The Grief of Changing Connections

 

Anniversaries have a way of arriving quietly and then suddenly filling the room.

The anniversary of my mom’s death doesn’t always come with fresh tears or sharp pain. Sometimes it arrives as a soft ache. Other times, as gratitude. And sometimes, as a strange mix of both—love and loss holding hands in ways they never did before.

This is one of the lesser-talked-about truths of grief:
Grief doesn’t only come from loss. It also comes from changed connections.

When someone we love dies, the relationship doesn’t disappear—it transforms. The way we relate, remember, talk to, and carry that person changes. And that change itself is something we grieve.

Many of us were taught—directly or indirectly—that grief has a timeline. That “doing well” means moving on, being strong, or finding closure.

But grief doesn’t ask to be solved.
It asks to be tended.

Grieving well doesn’t mean the pain goes away. It means we allow grief to have its proper place without letting it harden us, rush us, or isolate us.

Grieving well might look like:

·       Letting an anniversary be tender instead of productive

·       Allowing joy and sadness to coexist without explanation

·       Remembering without collapsing—or numbing out

·       Noticing how the relationship continues, just differently

When my mom died, I didn’t just grieve her absence. I grieved:

·       The conversations we would never have

·       The advice I still wish I could ask for

·       The version of myself who was her daughter in the everyday sense

And over time, I noticed something else emerging:
A quieter, internal connection. A presence that shows up in memories, values, phrases she used, and the ways I now mother, care, and love.

That evolution is both beautiful and painful.

Grief often lives in this tension:

I am grateful for what was.
I am grieving what no longer is.

Both can be true. Neither cancels the other.

Grief is one of the most profound life transitions we experience.

It reshapes identity, roles, rhythms, and relationships. It changes how we understand time, meaning, and love. And unlike many transitions, there is no clear “after.” Grief becomes something we learn to live with, not something we leave behind.

In coaching, I often remind clients:
Grief doesn’t mean you’re stuck.
It means you’re human—and deeply connected.

If you are marking an anniversary, carrying a quiet loss, or noticing a relationship that has changed through death, distance, or circumstance, I invite you to pause.

Ask yourself gently:

·       What am I grieving right now—not just who or what I lost, but how the connection has changed?

·       What does “grieving well” look like for me in this season—not compared to anyone else?

·       Where might I allow softness instead of self-judgment today?

Grief doesn’t need fixing.
It needs space.
It needs compassion.
It needs permission to be exactly what it is.

And sometimes, grieving well simply means honoring love—still present, still shaping us—even as it takes a new form.

You are not doing it wrong.
You are learning how to carry love forward.

And that is holy, brave work.