There’s a kind of grief that doesn’t get named. Grief that isn’t validated. Grief that gets quiet- not because it went away, but because the world stopped listening.
This is part of disenfranchised grief. The kind that lingers after everyone else has moved on. The kind that doesn’t get sympathy cards or casseroles. The kind that shows up in the empty chair at the table, the years-old texts still in your phone, or the anniversary that only you remember.
This came up for me this past Father’s Day and on my dad's birthday. It’s been 4 years since he died, and I’m noticing that for many of those around me, that seems to be long enough to forget. I don’t blame anyone, especially when they haven’t experienced the loss of a close loved one themselves. And it is such an obvious function of our capitalist individualistic culture- how there are so many more important life things that take priority and distract. But even though time doesn’t stop and the world keeps spinning and people move on, for those of us who are grieving, it can feel like you’re standing in place and you’ve been left behind.
Grief does change with time- it softens around the edges, becomes quieter, less sharp. But it doesn’t disappear. It reshapes you. It lives inside you. And yet, the world often treats time like a cure. As if grief should have an expiration date. As if “enough” time means you’re fine now. But you’re not always fine. You’re human. And you loved someone who’s not here anymore.
That love doesn’t end. Neither does the grief.
There’s a deep loneliness in being the only one still carrying the weight. Especially on holidays, anniversaries, or ordinary days that once meant something extraordinary. There can be a painful ache in realizing no one else remembers the date, the story, the person. And then there’s the invisible labor of keeping their memory alive: the pressure to tell their story, to post the picture, to light the candle- even if you're the only one who does.
I’ve written a lot about grief, so sometimes I wonder whether it’s been too much of a focus. But the reality is that grief isn’t linear and it is ever-present, in some form or another. Sometimes it isn’t obvious that what is showing up for you is grief. I’ve learned to check in with myself about this when I’m feeling sad, anxious, or disconnected and there is no obvious cause. Lots of times, grief fits. So I will continue to write about it as it evolves and shifts and surfaces, because it is still relevant.
It’s heavy to grieve in a world that forgets. It’s heavy to remember alone. If you can relate, I invite you to:
- Honor the ways your grief still lives in you
- Name the moments when you feel unseen and offer yourself compassion in those spaces
- Rest from the pressure to perform memory for others
- Ask yourself: "What does my grief need from me today?" and let that be your guide- not the calendar, not the silence of others, not the pressure to move on.
I want you to know that you are not too much. You are not stuck. You are not weak for still missing them. Your love didn’t end. Your grief is sacred and it matters, even if no one else sees it. And your story deserves to be held- gently, without judgment, for as long as it needs.
