1. I Don’t Understand Time Anymore
Time stopped making sense after my partner Alex died. I’ve witnessed the sun set on the horizon day after day and the moon move through its phases each month. I’ve witnessed the seasons change and gathered to celebrate many New Year’s evenings. I know for a fact that time has passed, and yet, four years since Alex’s death feels like a lifetime and yesterday all at once. His death warped time. There are still a few days each year when his death feels so fresh that the slightest jolt—an image, a song, a word—could undo the stitches that hold my broken heart together.
2. I Live With the Awareness That Everything Can Change Instantly
I’m more aware than ever that life can change in the blink of an eye. Things can change without warning. Something unexpected can come our way at any time—good or bad. And that means that, although it’s good to plan for the future, I have to be flexible. Therefore, I only make flexible plans. I’m no longer rigid, set on following a plan to a tee no matter what. I now allow for the ebbs and flows of life, understanding that decisions I made in the past might no longer make sense. Life is an ocean with tides that I can’t control. So I better learn to surf the waves.
3. I No Longer Plan Beyond the Present Year
I don’t see anything beyond the current year. When Alex died, all I could handle was the hour ahead. The need for crisis management locked me in the “here and now.” Slowly, I could think about today and the next day. As I started to come out of shock and survival mode, I could see the rest of the month—sometimes two. And as time went by, I could see more and more of myself in the future. Now, I can see the current year—all of it. I can picture in my mind the different seasons and myself moving through them. But I don’t see anything beyond December 31. My mind goes blank, and if I push it, I feel a resistance. I can almost hear my mind saying, “I can’t show you what hasn’t been written yet.” Not being able to project far into the future used to bother me. It made me feel like grief and trauma had broken my brain. Now, I see it as a blessing. It keeps me closer to the present and reminds me not to worry about a future that doesn’t yet exist.
4. I No Longer Assume I’ll Live a Long Life
When someone asks me about the future, I chuckle. I don’t think I can answer questions like, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” anymore. The truth is, I don’t assume I’m going to live a long life—not after witnessing a young death. Every birthday that brings me closer to Alex’s age serves as a reminder that I’ve been gifted another precious year on this earth. And the things people expect me to address when they ask these questions—having X role at work, living in Y, being in a relationship for Z years—feel far less important now. In five years, all I can hope for is to still have the privilege of being alive and healthy, surrounded by people I love.
5. I Walk Alongside Death Now
I think about death a lot. Death is always by my side. But her intention is not to incite fear of losing what I love most overnight. She keeps me company to remind me that every moment is precious and can never be taken for granted; that every day I show up, I have chosen life over death; that this life is a gift—even on those days when it doesn’t feel like it; that death is part of life; and that one day, when my time is up, she will take my hand, and I will be reunited with the ones I lost.
If, like me, you think about death often but find it difficult to talk about with others, you’re not alone. Many people feel the weight of these thoughts without having a space to share them. My dear friend Angela Fama created a beautiful project for this very reason: Death Conversation Game. It’s a thoughtful, compassionate space for opening up dialogue about death—not as a morbid topic, but as a natural and meaningful part of life.
6. I Wonder What Trace I’ll Leave on This World
That brings me to something I think about often: what I want to leave behind in this world. How can I serve through my story, my writing, and my art? A friend once told me, “The ripples of your art will keep moving through time.” And hopefully, even after I’m gone.
7. I’ve Stopped Asking Why—Now I Focus on What’s Next
I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. Some things just happen. Some things are so horrible that I would never dare to tell the affected person they happened for a reason. And the chance to learn or grow from a horrible experience is not reason enough. The truth is, life is mysterious, and we don’t always know why certain things happen. My own experience forced me to let go of control—including the false sense that we can control much of what happens in our lives.
And that’s why I don’t care about the why anymore. Why did this happen? Why did it happen to me—or anyone? Yes, in some cases, there might be an opportunity to prevent a similar tragedy from happening again. But that’s not always the case. And being stuck asking a question with no answer can keep you from moving forward. Now, I don’t need to know why it happened. I care more about what happens after. What are you going to do now? How are you going to get up after being knocked down? How can you reclaim your power, even under circumstances you never chose?
8. I’ve Learned to Find Beauty in the Everyday
In the depths of grief, I had to learn to find beauty around me—wherever I was. I had to hold on to the little things that brought me joy. When you go through loss, or any other big tragedy, not all of us have the privilege to go on an Eat, Pray, Love journey—leaving behind a place filled with painful memories to explore fascinating countries in search of inspiration and healing with no financial limitations or worries. On the contrary, most of us have to deal with our pain in the context of our new reality, full of stressors and challenges. Learning to notice brief moments of beauty and joy in everyday life has been key to building my resilience.
9. I Committed More Deeply to What Nourishes My Soul
Navigating grief made me commit even harder to the things that kept me alive during the worst of it. For me, that was painting and writing. They offered a voice, a shelter, and a friend when I couldn’t stop screaming inside my body. And now that the worst is over, I still honor these practices and give them a central role in my life.
10. I Let Go More Easily
I’m more comfortable now with letting go. I was forced—over and over again—to let go of everything that mattered to me. I watched my partner die, then shortly after, our pet. I watched people take apart the home that we had just created. I had a health scare, lost savings and investments, and lost so many parts of myself as a result of dealing with the aftermath of Alex’s death. I no longer resist endings when I feel them coming. I view life as fluid, dynamic, ever changing, just like nature—with cycles of life and death, both physical and symbolic. People come in and out of your life. Some seasons you lose everything; others, you bloom and thrive.
11. I’m No Longer Afraid of Emotional Pain
Maybe I let go more easily because I’m not as afraid of emotional pain as I used to be. I have felt pain in ways I didn’t know were possible. And I witnessed pain in Alex like nothing I’d ever seen before. I have a different relationship with pain now. I understand that there’s a certain amount of pain in this life that’s inevitable—not all pain can be avoided, and not all pain is meant to be. I learned how to hold pain and grow my capacity to hold more of it, how to move through it. And now, I trust my capacity to heal, no matter what life throws my way.
Your Turn!
If you’ve experienced grief, how has it changed you?
What shifts—big or small—have shaped how you move through the world today?
I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Thank you for sharing this, I heavily relate to almost all of it. I wasn't expecting a lot of the positive ways grief would change me. In the early days I was terrified that I'd be jaded and sad and angry forever. But I've also found myself appreciating the small things more, living more flexibly, and letting things go more easily. It's still hard as hell, obviously. But experiencing death so closely does give you a glimpse behind the curtain, both for better and worse.