What if grief is not a consequence of love but another expression of it? What if our deep sorrow is a reflection of deep connection? There is no grief with- out attachment, investment, and some kind of emotional bond. The fact that we grieve is evidence of how completely we are able to love.

Hope is often framed as optimism, but I like to think of it more as endurance. To hope is to believe that the future might look different from how things look right now. Sometimes that hope looks a lot like a mix of faith and waiting. Each day you live life after loss is another opportunity to exercise your muscle of hope.

We tell the story of our grief for two reasons: first, to solidify in our brains and hearts that life without our loved one is our new reality; and second, to realize that we are not alone. Just as grief is not a one-time event, telling the story of our loss is not a one-time event, either. We must share the story of what happened, to make sense of it for ourselves and to connect with others who are experiencing similar pain.

Grief is unpredictable, and that’s exactly how it should be. If you feel like you’re stuck on a roller coaster or caught up in an unnavigable storm, you are not alone. I often think of grief like a slot machine. Each day I wake up, the dials turn, the combinations of emotions and experiences go round and round, and the wheels stop at whatever strange combination I’m about to experience that day. No two grief days are alike . . . and that’s normal.

We don’t grieve things that don’t matter to us. Grieving is just another way of saying, “I care a whole, whole lot about the person I’ve lost, and it’s hard not having them here.” The next time you start to beat yourself up for feeling grief, gently remind yourself that grief is not a sign that something is wrong with you; it’s evidence that you had a strong connection to the person you’ve lost.

No one can tell you what your grief means. You are the only person who decides what meaning, if any, should be assigned to the death of your loved one. While well-meaning friends and family will have their own interpretations of the role of loss in your life, it is up to you and only you to decide what it all means.

Grief is less like a predictable sequence and more like an amorphous blob of uncertainty. You can’t forecast your way out of grief, because there’s no way to determine when the next wave is coming. This may seem disheartening at first, but when you recognize that there is no structure for grief, you can stop trying to pinpoint exactly where you are on your journey. If there’s no road map, it’s impossible to be lost.

There’s a groundlessness in life after loss, as if somebody is pulling the rug out from under you again and again. It’s hard to find anything stable and secure to stand on, and when you do, there’s always the fear that it’s going to be taken away. Know that this sense of not having legs to stand on is completely normal and is a very real sensation brought on by loss. It’s not pleasant by any means—in fact, it can be downright terrifying—but it is an expected part of grief.

Pain puts us in close contact with ourselves. When we are wounded by loss, we become vulnerable. It’s in that place of helplessness and hopelessness that we are broken open enough to receive light—emotions like comfort, peace, and hope flow in alongside grief. It’s as if loss shatters us so much that we have no choice but to experience heartbreak and hope simultaneously. Where we most hurt is exactly where we will best heal.