Yet our culture often treats grief as though it is something abnormal, almost an embarrassing problem that needs to be hidden or fixed. I have heard people say, “My wife died, and I am overwhelmed by grief,” with an almost apologetic tone, as though they are somehow failing because life has been profoundly changed by  bereavement. But surely this is one of the most natural responses imaginable to losing someone you love.

One of life’s simplest truths is this: if you love, you will grieve.

When someone we love dies, regardless of their age or stage of life, it hurts. Grief is simply our response to loss. That response is emotional, physical, mental, and sometimes spiritual. While there may be people who do not grieve after a death, this is more likely an indication that something has gone wrong than a sign that all is well.

Grieving is as natural as laughter. It is our whole self responding to someone being taken from our lives.Of course, we grieve many losses. 

We can grieve the end of relationships, unrealised dreams, diminished health, or an imagined future that never came to pass. Yet the most familiar experience of grief is bereavement.

I labour this point because our culture often seems uncomfortable with both death and grieving.

I once spoke with a couple whose child had been killed in a hit-and-run incident. The devastation, anger, and despair they experienced were overwhelming. What surprised them most was that within four weeks of their child’s death, people in their church community were already suggesting they seek counselling.

Now, grief counselling can be incredibly helpful, particularly when grief becomes entrenched or complex. But this couple felt as though people were unwilling to allow them to grieve. It was as if their sorrow needed to be managed rather than lived through.

Grief after bereavement is the process of living with loss. There is rarely a timetable for it. It is often slow and deeply personal. Yet as a culture we seem impatient with grief. We want people to “get over it” and return to normal as quickly as possible.

But grief does not work that way.

The reality is that the person who has died is no longer here, and there is no way back to what existed before. Grief is the process of learning to live in a changed world.

Grief Cannot Be Fixed

I was recently part of a conversation where a parent was describing life after the suicide of their child. They spoke honestly about their devastation and the complexity of their emotions. Someone responded, with genuine compassion, “I don’t know how you bounce back from something like that.”The comment was heartfelt, but it reflected a misunderstanding of grief that is common in our culture.

There is no “bouncing back.”

We might recover from a virus or get over a bout of the flu, but grief is different. Grief is not an illness. It is not something to be cured. 

Like every significant stage of life, grief is something we live through. Just as adolescence changes us, grief changes us. Seasons cannot be rushed, and neither can grief. It becomes part of our story and shapes who we are.

We do not get over the death of someone we love. The intensity of the pain may lessen over time, but the reality of the loss remains.

I once met a woman who showed me a photograph of her three-year-old granddaughter. As she looked at the picture, tears filled her eyes. She explained that her granddaughter’s new haircut reminded her of her own daughter, who had died at a similar age more than forty years earlier.

Forty years had passed, yet the love remained.

Love does not disappear when someone dies. Instead, we gradually learn to incorporate our grief into a new normal: life lived without the person we love.

Walking Alongside Those Who Grieve

When someone is grieving, many of us feel compelled to say something positive or encouraging. Yet perhaps we need to acknowledge that there are no magic words that can remove pain or make everything better.

What grieving people often need most is not solutions but understanding.

The worst response to grief is silence. Say something, even if it is simply, “I don’t know what to say.” The loneliness of grief is difficult enough without people withdrawing because they are afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Ask about the person who has died. In doing so, you affirm that they have not been forgotten. Ask how the grieving person is going and be genuinely interested in the season of life they are navigating.

Avoid telling them they will get over it. Avoid sentences that begin with “At least ...” as though their pain can somehow be reduced or explained away. And never assume that grief matters less because someone died at an old age. Love means loss will always be felt.

One woman told me that after her husband died, she experienced profound loneliness. The hardest time was after dinner, when the reality of being a widow felt most acute. She said what transformed her experience was a neighbour who visited every evening for two years and sat with her while watching the news. Often they barely spoke. Yet the presence of another person made all the difference.

The neighbour could not remove the grief. But by showing up consistently, they softened its harsh edges. The power of having someone willing to travel beside her through that rugged terrain called grief changed her experience entirely. Perhaps that is what we are called to do for one another. Perhaps we can become people who walk alongside others through life’s hardest seasons. 

Perhaps we can offer the simple but profound gift of our presence.

Baz McGrath
Baz McGrath is an Anglican Minister, who was the Head of the Anglicare Centre for Pastoral Development before he retired.