of healing, which follows no clock but the quiet rhythms of your soul.

May you allow yourself to feel the full weight of your sorrow, not as a burden, but as a testament to the depth of your love. May you recognize that grief is not an enemy to be defeated, but a witness to the beauty of what once was, to the bond that even absence cannot sever. May you carry this love gently, letting it shape you, letting it soften the sharp edges of pain, letting it remind you that to have loved deeply is to have lived fully.

May the presence of your loved one remain near, not only in memory but in the unseen ways they continue to shape your life. May you feel them in the familiar places, in the echoes of laughter, in the quiet moments when love speaks without words. May their absence not be a hollow space, but a sacred ground where love and longing meet, where gratitude and sorrow walk hand in hand.

May you be patient with yourself in the long journey of mourning, knowing that healing is not about forgetting but about weaving the past into the fabric of your days. May you come to understand that love does not end with loss, but finds new ways to be present—through the stories you tell, through the kindness you offer, through the ways you carry their spirit forward.

May you awaken to the truth that grief and joy are not strangers to one another, that they exist within the same vast landscape of the heart. May you allow yourself to weep when tears arise, and to smile when love lifts you, knowing that both are sacred expressions of remembrance. May you embrace each moment as it comes, without judgment, without expectation, simply allowing yourself to be as you are, knowing that your heart is wiser than the world’s demands.

May you be surrounded by those who understand, by those who do not seek to fix your sorrow but who stand beside you in reverence. May you find solace in the company of those who know that grief is not a sign of weakness, but of love’s endurance. May you be blessed with spaces where you can speak freely, where you can name your loss without fear of being told it is time to let go.

May you find beauty again, not as a betrayal of your sorrow, but as a quiet assurance that life still holds wonder. May the world around you offer small gifts of comfort—a sunrise that reminds you of love’s constancy, a gentle breeze that carries the memory of a voice, a moment of stillness in which you feel, for just a breath, that you are not alone.

And when the weight of grief feels too great, may you remember that you do not carry it alone. May you lean into the great mystery that holds all things, the unseen presence that weaves love and loss into something greater than the mind can understand. May you trust that even in the depths of sorrow, you are being held in ways beyond your knowing, and that love—always, and forever—remains.

I love You,
Alma