Grief Has No Expiration Date (And That’s Okay)

You don’t have to "move on." You only have to keep moving.

[Insert Image: A calendar with faded or torn pages, and one date circled in red. Optional: a photo tucked between pages of a journal.]

We live in a world obsessed with timelines.
There’s a “right time” to do everything: go to school, start a career, fall in love, get over heartbreak. Grief, especially, comes with an invisible clock — one that other people seem to start for you the moment the casket closes or the loss is spoken aloud.

But grief doesn’t work that way.
There’s no countdown. No deadline.
No finish line you cross with a gold medal that says, “You’ve completed your grieving!”

If only it were that simple.

It’s Been Years… and It Still Hurts

People don’t always say it out loud, but you can feel it.
That shift in tone. The awkward glances when you mention their name. The subtle hints: “You’re still upset about that?” or “Shouldn’t you be better by now?”

As if healing is a task on a checklist.
As if time alone is the great healer.

But here’s the truth: time changes grief — it doesn’t erase it.

Some days I still wake up and forget for a second that she’s gone. Some days the memory hits me so hard, I can’t breathe. Other days are soft. Lighter. But it never goes away entirely. It’s always there — woven into the way I see the world.

And that doesn’t mean I’m broken.
It means I loved deeply.

Grief Changes Shape, Not Importance

The grief I carry today doesn’t look the same as it did in the beginning.

Back then, it was a fire — raging, uncontrollable, consuming everything in its path.
Now, it’s more like a candle. It flickers. It glows. It still burns. But it doesn’t scorch me anymore. And I’ve learned to carry it in a way that doesn’t steal all my light.

That’s what grief does.
It evolves. It softens. It surprises you.
Sometimes it even brings clarity — a deeper sense of meaning, of empathy, of what really matters.

But it doesn’t go away.
And that’s not something to fix.
That’s something to honor.

The Myth of “Moving On”

We hear that phrase a lot: “You have to move on.”

What they really mean is: "Please be okay so I can be comfortable."
But healing isn’t about erasing someone. It’s about learning how to live while carrying the ache of their absence. It’s about moving with grief — not away from it.

You don’t “get over” a child. Or a spouse. Or a sister. Or a father.
You don’t get over someone who changed your DNA with their presence.
You keep walking, yes — but they come with you. In the way you speak. In the things you notice. In the stories you share. In the quiet moments when you feel their presence.

That’s not moving on.
That’s living with love still echoing in your bones.

[Insert Image: A person walking on a quiet trail surrounded by trees, a single beam of light breaking through.]

There’s No “Right Way” to Grieve

Some people cry every day.
Some people stay busy. Some need space. Some crave company.
Some talk about the loss openly, while others hold it like a sacred secret.

All of it is valid.
Grief is personal. Private. Sacred.

What worked for someone else might not work for you.
And that’s okay. You’re not grieving wrong just because your process looks different.

There is no "grief rulebook."
There is only your heart, doing its best to adapt to a world that now feels incomplete.

You’re Not Weak for Still Hurting

This part is important.

Just because you're still grieving — whether it’s been five months or fifteen years — doesn’t mean you’re stuck. Or weak. Or failing.

It means you loved. It means you still love.
And love doesn’t disappear just because the person is no longer here.

We need to stop treating long-term grief as something pathological. It’s not a disease. It’s not something to “fix.” It’s a reflection of the depth of your bond.

And deep love takes deep time to learn how to carry.

The Things That Help Me Now

Grief still lives in me, but I’ve found ways to breathe again. Here are some of the things that help me carry it better:

• Talking about her — even when it makes others uncomfortable. She deserves to be remembered.

• Honoring anniversaries in my own way — whether it’s lighting a candle, baking banana bread, or writing a letter.

• Letting myself cry when I need to — no apologies.

• Creating something out of the pain — like this blog, my books, or quiet moments of service to others in grief.

• Allowing joy to return — not as a betrayal, but as a continuation of love.

[Insert Image: A candle glowing in a dark room, surrounded by framed photos or mementos.]

If You’re Still Grieving — I See You

Maybe today marks a painful date.
Maybe you’ve been holding your breath since the loss.
Maybe you’re tired of pretending that you’ve "moved on" when your heart still feels cracked.

You are not alone.
There is nothing wrong with you.
You don’t need to explain or justify the love that still lives in your chest.

There is no expiration date on grief.
No finish line to reach.
There’s only the next breath. The next memory. The next moment where love whispers, “I’m still here.”

And that’s more than enough.