I once read something about death that stayed with me. I can’t remember the entire poem or reading, but I remember the idea behind it.

It said that when someone dies, it is almost as though they have simply moved into another room.

They are still there. Their love is still there. Their energy, their memories and everything they brought into your life are still there.

You just can’t see them anymore.

Today, I was scrolling through my phone when I came across a photograph of my family.

Two of the people in that photograph have recently passed away.

And suddenly, everything I had perhaps been carrying quietly came rushing back.

The emotions filled my entire body. The memories. The love. The sadness. The gratitude. The realisation of just how much has changed.

And, of course, the tears came.

They say tears are cleansing, and today I believe they were.

I sat looking at that photograph and thought about how much these two people contributed to my life. How incredibly beautiful they were. How deeply they shaped me.

I literally grew up with them.

From the time I was born, I don’t think there was ever a period where I went more than a week without seeing either of them. We saw each other every week. They were simply part of my life.

They were part of my normal.

And then, as an adult, I lost them both within the space of about a year.

Sometimes I have these moments where I stop and realise just how much has changed in this world without them in it.

The strange thing about grief is that the world doesn’t stop with you.

The sun still rises.
People still go to work.
Bills still need to be paid.
Children still need to be collected.
Birthdays still come around.
People laugh, make plans, complain about traffic and carry on with their lives.
And you understand that they have to.

But sometimes you wish the world would just pause for a moment because your world has changed so dramatically.

Death is not an easy process.
And unfortunately, it is something every one of us will eventually face.
But perhaps grief isn’t about learning to let go of someone completely.
Perhaps it is about learning to carry them differently.
Because the people we love don’t simply disappear from our lives when they die.

They live in the stories we tell.
In the things they taught us.
In the little habits we picked up from them.
In the recipes, sayings and mannerisms we remember.
In the photographs we find unexpectedly on our phones.
In the places that suddenly remind us of them.
And sometimes, in the conversations we still have with them.

I still speak to mine.
I ask them for guidance.
I talk to my aunt sometimes and, yes, I have even asked her where my car keys are.
I speak to my gran too. I ask her if she’s okay. I tell her things. Sometimes I just talk.

Perhaps that sounds a little out of the ordinary to some people.
But I don’t think grief has rules.

And if speaking to someone you have lost brings you comfort, who is anyone else to judge that?

Maybe it’s spiritual.
Maybe it’s emotional.
Maybe it’s simply our minds finding a way to keep a relationship that meant so much alive.

Whatever it is, it helps me.

And today, looking at that photograph, I felt something I hadn’t perhaps allowed myself to feel fully for a while.

I felt them.
Not physically.
But in the memories.
In the love.
In the ache.
In everything they left behind in me.
Maybe that is what that beautiful reading was trying to say all those years ago.
Maybe they really have just moved into another room.
And maybe sometimes, when the world gets quiet enough, we can still feel that they are there.

So, to anyone reading this who is grieving someone they love:
It’s okay.
It’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to laugh when you remember something funny.
It’s okay to miss them years later.
It’s okay to speak to them.
It’s okay to have days where you feel completely fine and days where one photograph can bring the entire weight of your loss crashing back down.
It’s okay to grieve in whatever way helps you survive the absence of someone who once felt so present.
You don’t “get over” losing someone you love.
You learn to live a little differently.
And perhaps, in time, you realise that the love doesn’t disappear.
It simply changes shape.

To anyone going through life, death, grief, loss and everything in between, be gentle with yourself.

Feel the things you feel.
Speak to the people you miss if that brings you comfort.
Remember them.
Tell their stories.
Look at the photographs.
Cry when you need to.
Laugh when you can.
And carry the beautiful pieces of them with you.
Because sometimes the people we lose leave behind a little piece of themselves inside us.
And perhaps that is how they continue to live.

May you all be safe.
May you feel loved.
And may you be blessed on the days that feel a little harder than the others.

Until we meet again, in whatever room that may be.