Grief Doesn't Own A Calendar

If grief had rules, maybe we’d stand a chance. Six months of crying, three months of anger, a little journaling, then back to normal life. But grief doesn’t run on a timeline. It shows up uninvited, knocks the wind out of you, and stays as long as it pleases.

It’s not a season, it’s weather. Storms, drizzle, sudden lightning bolts. Some days you can see the sky. Other days, you’re sure the clouds will never break.

When Grief Stops You in Your Tracks

Grief has a way of ambushing you in the middle of ordinary life. You’re folding laundry, pouring coffee, driving to work, and then it hits.

The thought of them is sudden, sharp, and physical. It’s not just remembering, it feels like impact. Like a punch to the chest that steals your breath and freezes you in place.

Sometimes it’s a song you haven’t heard in years. Sometimes it’s a stranger’s laugh. Sometimes it’s nothing at all, just your brain unlocking the memory on its own. And in that split second, you’re not where you are anymore. You’re back in the hospital. Back at the funeral. Back at the phone call that changed everything.

Your whole body reacts. Breath catches. Throat tightens. Heart races. The room tilts. It’s not “just sadness.” It’s a full-body protest against a reality you didn’t choose.

The Nights Nobody Talks About

Daytime gives you cover. Work, errands, small talk, they’re all distractions. But at night, when the world goes quiet, grief takes center stage.

It’s lying in bed, wide awake at 2 a.m., replaying the last words, the last moments, the thousand what ifs. It’s scrolling endlessly on your phone because silence feels too loud. It’s wanting to pick up the phone, only to remember there’s nobody to answer.

And sometimes sleep is worse. Dreams bring them back, and waking up feels like losing them all over again.

What Grief Really Looks Like

Grief isn’t just tears.

It’s:

• Forgetting why you walked into a room.

• Snapping at someone over something small, then drowning in guilt.

• Standing frozen in the grocery store aisle because you saw their favorite snack.

• Smiling at people while secretly wondering how they get to live normal lives when yours has been split open.

• Carrying an exhaustion no amount of sleep can fix.

It’s messy, it’s invisible, and it bleeds into everything.

Grief Doesn’t End, It Changes Shape

We’re taught grief is a phase, but the truth is it doesn’t go away. Some days it’s a heavy boulder you drag behind you. Other days it’s a pebble in your pocket you barely notice, until you reach in and there it is again.

That’s why years later, something as small as a smell, a place, or a photo can knock the wind out of you. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or stuck. It means your life was permanently changed.

My Mom’s Name Was…

When I lost my mom in 2021, the world looked different. Everyone had advice. Everyone wanted me to be “okay.” But the one thing that made her feel real again, the thing that actually brought me joy in the middle of all that heaviness, was when someone asked me her name.

It reminded me she wasn’t just “my mom” or a loss to get over. She was a person with a name, a story, a presence. Saying her name out loud kept her anchored in this world, even if only through memory.

That’s the strange part of grief. It hurts to talk about them, but it hurts more when nobody does. Sometimes the greatest gift someone can give you isn’t advice or platitudes, it’s simply making space for their name to still exist.

Permission to Be Where You Are

If you’re grieving, hear me: you don’t owe anyone progress. You don’t owe closure. You don’t owe a timeline that makes other people comfortable.

You can cry six months in. You can laugh six weeks in. You can feel numb six years in. None of it means you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re human.

Grief doesn’t follow a calendar. It doesn’t obey stages. It shows up, it takes your breath away, it stops you mid-stride, and sometimes, it softens just enough to remind you of the love that made it hurt this badly in the first place.

And if you’ve lost someone, don’t be afraid to say their name. Because remembering isn’t what keeps you stuck. Remembering is what keeps them here.