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This was a hard month for me to write my usual column for Elephant.
It’s the anniversary of the loss of the two people who made me, who defined me, who then left me to deal with this world on my own—but who also equipped me with the strength, knowledge, and courage to deal with this world on my own.
Losing someone, literally, during the last month of the year is even harder because you grow up with the knowledge that the new year will bring new tidings, so to speak. New beginnings, new outlook…new everything.
But when you lose someone (in my case, both of them) during the last week of December 2020 (yep, within a span of six days), the new year feels more like a burden—the crushing weight makes you feel like you’ll never ever come out of it.
Five years back, I never, not for one second, thought I would see today. Five years after my biggest life-defining tragedy, I felt like I would never see the other side of grief. And five years later, every step I take, every move I make, every moment I breathe, I still remember my mom and dad.
But I’ve also learned how to live around that feeling of love and loss. I mean, what other choice do I have, right?
So this article is not about trying to make me or anyone else feel better. It’s about letting me soak it all in. Reading words and sayings from those so much smarter than me teach me, yet again, how to navigate the world with a loss that still feels as fresh as ever.
What I reach for in moments like this are not answers or platitudes or advice—just words that sit with me instead of trying to move me forward. Words that understand that grief does not end, it just changes shape.
And these are some that have stayed with me:
“There will come a day, I promise you, when the thought of your son, or daughter, or your wife or your husband, brings a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eye. It will happen. My prayer for you is that day will come sooner than later.” ~ Joe Biden
“Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.” ~ Sarah Dessen, The Truth about Forever
“If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?” ~ Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper
“Moving on, as a concept, is for stupid people. Because any sensible person knows grief is a long-term project. I refuse to rush. Let no man slow, speed, or fix.” ~ Max Porter, Grief Is the Thing with Feathers
“Grief is the last act of love we can give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love.” ~ Anonymous
“You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.” ~ J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” ~ E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly
“My sister will die over and over again for the rest of my life. Grief is forever. It doesn’t go away; it becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath. I will never stop grieving Bailey because I will never stop loving her. That’s just how it is. Grief and love are conjoined, you don’t get one without the other. All I can do is love her, and love the world, emulate her by living with daring and spirit and joy.” ~ Jandy Nelson, The Sky is Everywhere
“Grief, I’ve learned, is just love. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.” ~ Jamie Anderson
“Tears are the silent language of grief.” ~ Voltaire
As I said, it’s not about closure or healing or moving on. It’s about learning how to carry love forward when the people you loved are no longer here to receive it. It’s about understanding that remembering is not a weakness, and continuing to grieve does not mean I am stuck.
I miss my parents every single day. But I also live. I laugh. I build a life. I hold gratitude and sorrow in the same breath. But what remains is grief—and love.
I no longer ask when it will get easier or lighter or quieter. I just let it be. Some days it sits gently beside me. Some days it knocks the air out of my lungs.
And both are allowed.
~
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