When it comes to grief, there is only one thing we can know for certain: it is not a linear inner movement or a process whose end we can clearly see—because it may never truly end. There is no specific point or boundary that, once reached, would allow us to take a deep breath and say:
“I have done what was expected of me. I have reached the end of the grieving process, and from here on, I may leave as a free person.”

 

By contrast, grief can sometimes dissolve for years. It may not be present in our lives at all. This, too, can give rise to guilt. Then one day we see something, hear something, feel something—or a dream hits us hard—and you immediately know: this will never truly be over.
It is not a shocking pain that starts again; it is simply presence asking for attention:
“Hey, I’m here. I am still here. Only my body has disappeared from beside you.”

 

Perhaps dreams are the strongest way of being pulled back, because there the presence feels almost real, and what we experience in dreams stays with us for a long time. The familiar thoughts begin again: I could have been much better, I could have been more decent, and all the what ifs—what if I had loved differently, protected differently.
Then this, too, passes. The periods of torment become shorter. Everyone goes through this. There are no exceptions. That is simply the nature of such things.

 

There is also a positive effect to these unexpected appearances. We process the loss and the absence more quickly, but we also experience—by then we recognize—that this is far more a transformation than a final loss. This is a calming and liberating feeling. Carefully so, but genuinely.
The next similar experience is already easier, and then easier still. This, too, is the nature of such things.

 

In order for this to become more bearable, we must recognize that grief is not always about letting go. For the more fortunate, it is about recognition.
The recognition that a relationship does not end simply because time or the body has run out. Some things remain forever. They continue to live within us.

 

The person we lost is not merely a memory, but an inner point of reference—something we integrate into our lives on a daily basis.

 

I must say this clearly: this does not work the same way for everyone. We are people of very different inner makeups. For some, complete letting go works. And if it does, then letting go should be done. There is no good or bad way to grieve. There is only a path that everyone walks and survives—however they can.

 

With these thoughts, I do not intend to show direction. I do not wish to intrude on anyone else’s difficult situation. There are many paths and many possible solutions. We are very different. These thoughts may only be useful to those whose inner makeup is similar to mine.

 

However, in one thing we are companions of fate: we have lost someone who should still be beside us.

 

From one companion of fate—to others.