🌹 Learning to Hold On & Let Go

Grief is always an uninvited guest. It showed up without warning, kicked down the door, and settled itself into the corners of my life. It didn’t ask for permission. It just exists.

Losing my Grandma, someone I loved with all my heart, has made it feel like time has shattered. One minute, she was here, sharing words, laughter, and sometimes even silence – all moments that were so easily taken for granted. And then, she was gone.

Now the world seems both too loud and too empty at the same time.

I remember the heavy feeling in my chest when I heard the news. The air itself felt thicker, and every breath was a struggle. The next days were a blur – hands on my back, murmured condolences, meals I couldn’t bring myself to touch, and sleep that eluded me every night.

People came and went. I stood still.

And the thing no one tells you is this: grief doesn’t follow a schedule. You don’t move through neat little stages until you’re “done.” Some days, it feels manageable – like a low tide where you can finally walk on steady sand. Then there are moments when a scent, a song, or a flash of memory sends the waves crashing back over you.

Grief, in its strangest way, is love that has nowhere else to go. It’s every “I miss you” you wished you could say, every hug that can no longer be given.

It’s love screaming into silence.

At first, I fought it. I didn’t want to feel the sadness or accept the absence. I stayed busy, avoided conversations, and told myself I would be fine, even though everyone around me knew that was untrue.

But grief is patient. It waits. It demands to be felt. It sits with you in the quiet hours when no one else is around.

And while I hated its persistence, I learned something: letting myself feel the pain is not a betrayal of the good memories.

Healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about learning to carry the memories in a way that allows me to keep going. It’s holding on to what she gave me – the love, the laughter, the lessons – while allowing myself to let go of the weight of what could have been.

There’s certainly no roadmap for this. Most days, I still cry. Other days, I smile at a memory and feel grateful. Both are okay. Grief can coexist with joy, even if it doesn’t feel like it at first.

I have to keep going. Even when it hurts. Grandma would want me to.