I have a memory of/with her

There is a fundamental difference that sets grief apart from all other forms of pain. In almost every pain that does not involve mourning due to death, a person has the desire to “get over it” and move on with life. They do everything in their power to free themselves from the burden of pain and trauma and to hold on to life again as soon as possible. They struggle for this, and this struggle is quite complex. However, in grief caused by death, even the relief of that pain is something that frightens a person. They see the diminishing of their pain as a sign that their love for the lost person is also fading. And this is truly terrifying. What is frightening is the idea that as their pain for the deceased lessens, their voice and memories of them will also disappear. This is why they become, so to speak, distant with anyone who tries to take their grief away. They distance themselves from anyone who says or dares to say things like “Pull yourself together,” “You need to be okay,” “Don’t let others see you sad,” or “You must move on.” They cling to their grief as if they have adopted it and never want to let it go. This is why grief is equal to love, equal to memory. Grief is the search for a new way to express love. The most complex part of this search is the fear that, while looking for a new way, the only thing they have left—their memories and the voice of their loved one—might fade from their mind. This is why hoarding is a part of grief. Every object, every piece of shared experience related to that person gains meaning. The urgency to wrap those moments and belongings in silk handkerchiefs stems from this. The desire to cherish and attribute value to all the people their loved one cared about is also a part of this fear. For this reason, the list of things that should never be said to a grieving person is extensive. “Move on” cannot be said. “Forget” cannot be said. “Don’t be sad” cannot be said. “Continue with your life” cannot be said. If anything should be said, it is this: "I have a memory of/with them. Would you like to hear it?

Grief and Our Brain

When you feel thirsty or crave food, you instinctively go to the fridge or pick up your phone to order something. Even in the middle of the night, in the dark, you know exactly where to go because your brain has mapped these routines through experience. This "map" exists in your hippocampus, the part of your brain responsible for creating a virtual layout of your world. Similarly, if you have a significant person in your life, they are also mapped in your hippocampus, connected to specific needs and routines. You instinctively reach out to this person just as you would navigate to familiar physical resources. However, when you lose someone—whether through death or the end of a relationship—that map doesn't update immediately. Your brain still searches for them in the places and ways it once found them. For example, if you were accustomed to greeting a loved one at the door, you might still find yourself standing there days or even weeks later, hoping to see them. I've worked with clients who texted or attempted to call a deceased parent or partner the day after their death. These actions are completely normal and reflect how your brain is trying to adjust to the profound change. Accepting that your loved one can no longer be found in their physical form is one of the most challenging realizations for the brain to process. However, as you come to acknowledge this reality, you can begin to understand that while they are no longer here physically, they can still exist in your non-physical world—in memories, dreams, and the stories you tell. This balance between the pain of loss and the gratitude for their enduring presence can help ease the intensity of your grief over time. Maintaining a deep connection with those we've lost is possible through new, meaningful ways. We learn to express love differently, shifting from physical interactions to emotional and spiritual connections. This process often feels dissociative, as your brain momentarily detaches from the present moment, especially when trying to engage with daily life or others. This response is a natural part of grief, and with time and support, your brain can adapt to this new reality while keeping the bond with your loved one alive in meaningful ways. Resources O'Connor, M-F. (2023). The grieving brain. HarperOne Marich, J. (2023). Dissociation made simple. North Atlantic Books

Guilt and Unexpected Loss

In moments of unexpected loss, it’s not uncommon for us to believe we bear some responsibility for the tragedy. The loss of a loved one can leave us grappling with relentless thoughts that feel entirely beyond our control, as if they will never cease. If only I hadn’t left them alone that night… If only I had called them that day… But why do these guilt-ridden thoughts arise? And why is it that, even when we can objectively see that the grieving individual had no control over the event, they struggle to see it themselves? The answer, though seemingly simple, reveals a deeper truth. First, guilt is often a more bearable emotion than confronting the stark finality of loss—the reality that the person is gone and will not return. Guilt, though painful, allows us to feel as though we are still emotionally connected to the event. Second, guilt creates an illusion of control. Even if our imagined responsibility is unfounded or based on failed attempts to change the outcome, the sense of control brings comfort. It reassures us that life isn’t entirely unpredictable, and this reassurance—however fleeting—feels preferable to accepting life’s randomness. Ultimately, as humans, we seek the predictability of a controlled life, even when the outcomes are painful, over the chaos of an unpredictable existence. —Inspired by The Grieving Brain by Mary-Frances O’Connor

Grief is a journey of finding new ways to express love, accompanied by a mix of fear that our connection and love to the person may fade.

“Each person’s grief is like all people’s grief;

each person’s grief is like some other person’s grief;

and each person’s grief is like no other person’s grief.”

(Worden, 2009, p. 8)