Grieving the Living: When They’re Still Here, But Not Really 🤷🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️

Grief is hard. Period.

Whether it’s the loss of someone or something — physically, emotionally, spiritually — grief will stretch you in ways you didn’t know you could bend. And sometimes? It damn near breaks you.

We’re taught to associate grief with funerals, with caskets, with permanent goodbyes. And yes — those losses are deep. I lost my father, and that pain? That ache? It’s one I carry with me daily. But as gutting as that was (and still is), there’s something different about that kind of loss. There’s a boundary.

He’s gone. I know he’s not coming back. I can’t call him. I can’t talk my way into another moment. I’ve had to make peace with the finality of death. It’s a closed door I didn’t ask for, but I’ve learned how to sit at it with memory and love.

But what do you do when the person you’re grieving is still alive?

When you can still see them. Still call them. Still scroll past their Instagram stories or hear through mutuals what they’re doing.

When you could reach out… but something in you knows the version of them you miss doesn’t exist anymore.

Or worse — they do exist, just not for you.

Whew. That grief is different.

It’s not tidy.

It’s not socially recognized.

It doesn’t come with casseroles and “sorry for your loss” cards.

But it still hits you in your chest at random hours and makes you question everything.

You can’t talk about it too much without sounding bitter.

You can’t name it too boldly without someone saying, “Well, at least they’re still alive.”

And you can’t heal from it quickly because there’s no closure — just this open wound that keeps getting bumped by memories and reminders.

Grieving the living is a spiritual discipline.

It’s letting go without malice.

It’s loving someone from a distance, even when your heart wants to run toward them.

It’s mourning what was — and honoring what is, no matter how different it looks.

Maybe it’s a parent.

Maybe it’s a friendship.

Maybe it’s a partner.

Maybe it’s a version of yourself.

Whatever or whoever it is — if you’re grieving someone alive, I see you.

You are not weak for missing them.

You are not foolish for remembering the good times.

And you are not less spiritual because you’re struggling to make peace with the space they left behind.

This grief is real.

And this grief deserves to be honored, too.

Lord, help us mourn well — even the losses that don’t come with funerals.