Where Grief Leads Us
“Grief has a strange way of clearing the fog. It asks what you want your next years to look like, who you want beside you, what kind of person you are becoming.”
Some seasons arrive without asking permission. They show up quietly at first — then all at once, like the moment you realize someone you love is slipping away from this world.
These past few weeks have brought me back to the edges of those old feelings. I’ve been moving between loss and reflection, between the weight of goodbye and the strange calm that comes after.
My grandmother has been in and out of the hospital. The first call said she was close to the end. Then another call said she was awake but unable to speak. By the time I flew home and stood beside her bed, the only language she had left lived in her eyes. They were wide and alert, full of years I never fully understood and stories I wish I had asked sooner.
I told her everything I needed to say — that we are here because of her. That she carried our family farther than she ever knew. That love travels across oceans and still finds its way home. My father stood beside me, tall and silent. I don’t think he knew how to express what this was doing to him. That generation taught us to be strong, but rarely how to name our grief. I could feel something break inside him. I could feel something settle inside me.
The days that followed were spent shuttling between the clinic and my relatives’ homes. I listened to my uncles’ tell stories about her early years. My cousins shared memories from the childhood we all lived in fragments. One life touching many. One woman shaping an entire world before any of us learned to speak.
I kept asking myself what all this work and striving is meant to lead toward. We chase money and security and progress, but somewhere along the way, the thread that held families close began to loosen. My grandmother’s life reminded me that purpose is not a future achievement. It is the way we show up in moments like these. It is presence. It is love. It is remembering who we belong to.
I found myself quietly reevaluating everything — friendships, relationships, how I spend my time, what I want to build, what I want to carry into the next chapter.
After saying what I needed to say, I felt a peace I didn’t expect. A warmth that wrapped itself around the fear. Something in me is shifting. I don’t know where it will take me, but for the first time in a long time I feel steady. I feel present. I feel like I’m standing in the doorway of something new.
Death came close again today. My grandmother was taken to intensive care. Her oxygen dropped to dangerous levels and she is now intubated. The news cracked something in me, yet the peace remained. She lived a long life. A full life. When her journey ends, I hope I carry her memory with the same quiet strength she carried all of us.
Grief changes a person. But I’m learning it can also guide you — toward what matters, toward the people you love, toward a life you didn’t know you were ready for.
I don’t know where this path will lead, but I feel myself walking it with open hands.