The Flight of Grief

Grief doesn’t always arrive with a crash.

Sometimes, it slips in quietly—hiding between moments when you least expect it.

You can be having a good day. A productive day. A day where you laugh, make plans, and feel almost like yourself again. And then, without warning, something small shifts. A song plays. A scent passes by. A memory flickers in and out of your mind. Suddenly, grief is there—standing beside you like it never left.

This is how grief often works. It doesn’t live only in anniversaries or milestones. It lives in the in-between spaces. The pauses. The silence after joy. The breath you take before you realize why your chest feels tight.

Grief hides in routine.

In muscle memory.

In reaching for someone who is no longer there.

It shows up in unexpected ways—fatigue that feels heavier than it should, irritability without a clear cause, or a wave of sadness that seems disconnected from the present moment. Grief isn’t always tears. Sometimes it’s numbness. Sometimes it’s distraction. Sometimes it’s a quiet longing you don’t have words for yet.

We’re often taught that healing means moving on. That time should make grief smaller, quieter, easier to manage. But grief doesn’t shrink the way people promise. Instead, it changes shape. It becomes something you carry rather than something that consumes you.

And even then, it still surprises you.

You can hold joy and grief at the same time. They are not opposites—they are companions. Joy does not erase loss, and grief does not mean you are failing at healing. Both are evidence that you loved deeply.

Some days, grief demands space. It asks you to slow down, to feel, to acknowledge what has been lost. Other days, it simply wants to be noticed—named without judgment before you continue forward.

There is no timeline for this. No finish line where grief disappears forever. There is only learning how to live with it, how to tend to it gently when it resurfaces, and how to give yourself grace when it catches you off guard.

If grief feels like it’s hiding between moments, know this:

You are not broken.

You are human.

Grief is not a sign of weakness—it is proof that love existed, and still does.