Navigating Grief: Honoring Love and Loss
Exploring the Transformative Nature of Loss in All Its Forms
As the holiday season travel preparation approaches, I find myself reflecting on the possibility of returning home to the UK for Christmas. My daughter, Adara, has mentioned wanting to go—it’s a time when so many people reconnect with family. There’s something about this season—a kind of magick that brings people together, allowing us to transcend any difficult dynamics and step into a space of joy. Love and generosity grow, grievances are often set aside, and, for a brief time, things feel different. And for that time, they often are.
But I’ll be honest—I’ve hesitated on booking that flight. Despite the love I have for my family, my heart aches at the thought of returning without Jason. This time of year was his favorite—not so much his birthday (wasn't a fan of me making a fuss but I did and he learned to embrace my surprises) but for sure the spirit of Christmas; everything about the season brought him joy. The idea of being in our shared hometown, a place that carries his memory in my body, feels overwhelming. I’m still learning how to carry the weight of his absence, and the holidays make it all the more poignant.
Grief has a way of shifting the entire landscape of our lives. The losses I’ve experienced, both of Jason and Mark, have forced me to confront emotions I wasn’t ready to face. Mark’s illness and passing in 2022 were devastating—he was Adara’s father, my ex-husband, and my dear friend. We shared so many dreams that were never realized. Navigating life after his death was an entirely different kind of grief—one that centered on caring, supporting, and providing for our daughter, who was also navigating her own grief journey and the complex manifestations of that loss, while also trying to rebuild my sense of self and our lives.
Jason was there for me during some of the hardest moments of Mark’s cancer treatment and his death, in ways that most blew my heart wide open. He stood by me every day, offering constant love and support when I needed it most, carrying me through the darkest times and vice versa. Our bond, which had its roots in friendship from childhood, grew into something profound over the years. We shared a connection that transcended distance and time—a love that was both deep and transformative. For over five years, Jason and I maintained a consistent connection both in person and long distance—whether through daily texts, calls, sharing our lives and experiences, our joys and hardships, exploring new places together, and our constant expressions of love. Then, one day, the messages stopped. Over the last few months, I felt a significant shift in him and his health—a foreshadowing of the loss I feared most was through a dream the night before that I felt the heart-wrenching truth: Jason had died. The devastation was overwhelming. I learned of his passing through a friend via social media, the following day, followed by a Facebook post—a painful discovery that compounded my grief. Though I flew home for his funeral, I didn’t know how he died until two weeks after his death. The circumstances surrounding his passing left me feeling cut off, as narratives about our separation made it easier for others to dismiss our long-term connection and the impact of this loss, to not reach out to me during this loss and beyond, making this loss feel even more isolating and heartbreakingly lonely. I'll share more about the reality of how the grieving are treated or not treated depending on their relationship in another post.
Grief has a way of surfacing all the unhealed parts of ourselves. It’s not just an emotional experience—it’s physical. It shows up in our bodies as aches, fatigue, anxiety, mystery illness, and so much more. We carry grief in ways we may not even realize, and it can manifest in unexpected ways, whether through illness or emotional shutdowns. I’ll share more about the physical symptoms of grief in a future blog, but it’s something I’ve deeply learned in my own experience.
Another thing grief does is change the way we relate to others. I’ve felt the distance that formed between me and those who were close to Jason after he died; for some, it felt like an instant disconnect, an abandonment, which added another layer to an already overwhelming loss. Grief is so misunderstood, and in its rawest form, it can push people away. Most of us don’t know how to respond to grief, so we avoid it or those experiencing the loss altogether. For those that grieve, it can also be a withdrawal from life and everything in it.
Like so many of us, knowingly and unknowingly, I’ve tried to escape it too—tried to numb the pain through various means—but that only made things worse. Jason’s death forced me to confront not just the loss of him but all the layers of grief I hadn’t fully processed over the years. It was as if everything I hadn’t yet healed rose to the surface all at once.
What I’ve learned is that grief doesn’t go away. It becomes a constant companion. We don’t "move on" from it, but we do learn how to live with it. Over time, we find ways to make space for it while also making room for hope and joy. It’s about balance. It’s about allowing ourselves to honor both the love and the loss.
For me, this journey has been about learning to live with the presence of grief while finding ways to invite hope back in. It’s about being honest with where I am and giving myself the grace to take this one step at a time. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m learning every day what it means to alchemize this experience into something that brings more light than darkness, more meaning and less hopelessness.
Grief, as harsh as it is, teaches us how to live more fully, love more deeply, and cherish the connections we have while we still have them. It is these moments—these shocking events in life—that invite us into a transformative journey, one that changes us at our core, much like the process of a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. To navigate these transformative journeys, we must find meaning in the ashes of our lives, recognizing significant losses—whether through the death of a loved one, separation or divorce, moving, illness, changing jobs, losing a friendship, or other profound changes—as catalysts that initiate us into our own metaphorical death.
For me, these profound losses have shaped a body of work that I had no idea would become my path. As part of my grief process, I feel myself alchemizing something that calls for expression—my very life force depends on it for higher and deeper meaning, understanding, and healing.
As the holiday season draws near, my intention is to hold space for both the love that was and the grief that remains because both deserve to be honored.
In November, I’ll be facilitating an Alchemizing grief circle, a space for those navigating their own journeys of loss. I hope to share more details soon, allowing us to gather in a compassionate community that understands the complexities of grief. Together, we can honor the memories of our loved ones, whatever kind of loss that we have experienced and support one another as we navigate this tender season. You can RSVP here.
As I approach the one-year anniversary of Jason's passing on October 29th, I recognize that this day and the time leading up to it will be particularly hard for me. Each year, it serves as a stark reminder of the love I lost, the laughter that will never echo again, and the dreams that remain unfulfilled. The heaviness of grief can feel overwhelming, amplifying the emotions I navigate daily.
While this day brings a wave of sadness, it also invites me to honor the profound impact Jason had on my life. I find myself reflecting on the joy he brought, the moments we shared, and the love that continues to linger in my heart. It’s a complex mix of grief and gratitude.
As I face this tender time, I invite you to hold space for your own experiences of loss—whether it’s a loved one, a significant relationship, or any life change or tragedy that has left an imprint. Together, let’s acknowledge the difficulties that come with remembering, allowing ourselves to feel the weight of our grief while also celebrating the love that remains in all things.
For those who are experiencing grief, may this help you to feel validated in your experience and know that it’s normal and that there are supports around you, but it is something you need to seek out.
Through this process, I’ve learned that support during grief is not readily accessible, available, or warranted, and the person or relationship specifics will determine how much support you receive or don’t receive. From many conversations with those in grief and my own experience, I believe it’s about teaching others how to show up in a way that honors our authenticity in grief. Whether it’s offering a listening ear without trying to fix things, or simply being present, these are small but significant gestures that can ease the isolation of grief. I hope that in sharing my story, it inspires others to reflect on how they can support those in grief—sometimes, it’s the quiet presence or the willingness to sit with someone in their pain that makes all the difference.
If you relate to any of this, please feel free to drop me an email and share your experience.
With Love & Tenderness,
Angharad xo
Our first Christmas together 2017 in our little coastal village.
Photo Credit by my dear old friend Philip Odley
Comments