What Grief Teaches Us About Life, Love, and Meaning

If grief has touched your life, you already know this: it lives in places words don’t always reach. 

Grief often reshapes and reorganizes us. I know this personally.

I chose grief as the topic for February because this month will mark the 10th anniversary of my dad’s passing and, next month—March, will mark the 8th anniversary of my mom’s passing. 

Grief feels bigger and deeper this year. 

If you have experienced grief or want to learn more about it to support a loved one, I invite you to sit comfortably and read on. As you read, I invite you to take care of your heart.

What Grief Is — and What It Isn’t

Over the years, psychology has offered different ways to help us understand grief. Two perspectives, in particular, have helped me make sense of my own.

You may be familiar with the stages of grief described by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. What matters most to know is this: they were never meant to be a checklist or a timeline. They simply name common emotional experiences that can come and go in no particular order. Grief doesn’t move step by step—and neither do we.

Another framework that has deeply shaped me comes from Dr. J. William Worden, who described grief not as something we “finish,” but something we learn to live with. From this view, grieving involves acknowledging the loss, allowing the pain, adjusting to life as it is now, and finding ways to stay connected to who we’ve lost while continuing forward.

Together, these perspectives have given me both language and permission—language for what I feel, and permission to grieve without rushing. Practically, they remind me to notice what shows up emotionally, to give myself space for it, and to trust that learning how to live again is part of healing, not a betrayal of love.

Grief, I’ve learned, is not about moving on. It’s about learning how to live faithfully and honestly with what has changed. 

Grief Entered my Life Not as a Season, but as a Lasting Part of my Story 

I grew up in a loving family. One where love, connection, and presence were deeply felt. My parents were steady and important figures in my life and their losses came quickly—sooner than my heart was ready for.

I don’t think our hearts can ever fully prepare to lose someone we love. There is a natural disbelief that comes with a forever goodbye—a quiet refusal to accept that someone so foundational could truly be gone.

My mommy and daddy—the people who had known me the longest, who had witnessed my beginnings, who helped make sense of my life—were suddenly no longer here. Their absence was not only emotional; it was deeply disorienting. 

Even though I was an adult by then, and had my own family, the world suddenly felt less anchored and less familiar, even though everything around me looked the same.

When we lose people we are deeply attached to, the loss reaches beyond memory. It touches our sense of safety, our identity, and how we find our place in the world.

Over time, I learned that grief was not something I could erase or overcome (neither did I want to), but something I had to learn to carry, integrate, and learn to live alongside. 

Through the years, grief has quietly woven itself into who I have become.

The work of grief is not something I would have ever chosen to include in my story. But it is something that had to be allowed—to do its work within me, shaping how I love, how I hold others, and how I move through the world.

How Grief Lives and Moves Within Us 

Grief does not actually ever “get better”. It heals by changing and being integrated into our lives.

When we lose someone we are deeply attached to, the bond does not simply end. Our minds and bodies have to learn how to live in a world where that person is no longer physically present.

Early in grief, this adjustment can feel overwhelming. The world can feel unfamiliar and unsteady. Many people experience intense emotions, physical exhaustion, difficulty concentrating, or a sense of disorientation. These responses are normal - the way the mind and body respond to loss.

As time passes, grief often begins to shift. It may feel less consuming, even though the ache inside remains. Gradually, people find themselves engaging in daily life again—showing up, making decisions, reconnecting with others—while still carrying the loss. 

Because this adjustment continues, grief often moves in waves. Certain memories, dates, or life changes can bring the loss closer again. At other times, grief may feel quieter as attention turns to daily routines and relationships.

This back-and-forth movement is a normal part of a normal process. With time, the loss becomes part of how we understand ourselves and our story, rather than something that dominates our daily lives.

Healing doesn’t mean grief will disappear. Healing means we have allowed grief to shape us as life continues to unfold.

We Are Not Meant to Carry Grief Alone 

One of the most protective factors in grief is being seen and supported by others. I would not be were I am if it wasn’t for the love and support I had around me. My husband, children, siblings, friends and family became my champions and the reason I stayed in the holy struggle of grief.

Psychologically, grief is processed best in relationship. When pain is shared—even quietly—it becomes more manageable. Naming loss out loud, being met with understanding, or simply having someone stay present without trying to fix anything can help the nervous system settle. This kind of connection reminds us that we are not alone in a world that has already changed too much. 

Many people pull away during grief, either because they don’t want to burden others or because they feel pressure to “be strong.” Others discover that support fades faster than the grief itself. Both experiences can deepen the sense of loneliness. But needing support during grief is not a weakness. It is a human need.

Support does not look like constant conversation or advice. Sometimes it is one safe person. Sometimes it is therapy, community, faith, or simply being allowed to grieve without explanation.

