“Why is this hitting me so hard right now? It’s been ___ years.”
This is one of the most common questions I hear about grief.
The intensity of grief doesn’t follow a calendar.
It rises and falls around milestones. Around transitions. Around the life your loved one would have been living🤍
It can be stirred by celebrations.
By unexpected triggers.
By quiet, hidden moments that sneak up and knock the wind out of your lungs💔
And that intensity?
It is not a sign you are doing it wrong.
It is not proof you are behind.
It is not evidence that you “should be over it by now.”
Grief is not a straight line toward a finish line.
It is scribbled. Messy. Circular.
An uninvited journey without a clear path🌀
My brother was buried on Valentine’s Day 32 years ago.💘
I remember thinking, this is how I will always remember this day.
And in the same breath, feeling comfort that he was laid to rest on a day devoted to love.
My dad died on Mother’s Day 15 years ago.
Some years, when Mother’s Day lands on the exact date, the weight feels heavier.
Other years, I remember him with joy — the love louder than the loss.
My grandmother — my model for strength and determination — died 15 years ago as well.
Her passing was on an ordinary day… until years later when it became the day I closed on a new home with the love of my life.
The most unexpected blessing. The most beautiful sign🕊️
This is what I want you to know:
When you are in the thick of grief, it feels impossible to imagine anything but pain.
You cannot envision transformation.
You cannot predict what healing will look like.
But transformation comes.
Not because the love fades — but because it evolves❤️
Love does not die.
The way we celebrate and miss our people does not die with them.
Grief changes shape.
And so do we. 🤍
