Grief Has No Manual

I came across a post on Instagram the other day that broke my heart.

A girl had just lost her best friend. She wrote that she couldn’t believe it - how much he meant to her, how he was her everything. She even mentioned trying to call him several times on WhatsApp, but the status never changed from “calling” to “ringing.”

That tiny detail shattered her even more. It made the loss feel so real.

Her words hit me like a truck, because that’s the thing about grief: it feels unreal.

Your brain knows they’re gone, but your heart keeps waiting for a text, a call, a knock on the door, or even for them to jump out and say, “Relax, it was just a prank.”

I know that feeling all too well.

My dad died when I was five.
At that age, I couldn’t fully grasp what it meant. I knew people were sad. I knew something huge had happened. I knew my dad was gone, but I didn’t understand the depth of it.

So, I just kept living like a child. No long nights of crying. No heavy emotions. None of the “grieving” people expect. Just silence.

But here’s the plot twist: grief waited for me.
It didn’t show up the day my dad died, it came years later, in university. Suddenly, I started feeling his absence in ways I couldn’t ignore.

In lectures I wished he could see me ace.
In everyday moments when I just needed a dad’s advice… and presence!

Then came one Remembrance Day that broke me completely. I cried so hard I thought my chest would split.

That was when I finally realized I hadn’t been fine all along - I had just been delaying grief.

People often talk about the “five stages of grief”:

• Denial – This can’t be real. Maybe they’ll walk through the door.

• Anger – Why them? Why now? Life is so unfair.

• Bargaining – God, if you just undo this, I’ll do better, I promise.

• Depression – The heavy days. The tears. The emptiness.

• Acceptance – Realizing they’re gone… yet still carrying them in your heart.

Sounds tidy, right? But in real life, grief isn’t a straight line. It’s messy.
You don’t move smoothly from one stage to the next like it’s Candy Crush.

Sometimes you’re laughing in acceptance today and back in anger tomorrow.
Sometimes you skip a stage entirely.
Sometimes you pitch your tent in one stage for years.

And honestly? That’s still okay.

You’re not just missing who they were, you’re also grieving everything they were supposed to be in your life, like the graduations they should have cheered you on at, the birthdays they would have celebrated with you, and even the random gist sessions that should have lasted a lifetime.

You mourn the person, but what cuts deeper is that double loss of also mourning the future you imagined with them.

Grief looks different on everyone. Some people cry every day, some avoid the topic completely, some post heartfelt tributes online, while others can’t even say their loved one’s name.
Some joke about it (dark humor gang, hi 👋🏽).
Some seem to move on quickly; others never really do.

And guess what? None of it is wrong because grief is simply love with nowhere to go.

So, if you’re grieving, don’t compare your journey to anyone else’s.
Don’t feel bad if it’s been 10 years and you still cry sometimes.
Don’t feel guilty if you barely cry at all.
And don’t think you have to “be strong” when, deep down, you’re breaking.

It’s been almost 20 years since I lost my dad, and I still cry when I miss him. That doesn’t make me weak, it means I still love him deeply.

Grief takes time. And sometimes, it takes you by surprise.
One random song, one old photo, one memory, and suddenly, you’re right back in that moment, feeling everything all over again.

But here’s the hope: grief changes.
It doesn’t disappear, it shifts.
Over time, the pain starts making room for memories, for laughter, for joy again.

Healing isn’t about forgetting, it’s about learning to carry the love with you, even in their absence.

Because grief never really ends.
But then again, neither does love. 

 

…TheSweetLilian💜