What matters most is that grief has space to be witnessed. 

Finding Meaning and Living With Greater Depth 

Life continued, as it always does.

And as time moved, I often noticed a question that would surface: What do I do with this now?

For some time, I resisted the idea of finding purpose in my pain. I didn’t want loss to be justified or explained away. What I came to understand is that purpose did not come from explaining my loss, but from allowing grief to remain with me and shape how I continued to live.

Learning to live without my parents required me to face both the pain of their absence and the question of how I wanted to continue living in the world they no longer occupied.

I worked intentionally not to let grief take meaning away from my life. That wasn’t always easy. It required intention, the love of those around me, and my faith—anchors that helped me stay oriented when grief felt heavy or disorganizing.

With time, I allowed grief to clarify the rest of my life. I let this loss deepen my awareness of love, of time, and of what it means to be truly present.

Grief has changed how I intentionally I show up, and how carefully I hold relationships—not out of fear of loss, but out of reverence for connection, meaning, and the sacredness of shared life.

Grief has expanded my capacity for compassion. It has grounded me in what matters most. It quietly shaped my commitments—to people, to purpose, and to living with greater honesty and depth. 

This integration did not happen all at once. It happened quietly, as grief found its place within me. And in that place, it no longer stood in opposition to life, but alongside it—shaping a life lived with greater depth, honesty, and intention.

One more thing I’ve learned, is that grief does not end — I will forever miss my parents presence, voice, playfulness, words of wisdom... — but grief does change.

With time, the sadness has become less sharp and more familiar, woven into a new normal that no longer defines every moment. 

How to Move Forward, if You’re Grieving

Grief asks for gentleness, patience, and often the presence of someone who can sit with you without trying to make things better too quickly. 

Grief often looks like small, steady choices—allowing yourself to speak about your loss when it feels right, giving your emotions room through reflection, prayer, or journaling, honoring meaningful dates or memories, and paying attention to what your body and nervous system need in different seasons.

It can also mean letting support show up imperfectly, returning to practices that bring peace, or seeking guidance when grief feels confusing or heavy. Over time, these quiet acts of care help grief integrate into life, creating space for both sorrow and a life that continues to unfold with meaning.

When Grief Is Complicated 

Not all grief begins from simple or safe attachments. For some, the relationship that was lost was layered—marked by love and longing, but also by absence, disappointment, conflict, or unmet needs. When attachment was complicated, grief often is too. 

You may grieve not only the person you lost, but also the relationship you hoped for. You may feel sadness alongside anger, relief, guilt, or confusion. This kind of grief can feel isolating because it doesn’t fit the stories we’re often told about what loss is supposed to look like. 

For others, grief may feel delayed. Life may not have allowed space to feel it at the time, or the pain may have felt too overwhelming to approach. When this happens, grief doesn’t disappear—it waits, and often surfaces later, when there is more safety or our nervous system and life seasons are asking for deeper healing. 

If this resonates, it does not mean you are behind or broken. It means your system did what it needed to do. 

Grief follows safety, not timelines. And even complicated grief can be gently understood and tended to, over time. 

For Those Who Hold Faith 

For those who hold faith, grief often tests what we believe. There are moments when trusting God feels harder than before, when prayers come out as questions or tears instead of words. 

I have learned that faith does not ask us to deny our pain in order to hold hope. 

Hope, for me, has not been the absence of grief, but the quiet assurance that God is still near in it—that love does not end with loss, and that even in sorrow, my life and my story remain perfectly held. 

Believing while hurting is often where faith becomes deeper and more real. It has for me.

Make Space for Grief 

If this reflection has stirred something in you, I invite you to pause and notice what your heart is carrying. Grief does not ask to be rushed or resolved, only to be acknowledged with care. Whether you are holding fresh loss, old sorrow, or something complicated and unnamed, you are not meant to walk through it alone. 

There is space for your grief to be held, understood, and gently tended to—at your pace, in your way, and with the kind of support that helps you keep living with depth, meaning, and connection.

Recommended Reading (and reflections that informed this post):

Grief Through a Psychological Lens:

• Finding Meaning — David Kessler

• Being Mortal — Atul Gawande

• On Grief and Grieving — Elisabeth Kübler-Ross & David Kessler

Christian-Centered:

• Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering — Timothy Keller (a favorite of mine!)

• A Grief Observed — C. S. Lewis

  
  

About the Author

Written by Gaby Ortiz, MA, LPC, NCC.

Gaby is a Licensed Professional Counselor in Colorado who helps children, teens, women, and families grow with resilience, warmth, and hope. She believes that healing begins in safe connection and that every story holds the possibility of renewal.