What I Wish You Knew About My Grief
Today is National Grief Awareness Day. We all lose people we care about, and as we say goodbye, grief never follows a straight path. The words below are written from the perspective of someone grieving, to give a glimpse of what that can feel like and how we can support each other.
Dear Family, Friends, and Colleagues,
I’m writing because I want you to understand me better while I grieve. Some days, the waves feel endless. I don’t know how long this will last or what it will look like.
There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. My grief is mine alone—shaped by my relationship, my memories, and the life I’m still learning to live. Sometimes it comes quietly. Sometimes it crashes over me like a storm. Or it returns unexpectedly, even years later. My grief is normal.
What I need most is your steady presence. I know you want to help. I know it’s hard to find the right words, and how uncomfortable it can feel not knowing what to do. I’ve stood in your shoes.
What helps is simple. Saying They will be so very missed, or I’m here when you need me. Listening without trying to fix it. If I share my sadness, anger, or fear, I don’t need answers—I just need you to acknowledge my feelings and let them be. Sometimes just being together, sitting in silence, is enough.
And if I keep repeating the story to help me process it, please be patient with me.
What’s harder for me right now are the things that don’t help—like advice I didn’t ask for, questions about what happened, stories about your own loss, or phrases like this will make you stronger. None of these lighten what I feel. If you’re not sure what to do, just ask me.
It’s okay to ask how I’m doing. I may answer honestly, or I may say I can’t talk right now. If I say no, I’m not rejecting you—I just may not have the energy to share in that moment. What matters is that I can tell you the truth.
Please don’t assume what I need. If I ask for space, give it. If I ask for company, stay. Small gestures—checking in, sharing a cup of tea, helping with everyday tasks—mean more than you know.
But check with me first before putting things away or cleaning. Something that looks ordinary to you may hold the scent, the memory, or the presence of the one I’ve lost.
Memories can be bittersweet. Sometimes hearing your memories makes me smile and reminds me that my loved one touched more lives than just mine. Other times, it may feel too painful. If you want to share, I welcome it—just ask me first. When I’m ready, your memories are a gift.
I will say no to some things right now. But don’t stop inviting me unless I ask you to. It helps to know I haven’t been forgotten.
Please don’t think any of this means you need to walk on eggshells around me or get everything ‘right’. This is hard for all of us. What matters most is just being real, kind, and caring as we move through this together.
Grief is love with no place to go. It is raw, messy, and exhausting. I’m so grateful for your care, patience, empathy, and kindness you’ve shared—it means more than I can say.
Your being here, listening, and honoring what I need helps me feel seen, supported, and less alone.
With gratitude,
Someone Who Is Grieving