Recently, a longtime friend experienced the loss of a life partner. Not to death—but to something more complicated. The legal system. Addiction. Layers of rupture, consequence, and uncertainty.
Right away, the grieving begins. Not the clean grief we pretend to understand, but the kind that spins with questions: What was said? What was left unsaid? How did it get this bad? Could something have been done differently? What choices led us here?
Grief is grief.
Whether it comes through disease, accident, age, argument, addiction, or abandonment—grief brings the same emotional rupture. It’s a disconnect that throws your equilibrium. The cause of grief may vary, but the need to grieve remains. And it’s a mistake to rely too heavily on the “reason” to soothe the wound.
People will try to help. They’ll offer advice, suggest distractions, recommend hobbies. And to a degree, that helps. Grief can spiral. A simple moment of distraction can slow the descent. But distraction is not the same as healing. It’s not a cure.
Throwing yourself into something new without dealing with the grief is like stuffing too many T-shirts into a dresser drawer. It might look tidy—but the moment you open it, everything explodes.
Yes, I’ve done it. I’m human. But I’ve learned that I need a drawer that still functions. One I can open without bracing for impact. Something I can sort through when I’m ready. Not a storage unit for emotional explosives.
So what do I suggest for grief?
Think of it like eating an elephant—or a Buick. One bite at a time. Don’t let it break loose like a rollercoaster cresting the climb. Unless, of course, you like living emotionally dangerous.
And how long will it take?
That depends. Tiny bites take years. Overstuffing will choke you. Only you can find your rhythm. Other people’s timelines rarely fit your life.
Start with an honest look at the relationship. Not the role. The relationship. Tradition might say one thing, but the truth is often more complicated. You may discover there was less than you thought—or far more than you ever knew. Either way, truth helps.
Also: crying is good. Sobbing uncontrollably is less good.
And talk to someone. Find a safe person. Not a pity crowd. Pity doesn’t heal. If you don’t have someone safe, see a professional. Please.
For me, I turn to faith. Scripture. Prayer. Not just in crisis—but as a practice long before the crisis came. That’s been my lifeline. But even then, I understand it’s a relationship, not a switch.
Only after you’ve given space to the grief should you begin to look at causes. Guilt. Blame. Conviction. These too must be handled one bite at a time.
I pray for my friend. And for anyone who’s grieving.
Grief is the other side of joy. We all visit. Just please—don’t stay there.
