The Firsts

There is something about the “firsts” after loss that can feel like walking into a room that looks familiar — but isn’t.

The first birthday without them.

The first holiday.

The first time their chair is empty.

The first year mark.

For me, one of the firsts I didn’t expect was the first time I drove by my grandmother’s house after she passed. We used to gather there. Holidays. Random Sundays. Cooking in her kitchen. Learning by watching her hands. After she was gone, I realized something quietly devastating: you don’t go there anymore. The house is still there. The street is still the same. But the life that made it what it was isn’t. You drive by and think about the laughter, the

meals, the way it used to feel. And there is this strange awareness that there is no going back to that version of life. It’s a quiet kind of grief.

Sometimes you see the date coming and feel it building for weeks. Sometimes it arrives quietly and catches you off guard.

There can be this steady thought underneath everything:

This is the first time we are doing this without them.

And that realization can take the air out of a room.

You may wonder how it will feel.

You may brace yourself.

You may try not to think about it at all.

The anticipation can be heavy. Sometimes heavier than the day itself.

On the day, emotions can be unpredictable. You might cry. You might feel numb. You might laugh and then feel guilty for laughing. You might move through the day almost normally and then feel the wave hit later when the house is quiet.

There isn’t a script for this.

For families with children or teens, the firsts can bring even more layers. A child might ask a simple question that lands hard. A teen might not want to talk at all. Traditions may feel different. The absence may feel louder.

There can also be an unspoken pressure — from the world or from inside yourself — that once the “first year” passes, something should shift. But grief doesn’t follow a calendar.

The second birthday can hurt.

The third holiday can still feel wrong.

A random Tuesday can feel heavier than any anniversary.

Sometimes the firsts are not the hardest days. Sometimes they are simply the most visible.

If you are approaching one of these moments, it may help to give yourself permission to move through it in whatever way feels most manageable.

Some people light a candle.

Some visit a favorite place.

Some say their name out loud.

Some keep the day simple.

Some lean into company.

Some need quiet.

There is no single right way to carry it.

If you feel comfortable sharing, what was the hardest “first” for you? Or what helped you get through it — even just a little?

Your experience might be the thing that steadies someone else as their own first approaches. And if you are in the middle of one right now — if today feels different in a way only you can fully understand, this community sees that.

There are others who know what it feels like to mark time in “before” and “after.”

Written by Ashley Donovan