In June of 2024, my best friend died from leukemia. I thought it would take me days, months, or years to stop crying. Truth be told, I didn’t cry for three days after it happened. I was joking, laughing, sharing stories, and planning a funeral. I was too busy to be sad. I had his memory all around, and everyone else did too. I thought maybe it didn’t have to feel like I lost anything at all. I thought maybe, just maybe, my anticipatory grief had already taken all the grief from my body.
Obviously, that is not true. And that is totally valid. Grief for me comes in waves of crying, screaming, anger, depression, and just plain missing him. There are times that I feel I’d give anything to be with him again. There are days when I feel like everything I do without him is meaningless and a waste of time. My joys, my fears, my ups and downs, my achievements—they sometimes feel like nothing if he isn’t here to see them. I ask myself, is there a point to all of this if I am not sharing it? I am not alone, but it still feels lonely. Too lonely at times.
When I feel this way, I think of what he would say. He would tell me that I promised to live. To stay alive and not let myself get swept away in the waves of grief. To do all the things we talked about, not without him, but with his memory. To live, really live, and to honor the life I have here, the way he always made sure to do.
There are times after loss when we feel like we are betraying the people we have lost by living, by doing the things they can’t do anymore, by experiencing things that they should get to. And it is unfair. It is uncomfortable. It is not the way things should be.
But sometimes, things are wrong. It is completely OK to acknowledge these things. To get angry and shout about them. To cry in bed for an hour because you can’t bring yourself to do anything else. To hate the world for a minute, just a little bit. Or maybe a lot. But after that, I remember to live. To invite joy in. To love as hard as he did.
When my best friend died, I learned how to live. All of these years, I felt like I was mostly on autopilot. Like I had been existing without experiencing. Like I had always struggled to find my why, when the truth is, the answer is “just because.”
Because there is love.
Because there is light.
Because there is hope.
Because you deserve it.
While I was so riddled with grief, I learned to wipe the tears from my eyes and look around—because the world is still so beautiful, even if it feels darker without him. When he was still alive, I would say, “Life without you will be so much harder,” and he would say, “But it is still worth living.”
When I think of these reminders, they don’t feel easy. My grief doesn’t go away. I don’t stop missing him. I don’t stop feeling guilty. I don’t stop having these waves of heavy thoughts and feelings. I don’t stop grieving the loss I have experienced and am still going through today. But I keep going. I live the life I deserve. I see the better days that are coming. I hold on to the hope I have always had. I feel my grief, but I don’t let it consume me.
You are strong enough to heal from the heavy you carry. We encourage you to use TWLOHA’s FIND HELP Tool to locate professional help and to read more stories like this one here. If you reside outside of the US, please browse our growing International Resources database. You can also text TWLOHA to 741741 to be connected for free, 24/7 to a trained Crisis Text Line counselor. If it’s encouragement or a listening ear that you need, email our team at [email protected].