Navigating Grief: Gentle Ways to Honor the Hard Days
Every year, as the anniversary of my son’s passing approaches, I revisit the space that grief has carved into my life. Over the last two decades, I’ve learned how to care for myself during these tender times. Grief never disappears—but it changes, and so do we. This post is my offering: a collection of practices, reflections, and truths that have helped me move through grief, especially around anniversaries and hard days. I hope they bring comfort, and help you feel a little more seen.
Navigating Grief: What I’ve Learned
Every year, my son’s death anniversary comes around.
It never gets easier, but over the past two decades, I’ve found ways to soften the edges. I’ve learned how to honor my grief, tend to my heart, and make space for whatever arises.
Every loss is different. Every relationship is unique. But if you’re in the throes of grief—or supporting someone who is—maybe something I share here will help you feel seen, supported, and a little less alone.
Honoring the Day
As the anniversary nears, I clear my schedule where I can. Some people like to stay busy—I used to as well. But there’s a fine line between being engaged and avoiding or dissociating through productivity.
If I make plans, they’re gentle: a hike, a massage, or something recreational without pressure. Mostly, I keep my day open. I’ve learned I’m best when I’m alone, especially in nature. I let the day take me where it will.
Sometimes that means turning my phone off or heading into the mountains where there’s no service.
Rituals That Help Me
When grief hits hard, I write a letter to my son. Sometimes I burn it. Sometimes I pray.
When I pray, I say:
“Highest Realm and Highest Light, hear my voice and beckon my call. I call my angels, guides, and ancestors. Grandmothers, Grandfathers, be with me. Posterity—Jonah.”
Sometimes I cry in the car while watching the trees. Other times I watch a favorite comedy just to keep the tears at bay. It changes, and I let it.
Communicating with Others
It’s important to be honest with friends and family about where I’m at.
Sometimes I say:
“I can’t process this right now,”
or
“I’m not up for a phone call.”
That’s not cold or rude—it’s self-care. I’m naturally introverted, and sometimes talking drains me more than it helps.
Earlier today I texted my husband:
“Therapy brought up a lot today. It’s been emotional.”
He doesn’t need to fix it. I don’t want to talk it through. I just need him to know where I’m at.
I also texted:
“Dinner at Jinya?”
Translation: I’m not cooking tonight.
That’s okay too.
Get Support
If you can, see a therapist. Even just for monthly check-ins. A licensed professional brings insight and tools that are invaluable. Think of it like hiring a guide on a mountain—you’re still doing the climbing, but they can help you navigate the terrain.
And please: try to take advice only from people who have actually been through grief. If someone hasn’t lost someone close, they often mean well—but they simply don’t understand the depth or nuance.
Creative and Healing Outlets
I journal. I blog. I write things I don’t always publish. It helps move the emotions out of me and onto the page.
Sometimes I talk to ChatGPT—yes, even this. When the nights get dark and the thoughts are heavy, just writing somewhere can help.
I’ve also leaned into creativity and service. For years, I volunteered with stage four cancer patients. It helped me shift the weight of my own pain and channel it into purpose.
Creativity is powerful medicine—painting, writing, gardening, building, moving furniture. Even something like organizing a drawer can be a form of sacred movement.
Letting the Grief Be What It Is
Some years I can look at old photos. Some years I can’t. Sometimes it brings comfort, sometimes pain. Either way, I try to honor what I feel.
You can write happy memories of your loved one, or acknowledge the lessons they brought into your life. And you can also be honest if the relationship was complicated.
Grief isn’t tidy.
Boundaries Are Love, Too
It’s okay to hold boundaries.
You can say:
“I’m not open to talking about this right now,”
or
“I’m reprocessing a lot and need some space.”
You don’t have to explain or justify your grief to anyone. It is sacred, and it is yours.
A Final Word
Grief is personal. No one can fix it or walk it for you—but you don’t have to walk it alone.
If you’re in the middle of it right now, my heart is with you. I honor you, wherever you are on your path. Trust that, in time, you will find your own peace, your own rhythm, your own way forward.
You are not broken.
You are grieving.
And you are not alone.
If this touched your heart or you know someone who may need to read it, please feel free to share. And if you're walking through your own season of loss, I see you. You're not alone.
See more of my blog posts here:
How to Support Someone in Grief
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