What do I know about Grief?
What do I know about Grief?
Staring at the blank page, I already feel the grief lingering—a grief that comes and goes yet remains ever-present, defying words. It’s the quiet weight of knowing something that once was will never be the same.
At some point, we all confront grief. It’s woven into our human experience, a lesson in letting go, in saying goodbye. It’s how life teaches us that nothing stays unchanged; seasons shift, death and rebirth intertwine, and what was once vibrant is now only a memory.
When my father passed last year, grief became a constant in my life, unlike anything I had ever known. A part of me died that day, and since then, I’ve been reshaping my understanding of life around this new absence. It took me a lifetime to see that he was my first love, my life-giver, my rock—even in ways he may not have known. My courage to seek adventures, both inward and outward, was rooted in knowing he and my family would always be there for me.
In my early thirties, my relationship with him shifted. I began to see him not only as my father but as a man with his own journey. As a man, he kept his word, stayed true to himself, met life’s challenges with a champion’s spirit, and brought with him a contagious lightness. As a father, he was open, occasionally distant (a Scorpio trait), and encouraged me to think for myself.
Accompanying him through his final season of life was the most painful experience of my life. Yet, it was also an experience that opened me to parts of myself I had never known, granting me the privilege of being by his side. Pain is only one side of the coin; in that journey, there was also healing, reconciliation, beauty, divine timing, friendship, and a steady assurance that when we open ourselves to the divine, we are not alone.
“Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone.” J. Krishnamurti
In grieving my father, I realised there were countless small griefs in my own I hadn’t acknowledged. Once I opened myself to feel, an array of unresolved emotions surfaced. I learned that somatically grief resides in the body—heavy in the shoulders, dense in the chest, upsetting on the gut. Grief lives in your nervous system. It brings physical and emotional tension. Mentally, grief roots you in the past, with memories acting as a Pandora’s box of “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts.” Sometimes, memory brings kindness, letting us relive joyful moments tinged with nostalgia, or what, in Portuguese, we call saudade.
Allowing myself to feel has become a daily practice. When I’m not allowing, I’m numbing—and sometimes that’s okay, too. It signals that I’m overwhelmed and need to resource and care for myself. Compassion, compassion, compassion!
Grief has become a life lesson for me. I feel like a student of my own internal landscape, choosing to approach it with curiosity and openness—traits my father taught me. For the first time, I’m letting myself feel the unfiltered versions of sadness, confusion, and vulnerability. I’m taking my time riding these waves, which come and go like any emotion. And in between, life continues, as it always does. One of the hardest truths to reconcile is that “Life really does go on.”
Moving forward means truly accepting that what was is no longer. My father is gone, his legacy is still here and my life is different now. There’s a new emotional resilience within me, a deepened capacity to feel and empathise with human suffering. This vulnerability has drawn the right people into my life while letting go of those who were just taking up space. I am grateful for this fine attunement and for the love I received in small gestures, kind words, and even grand efforts.
How do we move forward with grief? It’s a personal journey, and everyone has their own timing. Trying to rush grief is a contradiction, and who knows if it ever fully fades? Perhaps it’s the teacher that keeps us on our toes, urging us not to take life for granted. We take the gifts it offers, and we trust that a new path is being made for us. One day, we may wake up and, through the sorrow, and can’t help to notice the beauty of life and death!
Thank you for taking the time to read!
Monica
November 4, 2024at12:43 amThank you for sharing ???? Sofia !
Sofia
November 15, 2024at5:16 pmYou´re welcome Monica! What a journey this life:-)