I’m Learning to Live in a World I Never Wanted

There are days when I still have the same thought I’ve had since the beginning.

I’m supposed to live in a world where they don’t exist???

I know they’re gone. Of course I know they’re gone. I was there.

I’ve lived through the phone calls, the funerals, the birthdays they’ve missed, the holidays that feel different, and all of the ordinary Thursdays in between.

I know it. But somewhere deep inside me, I don’t think I’ve ever fully absorbed it.

People often talk about accepting loss, and maybe on some level I have. I accept that I can’t call my dad. I accept that my sister isn’t going to walk through the door. I accept the facts.

But emotionally? There are still moments when it feels impossible that this is my life.

I’ll see something funny and think, “I need to tell them.”

Then I remember. I’ll hear a song. See a photo. Watch one of my kids do something that would have made them laugh.

And for a split second, my brain still assumes they’re part of this world. Then reality catches up.

It’s a strange way to live. The people you love are gone, yet your love for them never leaves. So part of you keeps reaching.

I used to think there would come a day when all of this would finally feel normal.

It hasn’t. And honestly, I don’t think I want it to.

I don’t want losing them to ever feel ordinary.

What has changed is something else. I’ve stopped fighting the fact that grief doesn’t follow rules. Some days I can talk about my dad and smile. Some days I can’t get through a story without crying. Some days I think about my sister twenty times. Other days I’m busy with work or my kids and don’t think about her until bedtime.

None of those days measure how much I love them. They simply measure what life asked of me that day.

For a long time, I thought I needed to understand grief. Now I think I just need to make room for it. It has become another person sitting at the table.

Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it takes over the conversation. But it’s always there. And pretending otherwise has never helped.

The funny thing is that while grief has remained, life has too. Laundry still needs to be folded. Work still needs to be done. Kids still need rides. The dog still wants to be fed. The coffee still gets cold because I got distracted.

Life has this incredible audacity to keep moving while your heart is trying to catch up. For a while, I resented that. Now I think I understand it differently.

Maybe living isn’t something we do after grief. Maybe it’s something we do alongside it. Maybe the goal isn’t to leave grief behind. Maybe the goal is to keep making room for both love and loss in the same life.

I still don’t understand why some people get more time and others get less. I probably never will. But I’ve stopped believing that understanding is the price of peace.

Today, peace looks much simpler. It’s loving the people who are here. Missing the people who aren’t.

Letting both be true.

And continuing to build a life in a world I never would have chosen—but one I’m still grateful to be part of.