Dear Grief
A Heartfelt Conversation with Loss
In group therapy last week, an interesting concept came up: when developing a relationship with Self, we often have to grieve the loss of our former paradigms. We grieve what was lost during our past experiences to make space for the feelings we want to embrace. For example, we grieve unworthiness, innocence, abandonment, abuse, and fear so that we can fully embrace love, worthiness, and curiosity.
Grief has always mystified me. It felt untouchable, as if it could only choose us and never the other way around. I once believed grief only emerged with the death of a loved one. Little did I know that grief runs much deeper than the simplistic versions taught in many Western cultures. I've learned two crucial lessons:
Grief holds the beauty of a soul that has known love
Grief appears in all aspects of the human experience.
Today’s entry is a letter to my grief:
Dear Grief,
You are an enigma. I was taught that God never intended for humanity to experience you, much less endure the pain you bring. God put eternity in our hearts, and yet our time on this earth is but a fraction compared to the eons that stretch behind and ahead of us. My dream is peace. My dream is joy. But how can I reach for them when you steal the very breath from my heart as the heart of my loved one sings its last song?
And so, here I am. Here we all are. 2019 took many, including one of the dearest souls I’ve ever known—my uncle. My father figure. My voice in the darkness. He held my hand, stroked my hair, and assured me that my best was good enough. Not just because he said so, but because he believed in the goodness ordained within each of us. I grieve not only his physical absence but also the love and tenderness he left behind. I miss you, Uncle. You made sense. You anchored us like a dinghy in a Pacific typhoon—no matter how wild the storm, you kept us upright—determined to sail on.
Grief, you are odd and revolting. How can I feel so much, yet be left feeling so empty? Loss. Loss of family. Loss of connection. Loss of self, trust, and the desire to fight. The willingness to try, to keep my head above water in a world that feels like drowning.
But, grief, you paradoxical force, why did you also open my eyes to beauty? How did that happen? How did letting you in—allowing the tears, the anger, the betrayal—lead me to peace? You are an odd thing. I was told to embrace you, and I did. You scorched me to the core of my being. But from that fire, a light emerged, purer than any I’d ever seen. Her name is Hope. And close behind her came her sister, Love.
Your scalding touch left me with Hope and Love. Together, they guide me. I am still worthy. My heart still beats. And my journey continues.
But grief, you don't stop there, do you? You’re not bound by death alone. You show up in all the moments of loss, big and small—when friendships drift apart, when dreams go unfulfilled, when life takes an unexpected turn. You appear when a part of myself fades away, when I let go of my former identity, or when I realize a version of my life I once imagined will never come to be. You are there when I mourn the innocence of childhood, the certainty I once had, the time lost to fear and doubt. In every goodbye, in every failed expectation, you stand quietly in the background, waiting to be acknowledged.
You are woven into every aspect of the human experience. Not only in death but in the living moments—times when life doesn't unfold the way we had hoped. And yet, you have a strange way of making space for something new in the ashes of what is gone.
So, grief, I know we’ll never truly say goodbye. Human lives aren’t forever. Pain will return in different forms. Life, as we know, is full of unwelcome surprises. But when we meet again—and again—I will look at you with curiosity, as a chance to burn away the weight of things that don’t matter: materialism, popularity, people-pleasing. Continue to teach me, but I ask, please… be gentle with me.
Much Love,
Jae
Reflection
How has grief shown up in unexpected areas of your life, and what has it taught you about yourself?
What is something you've had to grieve in order to embrace a more loving, hopeful version of yourself?
If you were to write a letter to your own grief, what would you say?