At some point after someone dies, people start waiting for you to get back to normal.
They probably won’t say it exactly like that.
But you can feel it.
There are fewer check-ins. Less patience when you say you’re having a hard time. A little more surprise when you admit you’re still struggling.
You start getting the feeling that grief was acceptable when it was new, but now you’re supposed to be doing better.
And maybe you are doing better.
But you’re not back to normal.
Because that normal is gone.
I think that’s the part people don’t always want to hear.
You can heal and still be permanently changed by what happened to you.
You can build a good life and still hate that this is the life you had to build.
You can be happy and still think, “They should be here for this.”
You can become stronger and still wish you’d never needed that strength.
And you can move forward without ever becoming the person you were before they died.
Sometimes “getting back to normal” is less about the grieving person and more about everyone else wanting things to feel comfortable again.
They want the old version of you back.
And the truth is, sometimes you want that version of you back too.
But you can’t unknow what you know now. You can’t go through losing someone you love and come out of it untouched. Things that once seemed important may not matter nearly as much anymore. You may look at people differently. You may have less patience for things you once put up with. You may think a lot harder about how you want to spend the time you have.
That’s not you failing to get back to normal.
That’s what happens when life shows you, in the worst possible way, that everything can change.
So maybe you don’t get back to normal.
Maybe that’s not even the goal.
Because getting back would mean becoming the person you were before you knew this kind of loss.
And that person doesn’t exist anymore.
You do.
Changed. Still grieving. Still figuring some of it out. And still capable of building a life that has good in it.
Your life didn’t end when theirs did.
But the life you knew did.
And pretending you’re eventually supposed to become the person you were before all of this isn’t healing. It’s an expectation that was never realistic in the first place.
Maybe that’s not the ending people are comfortable hearing about grief.
But it’s a lot closer to the truth.
If these words connected with you, you’ll find many more like them in What Remains. It’s a collection of the writings I’ve shared over the years, bringing together reflections on grief, love, loss, and the connections that continue long after someone is gone.
I hope it brings you comfort, understanding, and the reminder that you’re not alone.
If you’d like to read more, you can find the book here
Available now on Amazon