Grief Never Gives Up

On the moments when it still doesn’t feel real

Sometimes my mind slips.

I’ll be driving, folding laundry, scrolling my phone — and for a second, I forget that James is gone. It’s been almost four years, but sometimes it still hits like the first day:

I have a husband who died.

Grief does that. It doesn’t leave. It just changes shape.

When Reality Feels Like a Sudden Crash

There are days when I can talk about James with calm acceptance.

And then there are days when a song, a smell, or the way the light hits a certain corner of the house brings everything back: the hospital rooms, the fear, the silence afterward.

It’s not always sadness that catches me off guard. Sometimes it’s disbelief.

How could something so normal —our morning coffee, our plans, our routines — just stop existing?

The Strange Longevity of Grief

People assume grief has an expiration date.

It doesn’t. It just gets quieter.

It becomes part of your wiring; a soft echo in the background of everything you do. Even when life looks “normal” again, grief is still there, tapping your shoulder just to remind you: This happened. You survived it.

And honestly? Sometimes that reminder feels like too much.

The Universal Part

You don’t have to have lost a spouse to understand this feeling.

Maybe your “James” was a parent, a friend, a relationship, or even a version of yourself you had to bury.

Loss is loss. It changes the way you move through the world.

And just when you think you’ve outgrown it, grief shows up again, not to ruin you, but to remind you how much you once loved, how deeply you once lived.

The Flashback Moments

Grief doesn’t always look like crying.

Sometimes it’s zoning out in the grocery store because you picked up their favorite cereal.

Sometimes it’s laughing with friends and suddenly realizing there’s one person who will never hear your story.

Sometimes it’s just that quiet, heavy sentence floating through your mind: I can’t believe this is real.

It’s like trauma and love take turns steering your memories.

Learning to Coexist With the Ache

Here’s what I’ve realized:

Grief isn’t the enemy. It’s the proof.

It’s the reminder that we got to experience something worth missing.

So when it creeps back in, when it whispers “remember?”, I try not to fight it.

I let it sit beside me, because that’s where James still lives: in the remembering.

The Takeaway

If you’re still floored by your own story sometimes. That’s okay.

It doesn’t mean you’re broken.

It means you’ve lived through something the mind can’t fully comprehend, and you’re still finding ways to carry it.

Grief never gives up, but neither do we.