The Herefordshire Family Celebrant

The truth about grief is this:

You do not “get over” losing someone you love.

You do not wake up one day and find the pain has gone.
You do not forget them.
You do not stop wishing they were here.
And you do not go back to being the person you once were.

Because from the moment loss enters your life, there are two versions of you:
the person before,
and the person after.

And you carry both.

Grief is not something you move on from.
It is something you learn to carry.

In the early days, it feels impossible. The pain is not just emotional, it is physical. It sits heavy in your chest, tightens your throat, drains your energy. You may feel exhausted but unable to sleep. You may forget things, lose track of conversations, feel like you are moving through fog.

This is not weakness.
This is your body protecting you.

Shock and numbness exist for a reason. They are part of a natural, almost scientific process your mind and body go through to survive loss. If the full reality of what has happened hit you all at once, it would be too much. So your system slows it down.

It gives you the truth in pieces.
In waves.
In moments you can just about bear.

Grief is a process of:
acceptance,
facing reality,
adjusting to a world without them,
and slowly, painfully, transforming.

Not leaving them behind, but learning how to carry them differently.

You may find yourself surrounded by people, and still feel completely alone.

Because the one person you want… is not there.

You will search for them in a room without even realising it.
You will hear something that sounds like them and your heart will jump.
You will reach for your phone to message them.
You will ache to feel their hand in yours just one more time.

That longing doesn’t disappear just because others are around you.

And sometimes, even love and support can feel overwhelming.

This is where boundaries matter.

There will be times you need people, conversation, comfort, presence.
And there will be times you need silence, space to sit, to think, to feel, to just be.

It is okay to say:
“Not today.”
“I need some time on my own.”
“I can’t talk about it right now.”

This is your grief.

Advice and guidance can help, but nobody else can walk it for you. Nobody else can feel it in the way that you do. There is no right timeline, no correct way to do this.

It is yours to process.

And somewhere in all of this, guilt often appears.

Guilt for laughing.
Guilt for smiling.
Guilt for having a moment where you feel okay.

Guilt that you are still here… living, breathing, continuing… while they are not.

This is one of the most painful and confusing parts of grief.

But feeling moments of light does not mean you loved them any less.
It does not mean you are forgetting them.
It does not mean you are “moving on.”

It means your body is doing what it is designed to do:
survive.

You are allowed to laugh.
You are allowed to feel warmth.
You are allowed to live.

And you can carry love and loss at the same time.

People often talk about the “stages” of grief, but it is not a straight line. It is not neat or predictable.

You may feel denial, anger, sadness, guilt, even brief moments of peace, all in one day.

You may feel nothing at all… and then everything at once.

This is not you failing.
This is grief unfolding.

In those early days, when everything feels overwhelming, small things can help, not to take the pain away, but to support you through it:

Drink water, even when you don’t feel like it.
Try to eat something small, even if it’s just a few bites.
Rest when your body asks for it — grief is exhausting.
Step outside for a few minutes of fresh air.
Let someone sit with you, even in silence.
Write down your thoughts when they feel too loud in your head.
Say their name. Talk to them if you need to.
Take things hour by hour, not day by day.

You do not have to “be strong.”
You just have to get through each moment as it comes.

There will always be pain.

There will always be moments where it catches you off guard, where the absence feels just as loud as it did in the beginning.

But something else is also true.

The pain changes.

One day, it will not feel quite so sharp.
It will not take your breath away in the same way.
It will loosen its grip, just enough for you to notice the world again.

You will feel the warmth of the sun on your face.
You will hear birds singing and realise you hadn’t noticed them for a while.
You will laugh, and it will feel real.
You will remember them, and alongside the tears, there will be a smile.

Not because you miss them any less.
But because love has found a different place to live.

You will always carry them with you.

In your thoughts.
In your memories.
In the way you live your life.

Grief is not about letting go.
It is about learning how to hold on in a different way.

And slowly, gently, without you even realising it…

you begin to live again.

Not the same life.
Not the same version of you.

But a life that makes space for both love and loss.

A life where grief walks beside you, not in front of you.
A life where the pain softens just enough to let something else in.

And one day, you will look back and realise…

you have stepped into hope.