Grief is not simply a subject I chose to write about, nor is it an area I approached only through research, professional interest or a desire to create resources for others; it is something I have walked through, written through, prayed through and gradually learned to carry, and it has become one of the most tender and deeply embedded parts of who I am.
For more than a decade, I have been drawn to the spaces surrounding grief, remembrance and the ways we can help both children and adults understand what it means to love someone who is no longer physically beside us, but in recent months, grief has become more personal than I ever imagined it could be.
Losing both of my parents within just 26 days of one another changed the landscape of my life.
There are some losses that do not simply create an empty space where a person once stood; they alter the shape of everything around that space, changing how the world looks, how memories feel and how we understand ourselves within the story of our own lives.
When we lose our parents, we do not only grieve the people they were in the present moment; we grieve the voices that have known us from the beginning, the people who carried our earliest stories, the familiar ways they occupied the world and the quiet security of knowing they were still somewhere within it.
We grieve what was, what could have been and all the ordinary moments we did not realise would one day become precious memories.
There are days when grief arrives loudly and demands to be felt, but there are also days when it appears quietly, through a familiar song, a photograph, a place, a phrase, a special date or the sudden instinct to pick up the phone and tell someone something before remembering that they are no longer there to answer.
Grief can live inside the smallest moments, and sometimes those moments carry the greatest weight.
Grief Is Love Learning to Live Differently
One of the most important things grief has taught me is that healing is not about forgetting, "moving on" or reaching a point where the person we love no longer matters enough to hurt.
We do not need to leave our loved ones behind in order to continue living.
Instead, grief asks us to learn how to carry love differently, allowing the relationship to take a new form while making room for both our sorrow and our gratitude.
The people we have lost remain present in the stories we tell, the values we carry, the traditions we continue, the things they taught us and the ways their love shaped the person we have become.
Their physical presence may be gone, but their influence continues to move through our lives.
I am learning that grief and gratitude can sit beside one another, that tears and laughter can belong within the same memory, and that experiencing a moment of joy does not mean we have forgotten the person whose absence we still feel.
Healing does not require us to stop missing them.
It simply gives us permission to keep living while we miss them.
There Is No Timetable for Grief
Grief does not follow a neat sequence, and it does not respect the timelines that we, or other people, may try to place upon it.
There is no particular day by which we should be "doing better," no correct way to respond to loss and no prize for appearing strong while our heart is asking for gentleness.
Some days we may feel capable and hopeful, and on others we may feel as though the loss happened only moments ago, even when months or years have passed.
Neither kind of day means we are failing.
Grief can affect our emotions, our energy, our concentration, our sleep, our bodies, our relationships and even our sense of identity, particularly when the person we have lost occupied a significant place within our daily life.
It can make simple decisions feel difficult and ordinary responsibilities feel unexpectedly heavy, which is why kindness toward ourselves is not an indulgence during grief; it is part of how we survive it.
There will be days when strength looks like getting out of bed and completing everything that needs to be done, but there will also be days when strength looks like cancelling a commitment, having a cry, asking for help or admitting that we are not all right.
Both are valid expressions of courage.
Creating Something Gentle from Something Painful
Long before the loss of my parents, I felt drawn to creating resources that could help people navigate grief, particularly children who may not yet have the language to explain what they are feeling.
That calling found expression through Stars in Our Hearts, a story created to help children understand loss and remember that love continues even when someone they care about is no longer physically present.
It has continued through my writing, funeral and memorial work, grief resources and journals, and through the creation of Grief with Grace, a place where people can find gentle companionship for a journey that can otherwise feel incredibly lonely.
My own experience of loss has deepened that calling.
I would never pretend to have all the answers, because grief has shown me that there are some questions for which no simple answer will ever be enough, but I do understand more deeply the value of having words when our own words will not come, of finding something that reflects what our heart is experiencing and of being reminded that we are not the only person who has ever felt this way.
Sometimes the most meaningful support does not try to fix our grief.
It simply sits beside us within it.
What Grace Can Look Like in Grief
Grace in grief can look like allowing ourselves to feel what we feel without judging it.
It can look like saying their name, telling their stories and making space for memories that bring both comfort and tears.
It can look like resting when our body is tired, accepting help when the weight feels too heavy and recognising that grief is not a problem to be solved, but a response to love and loss that deserves to be treated with tenderness.
Grace can also look like hope, although hope after loss is not the denial of pain or an attempt to cover sorrow with positivity.
Hope is the quiet assurance that pain will not always feel exactly as sharp as it does today, that moments of beauty will find us again and that love remains part of our story even after death has changed how that love can be expressed.
For me, faith is also woven deeply into this journey.
It does not mean I never question, ache or long for the people I have lost, but it gives me somewhere to bring those feelings and reminds me that death does not have the final word.
Faith gives me permission to grieve honestly while still holding onto the hope of eternity.
One Moment at a Time
I am still navigating grief, and I suspect I always will be in some form, because love of this depth does not simply disappear.
However, I am learning that I do not need to understand the entire journey or know exactly what healing will look like in the future.
I only need enough grace for this day, this memory and this moment.
That is the heart behind Grief with Grace.
It is not about grieving perfectly, rushing toward recovery or pretending that loss has not changed us; it is about finding compassionate ways to live with what has happened, honouring the people we love and allowing ourselves to move gently between sorrow, remembrance, faith, gratitude and hope.
If you are navigating grief today, please know that you are not behind, you are not grieving incorrectly and you do not have to carry every part of this journey alone.
Take all the time you need.
Speak their name.
Tell their stories.
Let the tears come when they need to, and welcome the moments of joy when they find you.
Most of all, be gentle with yourself as you learn to carry a love that has not ended, but has simply had to find a different way to live.
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