Grief doesn’t end the way we think it does

I was going to call this post “Learning to Grieve,” but I realized that one doesn’t learn to grief. Learning means you are gaining a new skill or mastering another. It means there are more new things in life to discover. I don’t think one learns to grieve. Grief doesn’t arrive neatly. It doesn’t follow a schedule, and it certainly doesn’t behave the way people expect it to. When someone you love passes away, the world doesn’t stop—but yours feels like it has. Or, you feel like your life should stop and you experience guilt when it doesn’t. Everything familiar suddenly feels different, as though life has shifted slightly off balance.

For me, the grief hasn’t arrived yet. 

My father passed away on April 13, 2026. I had been up to Kentucky as much I was able in the past few years of his illness. I felt it important to spend as much time with him as I could and to help my sister as she was actively managing the new found struggles my parents were facing. When I couldn’t be there, I called. Sometimes he would answer. Sometimes not. He hated that iPhone. 🙂

For me and my family, the past several years were spent watching a strong, capable, stoic man lose much of what made him happy. When he retired from the Louisville Fire Department, he took up photography. My dad never did anything half way. He threw himself into photography learning everything he could about the art and he was so good! He would sit for hours at his computer and work on the photos he took.

He also took up ancestry for our family. I can remember calling him when he first took it up and asking him, "where are you?" and he would reply “in a cemetery.” We know so much more now because of him and his passion for this.

I saw him last on March 31, 2026; his 84 birthday. I remember our last words were I love you but I saw a sadness in his eyes. I think he knew and looking back, I can see it now though I didn’t can see it in hindsight. I think he knew it would be the last time we spoke or saw each other in this life. 

I had to return to Texas and work. I sent my niece up there on the day he died. She was there for him and the family as he passed to heaven.

In the early days, grief can feel overwhelming. For me those days happened for 3 years leading up to his passing. There’s a heaviness that sits in your chest, a quiet absence that echoes through ordinary moments. You may find yourself reaching for your phone to call them, or thinking of something to share, only to remember they’re no longer there. That realization can hit again and again, each time with the same sharpness. These moments happened for me in those 3 years prior too.

It is different when you are hundreds of miles away from family. You have that separation already and so I am experiencing some anxiety as I prepare to go home for his memorial.

Sadness and grief can be anger, confusion, guilt, even moments of unexpected calm. I am definitely calm now, but also experiencing some guilt. Should I or could I have done more? What did I miss? Some days you might feel almost “normal,” only to be caught off guard by a memory, a song, or a scent that pulls you right back into the depth of loss. This unpredictability is one of the hardest parts—never quite knowing how you’ll feel from one moment to the next.

It’s important to understand that there is no “right” way to grieve. There’s no timeline you’re supposed to follow. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting, and moving forward doesn’t mean leaving your loved one behind. Instead, grief gradually becomes something you carry differently. What once felt unbearable may soften over time—not disappearing but becoming more manageable.

Many people find comfort in small rituals: lighting a candle, looking through old photos, or talking about their loved one with others who understand. These moments can help keep the connection alive in a meaningful way. Grief often teaches us that love doesn’t end—it simply changes form. Life doesn’t end either, but it is forever altered by this new reality.

At the same time, it’s okay to seek support. Whether it’s friends, family, or a professional, sharing your experience can make the weight feel less isolating. You don’t have to navigate grief alone, even if it sometimes feels that way. My family was great about that. My horses were too.

I am always advocating to people about horses can help us through whatever emotions we are experiencing. It is true. I just experienced it for myself when I took my own advice. 

I was sitting out on the porch the night of his passing and I was grieving, crying softly. It was then that I heard the horses come up to the fence. I went out into the pasture and the herd surrounded me. I felt nuzzles and breath on my face and in my hair (along with hay and salvia) but it felt safe, warm and I felt loved in that moment when I was alone, hundreds of miles from those I loved.

I have laughed in the days since his passing. There will be days when you laugh again, when joy returns in small, quiet way too. And when it does, it doesn’t mean you’ve stopped grieving—it means you’re learning to live alongside it. That coexistence is part of healing.

In time, many people discover that grief reshapes them. It deepens their empathy, alters their priorities, and brings a new awareness of what truly matters. While you would never choose the loss, the experience can leave behind a profound sense of connection—to others, to life, and to the love that still remains.

Grief is not something you “get over.” It’s something you move through, slowly and unevenly. And as you do, you begin to rebuild—not the life you had before, but a new one that carries both the pain of loss and the enduring presence of love.