COLUMN: Don’t Mind the Mess – When grief comes knocking again

Grief is a strange companion. It never truly leaves, but it does change, shifting shape like the seasons. Some days, it feels like a soft echo of the past. Other days, it’s a tidal wave, pulling me under when I least expect it.

Over the years, I have lost people who were part of my foundation – my parents, my brother, and most recently, my eldest sister. Each loss was different, yet grief found a way to tie them all together, weaving itself into the fabric of my life. At first, grief was raw and all-consuming. It was the empty chair at the table, the silence where laughter used to be. No more late-night chats. It was the heavy weight in my chest that sometimes made breathing feel like a chore.

But grief is not static. It evolves. It softens around the edges, finding new ways to exist alongside everyday life. There were days when I felt like I was finally “moving on,” whatever that means. And then, out of nowhere, a song, a scent, or a familiar turn of phrase would bring me right back. The memories would flood in, as fresh and painful as if no time had passed at all. And just like that, I would be sobbing in my car.

For a long time, I thought these waves of sadness meant I wasn’t healing properly. That I was failing in some way. But I’ve come to understand that grief isn’t something we conquer or outrun. It’s something we carry. And carrying it doesn’t mean we’re broken – it means we loved deeply.

I used to believe grief had an expiration date. That at some point, I would wake up and the pain would be gone, replaced by nothing but fond memories and acceptance. But grief doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t follow a timeline or adhere to rules. Instead, it shifts and reshapes itself into something more manageable, something that becomes a part of us without defining us completely.

One of the biggest lessons that grief has taught me is that it’s okay to feel everything – to laugh, to cry, to be angry, to be grateful. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Some days, I find myself telling stories about my sister, and I laugh at the memories instead of crying. Other days, I break down because I miss her so much it physically hurts. Both reactions are valid. Both are necessary.

With time, I’ve learned to welcome these moments rather than fear them. When a memory resurfaces and I feel that familiar lump in my throat, I remind myself that this, too, is part of the process. Grief is love that has nowhere to go, and when it shows up again, it simply means that love is still alive. That there’s a space in my heart just for her.

If you’re navigating your own journey with grief, I want you to know that it’s okay to still hurt, even years later. It’s okay to have good days and bad days. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning how to live with the love that remains.

So, when grief visits me now, I don’t push it away. I sit with it, I let the tears flow, and I let it remind me of the people who shaped my life, and thank it for keeping their presence alive. Because in the end, grief is just love, standing in the doorway, reminding us of all the beautiful moments we were lucky enough to have.

And that is something I will never wish away.