Learning to Live With Grief

Grief is a rollercoaster no one asks to be on.

Before losing Mason, I had never truly experienced grief. I’ve been fortunate not to have lost close friends or family members before this.

Because of that, I had no idea what to expect emotionally, physically, or spiritually after loss.

In the first month after losing Mason, I discovered something quickly: grief has no rules.

It follows no timeline.

It arrives uninvited.

It cannot be rushed, reasoned with, or fixed.

Grief feels like many emotions at once. For me, it shows up as anger, confusion, sadness, anxiety, and at times, a deep sense of being lost.

As I’ve walked through these waves, I’ve learned something important. Not how to love grief — I don’t. Not even how to like it. But how to live with it.

I’ve realized that grief can coexist with peace. It can coexist with joy. It can even coexist with hope. Feeling something good does not mean I am grieving “wrong.” Grief is not a suitcase I can set down or pick up at will. It simply travels with me now — sometimes heavy, sometimes quieter — but present.

I’ve also learned that grief cannot be pushed aside. When I feel a wave coming, I try not to fight it. If it needs tears, I cry. If it needs words, I speak. If it needs silence, I sit quietly. I am learning to let grief do what it needs to do so healing can happen honestly.

Grief requires grace.

Grace with yourself. Grace with others.

Sometimes grief looks strange. It can look like struggling with simple daily tasks. It can look like fears you’ve never had before. It can look like exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.

The hardest part of this first month, for me, has been doing anything that feels “normal.”

In the early days, eating felt too normal. Sitting down for a meal made me angry. It felt pointless. But I know I still need to nourish my body. So that meant bringing my food to the couch and turning on a mindless show just to get through mealtime.

That is grace.

Cleaning the house felt overwhelming and meaningless. But I know our home cannot sit undone forever. So I began breaking tasks into tiny, manageable pieces — one small thing at a time — and accepting that it was enough for that day.

That is grace.

I’ve been more tired than usual, wanting to sleep whenever I can. Partly because grief takes a physical toll, and partly because sometimes rest feels like relief. So I’ve allowed myself naps. I’ve gotten into bed at 7:30 without guilt.

That is grace.

Grace when I’m laughing one minute and crying the next.

Grace on days when I accomplish very little.

Grace in moments when all I can do is cry.

Grace in moments when I feel hope for the future.

Grace for simply waking up and doing what I can.

This first month of grief has taught me more than I ever wanted to learn. I know there is still adjusting ahead. But the all-consuming, out-of-control sadness is beginning to soften around the edges.

I understand now that grief may walk beside me — but it does not get to define me.

I can move forward, even slowly. I can choose small moments of joy without guilt. I can guard my heart from sinking into despair. And I can continue loving Jesus, even when I don’t understand.

I cling to the promise in Psalm 34:18 — “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Near. Not distant. Not impatient. Not disappointed.

Near in the tears. Near in the questions. Near in the silence.

Grief may be part of my story now. But it is not the end of it.