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I used to think grief would make two people come together in the same way. Like we’d both feel the same thing at the same time. Like we’d both talk about it. Like we’d both need the same kind of comfort. That isn’t how it went for us. In our house, grief didn’t show up as one shared emotion. It showed up as two different languages. One of us got sad and apologetic. Quiet. Heavy. Almost like taking up space felt wrong. The other got angry. Not always loud anger. Sometimes it w

Not all grief begins after someone is gone. Sometimes it starts earlier... quietly... when you can feel a change coming and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. A deployment date on the calendar. A diagnosis that changes the air in the room. A loved one getting weaker, even if nobody says it out loud. A relationship that still exists, but feels like it’s already slipping away. It’s a strange place to be, because technically nothing has happened yet... and still, something i

There’s a part of grief that doesn’t always get talked about out loud. It’s the part that sounds like: I should have called. I should have visited more. I should have gone that last time. Those thoughts can show up quietly... or they can replay until they feel louder than everything else. I understand that kind of guilt. When I was in high school, my grandfather died of cancer. He was my dad’s dad, and he wasn’t just someone we saw on holidays. He was part of our routine, par