You Don't Get Over Grief. You Learn How to Carry It.

There is a phrase people sometimes use after someone dies:

“You'll get over it.”

Usually they mean well.

They mean that someday it won't hurt quite this much. Someday you'll laugh again. You'll go through an entire afternoon without thinking about what happened. Life will slowly begin to feel recognizable again.

And they're right about some of that.

But I don't think we ever really get over losing someone we deeply love.

My mom died more than a decade ago, and I still miss her.

There is still a permanent space in my life where she used to be.

What has changed isn't that I stopped grieving.

I've just gotten better at carrying it.

Grief doesn't disappear. Your relationship with it changes.

Early grief can feel enormous.

Everything reminds you of the person you lost. Sometimes you wake up and, for a few seconds, forget what happened.

Then reality catches up.

Ordinary life can almost feel insulting.

The world keeps moving.

People go to work.

The grocery store is still open.

Someone is complaining about traffic.

Meanwhile, your entire world has changed.

Eventually, though, something shifts.

You start having moments when grief isn't occupying every inch of the room.

Then an hour.

Then an afternoon.

Eventually there are entire days when you're simply living.

That doesn't mean you've forgotten.

It doesn't mean you're finished grieving.

It means your life has slowly begun growing around the loss.

I sometimes think of grief like carrying something incredibly heavy.

At first, you're completely unprepared for its weight.

Over time, the weight may not change very much.

But you do.

You learn where to hold it.

You build strength.

You figure out when you need to put it down for a little while.

And eventually you discover that you can carry it and still experience joy.

Grief has no calendar.

One of the hardest things about grief is how unpredictable it can be.

You might prepare yourself emotionally for a birthday, holiday or anniversary only to discover that you're surprisingly okay.

Then three months later you're standing in a store when a song starts playing and suddenly you can barely breathe.

A smell can do it.

A photograph.

A recipe.

Someone laughing a certain way.

Driving past an old house.

Hearing a phrase the person used to say.

Sometimes there isn't even an identifiable trigger.

You simply miss them.

Grief doesn't care how many years have passed.

There isn't a point where you're supposed to say, “Well, it's been long enough. I shouldn't feel this anymore.”

Love doesn't work that way.

Neither does loss.

Missing someone doesn't mean you're stuck.

This is important, especially for people who have been grieving for years.

Still missing someone does not automatically mean you haven't healed.

You can have a fulfilling life and still wish they were here.

You can laugh until your stomach hurts and still cry about them later that night.

You can fall in love.

Raise children.

Build a career.

Travel.

Celebrate.

Change.

Grow.

And still carry grief.

Those things aren't contradictions.

They're part of being human.

Healing isn't necessarily reaching a place where someone's absence no longer hurts.

Sometimes healing is simply being able to hold the sadness without letting it consume

everything else.

Moving forward isn't the same as leaving someone behind.

There can be guilt attached to happiness after loss.

The first time you genuinely laugh.

The first vacation you enjoy.

The first major life moment that happens without them.

Sometimes continuing your life can feel strangely like betrayal.

But building a life after loss doesn't erase the person you lost.

You don't honor someone by refusing to live because they can't.

You carry them differently.

Through stories you tell.

Recipes you still make.

Phrases you catch yourself repeating.

Lessons they taught you.

Pieces of their personality you recognize in yourself or the people you love.

The relationship changes, but the influence doesn't necessarily end.

The person is no longer physically part of your life, but pieces of them remain woven

into who you are.

Some days will still hurt.

Even years later.

That's okay.

There are days when I can think about my mom and smile.

There are days when remembering her makes me grateful.

And there are days when I desperately wish I could pick up the phone and talk to her.

I don't think those difficult days erase progress.

They're reminders that someone mattered.

Grief is, in many ways, what remains when love loses its physical destination.

The love is still there.

You just have to figure out what to do with it.

Healing isn't about getting over it.

Healing isn't forgetting.

It isn't reaching some imaginary finish line where you never feel sad again.

It's learning that sadness doesn't have to cancel out joy.

That loss doesn't prevent you from loving again.

That missing somebody doesn't mean you're incapable of moving forward.

And that a meaningful life can grow around an empty space.

There are people we will carry for the rest of our lives.

Some days they'll feel heavier.

Some days their memory will feel less like grief and more like a gift.

Either way, there is no deadline for missing somebody you loved.

Carry them with you.

Keep living.

Keep loving.

And keep rising.