Grief is one of the few experiences that strips us right back to the core. It doesn’t matter how old you are, how strong you think you’ve become, or how prepared you believe you are, when it hits, it hits with a force that rewrites you. And the strange thing is, the world tries to measure grief by age, by circumstance, by logic… but none of that holds true. Grief isn’t defined by how long someone lived. It’s defined by the connection you had with them. And connection is timeless.

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I’ve lost two people who shaped my life in completely different ways, and the grief from both losses has taught me more about living than anything else ever has.

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My grandfather was one of the biggest male influences I ever had, a good man, steady in his morals, the kind of person who didn’t just teach you how to behave but made you want to be better. When he passed at 86, there was sadness, of course. A deep one. But there was also acceptance. He’d lived a full life, left a mark on everyone around him, and passed on with dignity.

But I was in the height of alcoholism at the time.
And that changed everything.

The grief twisted into guilt.
Regret.
Shame.
A feeling that I’d somehow failed him in his final chapter.

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For a year, I lived in that mental pain, torturing myself with thoughts of who I should’ve been, what I should’ve said, how I should’ve behaved. Grief doesn’t just hurt; it exposes every insecurity, every flaw, every version of yourself you wish you could rewrite.

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But then something shifted. Not suddenly, quietly.

One day, I realised I had a choice: keep drowning in the shame of who I was, or honour his memory by becoming the man he always saw in me. I chose the latter. And from that moment on, the grief stopped being a punishment and became a promise. A way to carry him forward. A way to live in a way he’d be proud of.

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I found comfort in the unknown, not in a defined belief, but in the possibility.
Maybe heaven.
Maybe something else.
Maybe just the idea that someone who shaped you so deeply never truly leaves.
Whatever it is, the unknown gave me peace.

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And then came the grief that broke me in a way I didn’t know possible: losing my brother at 33.

The grief of losing someone so young hits with a different force. It feels unfair. Violent. Wrong. You don’t just feel sad, you feel robbed. The “I wish it was me instead” thought becomes a constant whisper. You replay every memory, every message, every moment you might’ve done differently. You brace yourself because the world keeps moving even though yours has collapsed.

His life was full of action and adventure, and in a cruel way, that made the grief sharper, because you know he had more left to live. More to give. More to experience.

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But as the waves of pain softened, not disappeared, just softened, something unexpected happened.
His passing became my biggest motivator.

It pushed me to fight my anxiety.
To live more intentionally.
To give my energy, my love, my enthusiasm to the people who matter while I still can.
To create moments instead of waiting for them.
To stop sleeping through my own life.

Grief has a painful clarity to it.
It reminds you that the world is billions of years old, and our existence, all of us, is a blink.
Thirty-three years is short.
Eighty-six years is short.
Two hundred would still be short in the grand scheme of things.

Generations come and go, and most are remembered only through a photograph and a name.
But that isn’t depressing, it’s beautiful.
Because it means we’re free from the pressure of being extraordinary.
We simply need to live.

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Grief shows us what truly matters: experiences, love, connection, memories, laughter, presence.
We complicate life endlessly, but grief brings us back to its simplicity.

“You come into this world with nothing, you leave with nothing.”
A line said at funerals, but one of the purest truths there is.

The pain of grief is brutal.
It’s chaotic, exhausting, disorienting.

But it’s also a teacher.
A mirror.
A reminder of what matters and what never did.
And if you allow it, grief can become a guide, one that pushes you to live better, love harder, and waste less time on things that steal your peace.

Grief is the price of love.
But love is always worth the cost.

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The challenge for today: choose one person you love, and give them something real. Time, presence, appreciation, or a moment you’d regret not giving if tomorrow changed.

“The people we lose don’t take our life with them, they leave us with a reason to live it better.”

Tom Gosling 6/12/25