“Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”
— Vicki Harrison

The last few weeks have changed me in ways I’m only just beginning to understand. In the space of just three weeks, I experienced two profound losses — the death of my beloved soul cat, Bailey, and the unexpected loss of my older brother. One companion who curled up beside me through life’s quieter moments, and one whose presence shaped my childhood and identity. Both irreplaceable. Both were gone within days of each other.

Grieving one loss is hard. Navigating two while trying to keep life moving forward has been, at times, overwhelming. The world doesn’t pause, but the heart often does. Time slows in strange ways. I’ve found myself needing to move gently, listen deeply to my needs, and honour how fragile and sacred this process feels. Self-care hasn’t just been important — it’s been essential.
As I slowly re-engage with life and work, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to carry grief while continuing to show up.

 

Grief doesn’t clock out when life resumes

Grief doesn’t end when the funeral is over, or when those around us assume we’re “doing better.” It doesn’t quietly stay behind when we return to work, run errands, or pick up where life left off. Grief travels with us — quietly, heavily, invisibly. For many, returning to “normal” life after a profound loss — whether of a human or an animal companion — can feel like slipping into clothes that no longer fit. On the outside, you may seem composed, engaged, even “strong.” You might smile and say you’re “okay” because explaining the ache is too hard. People expect the old you to return, to keep pace, to perform. Yet the person who shows up isn’t quite the same.

What others might notice — and what they might miss
From the outside, grief can look subtle or invisible. You show up to meetings, hold conversations, and meet deadlines. You may appear functional. People might assume you’ve moved on. But what’s visible is only a glimpse of the whole experience.

What’s happening inside
Inside, grief often feels like walking through dense fog. It comes in unpredictable waves — sadness, numbness, guilt, confusion — sometimes all in the same day. Tears may surface suddenly, exhaustion creeps in early, and even simple tasks feel monumental. Your nervous system is on high alert, even when you’re still.
Grief reshapes us internally — it reorders priorities, breaks routines, and challenges who we thought we were. And while society often acknowledges human loss, grief for animal companions is too often overlooked. But the bonds we share with pets are just as deep, just as sacred. Love is love. Loss is loss.

Carrying grief while moving forward
To grieve while continuing with life is a deeply human, often lonely, experience. It’s an act of quiet resilience: being present, sometimes smiling, sometimes just holding on, all while carrying a heart that feels fractured. Grief doesn’t need fixing. It needs listening, recognition, and space. Whether you’re mourning a person or a beloved pet, your feelings are valid. You’re allowed to feel the tears, the numbness, the longing, the anger, the confusion — and even moments of peace.
If you’ve returned to life after loss, know this: the strength it takes to keep going is immense. And if you live or work alongside someone who is grieving, please be gentle. Ask how they are, even weeks or months later. Offer space without pressure for them to “get over it.”

Grief becomes a companion, not a burden
Grief doesn’t disappear just because the world moves on. It becomes something we learn to carry as we rebuild life around it. In time, with kindness and care, grief softens — but it always deserves room to breathe.

If you’re navigating grief — whether from the loss of a person or an animal — you are not alone. Your pain is real. Healing isn’t linear, and there’s no “right” timeline.

The invisible work of carrying on
Returning to life while grieving requires deep courage. It’s finding your footing on unsteady ground. Some days feel manageable, others can knock the breath from your lungs. Yet expectations to return to routine and productivity remain relentless.

Remember: grief does not have to be hidden to be respected. It deserves gentleness, compassion, and time. If you are grieving and still showing up — however you do it — you are incredibly brave. You are not broken. You are profoundly human.
And if someone close to you is grieving, please remember: their presence doesn’t mean their heart has healed. Speak softly. Be patient. Offer kindness.

Grief changes us — and teaches us love
In my grief, I’m reminded how precious love is — and how deep the ache when it’s lost. Grief reflects love, and continuing to hold those we’ve lost in our hearts is part of healing. Whether you are grieving a person or a pet, your grief matters. You don’t need to rush your healing to comfort others. Take care. Move gently.

Honour your process.
And above all, even in grief, you are not alone.