Grief is a Constant Companion

What do I know about grief?

For one, I understand that none of us escapes this life without it. Grief is a part of the human condition, it is non-negotiable, inevitable. I’ve experienced basic grief in its more familiar forms: the loss of a family member, the pain of betrayal, the quiet end of a relationship. And while those moments hurt, I was fortunate to heal and move forward. Many of us carry these everyday losses as part of our story.

But then, there is the grief that is relentless. Grief that doesn’t pass but becomes a constant companion, woven into the fabric of everyday life. Some people carry that kind of loss with astonishing grace and strength, and their stories stay with us.

A high school friend recently posted something that tugged at my heart and hasn’t let go. With her permission, I’m sharing her words here. Her journey with deep, life-altering grief is also a reflection of the deep love she continues to carry in her heart.

Grief is Like Glitter

It’s been 1.5 years ago today we lost Fred. Not a day goes by that he’s not talked about or the sadness has improved. Yes we are living life but a different life. Our lives all changed on 1/5/24 and will never be the same. Our hearts went a little dimmer that day. My friend shared this with me and I thought it was perfect. .

Someone said grief is like glitter. It clings to everything.

Hides in corners. Slips into your socks. Appears on your fingertips when you’re reaching for a glass of water, or brushing your hair before bed. It settles in places no one else can see. And sometimes, it sparkles. Sometimes, it doesn’t.

And I think that’s true—not because it makes grief prettier, but because it makes it stubborn. Grief does not knock politely and leave when you ask. It spills. It stains. It stays.

People imagine grief as a clean wound: blood, bandage, better. But really, it’s a messy room you can’t fully clean. A scent that lingers even after all the windows are opened. A sound you keep hearing long after the music stops.

Some people lose things they love-books, cities, voices, future plans-and keep walking as if nothing happened.

Others crumble at the touch of a sweater sleeve or the sound of a name. There’s no proper timeline for learning how to live with what you miss. Some days you’ll do it gracefully.

Other days, you’ll choke on it. That’s still living.

And maybe that’s the kindest thing about grief: it’s evidence that something mattered That someone left fingerprints on your heart so brightly, the light still catches on them That you lived a moment so fully, its echo still finds its way back into your lungs.

So if it hurts, maybe that’s okay. If it glitters in the dark and you cry when no one is looking, maybe that’s okay too. You are not weak for remembering. You are not broken for carrying pieces of people with you. That’s what makes you real. That’s what makes you capable of love. And love, in all its forms, is the reason we ever grieve at all.

Paige

Grief is like glitter. You can throw a handful of glitter up in the air, but when you try to clean it up… you never get it all. Even long after the event, you will still find glitter tucked into corners… it will always be there. Somewhere. — by Kevin Pádraig.

The quote referenced in Paige’s was written by Keven Pádraig:

Love

Without love there would be no grief. But I do not believe anyone would choose to forgo love just to avoid the pain of losing it. Love is brave. It requires vulnerability. It asks us to risk and to open ourselves up and share the truest part of who we are.

To shut ourselves off from love is to refuse to fully live.

Paige’s words remind me that love and grief are not opposites, but partners. The depth of her grief is a mirror of the depth of her love for Fred. And in sharing her story, she reminds the rest of us to hold tight to the people we love, to honor the moments that matter, and to let the noise of everyday distractions fall away.

She honors him every day by living a life that still sparkles with memory, even if it’s sometimes through tears. Her strength and honesty are reminders that our time here is previous. That love is the most enduring thing we leave behind, and perhaps the only thing that truly matters.

Grief, then, isn’t just the shadow of love. It is its witness. It’s echo. Its proof.

It tells us we were brave enough to love deeply and lucky enough to have someone worth grieving.

So take a moment to think about who or what matters most to you. What would you miss if it were suddenly gone? Who would leave fingerprints on your heart? Don’t wait for grief to teach you how to cherish something. Say the words. Make the call. Sit a little longer. Listen more closely. Love more openly. Because life is fragile, and love, for all its risks, is still the most beautiful thing we’re given.