A Walk Through Grief

Grief is something we all experience, yet it remains deeply personal. It shapes us in ways that words often fail to capture.

In my own life, grief has been an undeniable part of my journey, especially after losing my mother in 2016. We knew the inevitable was coming, but no matter how much we prepared, when it arrived, it wasn’t welcome. It is through this lens of personal experience that I want to share my own walk through grief, a journey that is complex, raw, and deeply transformative.

When Loss Feels Beyond Comprehension

In writing this piece over the past few days, I have been remembering my mother, who would have been 86 this year. In that same period, my wife shared a heartbreaking Sky News article with me, about a family in Margate, Kent, who lost their four-year-old son. He had just been visiting his grandmother in hospital; upon leaving, he was struck by a bus. A young life, barely begun, stolen in an instant.

My heart aches for this family, for the suddenness, the shock, the cruel theft of future memories. Grief at such a loss is not just pain; it is devastation. For the parents, the siblings, the grandparents, nothing will ever be the same. Death has robbed them of joy they had yet to live.

The truth is, even when we know someone is going to leave us, it’s still never really “real” until it happens. My mother had been sick for some time, and we had all prepared ourselves for the inevitable. But the moment her breath left her body, her head on my right shoulder with my arm around her, sitting right beside me on the her bed in the room she slept-in when she visits my home, it felt like the world tilted on its axis. I wasn’t ready. The expectation didn’t soften the blow.

At that moment, I felt a deep stillness, a coldness that seemed to numb the air around me. In those final moments, I could feel my heart racing, my mind scrambling to comprehend what was happening. And yet, at the same time, there was a strange calmness. It was as though my body knew it was time to let go, but my mind hadn’t yet caught up with reality. I was holding her, and then... I wasn’t.

Grief, in this moment, was not just an emotional reaction. It was physical. It felt like an empty space had been carved out of my chest. There was a gaping hole that nothing could fill, and I couldn’t understand how life would continue without her.

The Weight of Silence & My Own Valley of Loss

In the days following my mother's passing, I found myself navigating through a fog. The noise of life continued around me, the hum of daily routines, the tick of the clock, but everything felt muted. Grief isn’t loud. It doesn’t scream; it sits quietly, waiting for you to recognise it.

I remember feeling a deep sense of isolation, despite the presence of family and friends. They tried to comfort me, but the words felt hollow. People say things like "she’s in a better place," or "time will heal all wounds," but grief doesn’t respond to those kinds of words. It requires something deeper. It’s not just about waiting for time to pass. Grief demands acknowledgment. It demands space to breathe and be understood.

In the book On Grief and Grieving, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler speak about the stages of grief, but they also emphasise that these stages aren’t linear. Sometimes, it feels like you’re moving forward, and other times, you’re swallowed whole by the grief again. In my case, it wasn’t the neat progression of emotions that they described. It was messy. It was all-encompassing.

The Day I Held Her for the Last Time

When her final moments came, I remember desperately urging the paramedics to keep trying, my tears falling in torrents, my voice breaking in screams, clinging to the hope that this wasn’t real. Please, not yet… The room felt heavy, time slowed, and then, almost like a breath on my soul, I heard an unshakable whisper:

"It’s okay now. She is gone, but you are not alone. Remember the words she spoke before her last breath."

And I did remember. Her voice echoed in my mind, carrying the strength of Scripture: "For by thee I have run through a troop; and by my God have I leaped over a wall." (Psalm 18:29).

In that moment, grief and comfort intertwined, her absence undeniable, yet her faith, and the God she trusted, still present with me.

The Loneliness of Grief

One of the most challenging aspects of grief is the loneliness that comes with it. Despite being surrounded by loved ones, there are moments where you feel utterly alone in your pain. No one can truly understand what you’re going through, and that's something you come to accept.

In those early weeks, I spent a lot of time reflecting on my relationship with my mother. I would replay our conversations, our jokes, the advice she gave me, everything seemed to flood back at once. But then, I would remember she wasn’t there anymore. And it felt like the world had lost its colour.

A key insight I’ve gained through grief is that it’s okay to feel lonely in this process. Grief is deeply personal, and each person processes it in their own way. The work of grief isn’t about finding a quick way out because it holds no schedule for you and I, it’s about walking through it, one moment at a time.

The Healing Journey

While grief can feel suffocating, there is a strange form of healing that begins to emerge, though often in unexpected ways. Healing doesn’t come in the form of a sudden epiphany, but in small moments of grace. It might come in a memory that surfaces, a conversation with a friend, or even through a quiet moment of reflection.

In my own journey, I began to recognize that grief is not something you “get over,” but something you learn to live with. I have learned to integrate the loss into my life, acknowledging it as a part of who I am now. It isn’t about forgetting or moving on. It’s about carrying that memory forward with me, allowing it to shape who I am, but not letting it define me entirely.

Peter Levine, in Waking the Tiger, speaks about how trauma and grief manifest in the body. He explains that it is crucial to process grief not just intellectually but somatically, to allow our bodies to release the emotions that get trapped. I began to understand that it wasn’t just about talking through the pain; it was about giving my body the time and space to heal.

Finding Meaning in the Pain

Grief, for all its difficulty, also brings about a profound sense of meaning. It can help us reframe what truly matters in life. For me, losing my mother forced me to evaluate what is truly important: love, connection, presence, and forgiveness. It shifted my perspective on how I interact with others, how I choose to spend my time, and how I approach my own mortality.

The Bible offers comfort in these moments of loss. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 (KJV) reminds us: "Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God."

Through this passage, I found a deeper sense of comfort. Grief, while isolating, also opens the door for compassion. It allows us to connect with others in a way that we never could before. It teaches us the importance of walking alongside others in their pain, offering comfort, empathy, and love.

Moving Forward

As I continue my journey through grief, I realise that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means finding ways to move forward with the lessons learned and the love that remains. I still miss my mother every day, but her presence is woven into the fabric of my life. Her teachings, her laughter, her wisdom, they are all part of who I am now.

Grief is a process. It’s a journey of discovery, of pain, and of healing. It takes time, and there is no blueprint for how to grieve. Each path is unique. What matters most is that we allow ourselves the space to feel, to mourn, and to heal. And through it all, we must remember that in grief, there is also love, a love that, even in death, continues to shape our lives.

Conclusion

Grief is a walk we must take, whether we are ready or not. It is not something we can rush or avoid. But as we walk through it, we find ourselves transformed. In my own experience, grief has been both a burden and a gift. It has reshaped my life in ways that I never imagined, but in ways that have ultimately brought me closer to understanding the true depth of love, loss, and healing.