The Stripping Power of Grief
Grief strips us down to the essentials of being human, maybe even to what we were meant to be. It breaks us wide open, bringing us into a profound connection with death itself—a journey we might, in some ways, be destined for. We traverse unseen realms with our loved ones, a part of us staying with them as they are with us. How could the connection we shared not travel with them?
Grief in Other Cultures
In some traditions, those grieving are held as sacred, honored for their insights into unseen realms and sometimes even seen as mediums. In other cultures, death is not feared but embraced as part of life, the journey beyond often celebrated. The Egyptians, for example, spent their lives preparing for death. I can’t help but wonder: What did they understand about death and the afterlife that made it so central?
A Message from Jason
Last week, I received a message from Jason through Lee Mills, a Spirit medium. I’ll share a little of that message here. He said, “Our life together isn’t done yet. This part is just where you need to go alone and trust that I’m there too! I’m forever proud of you.” This message felt true in my bones. He’s gone physically, but our connection is powerful and present. It’s surreal to feel him so close, yet so far away. My heart aches, in the message he acknowledges that he knows and he hears me call to him. A year ago, I couldn’t fathom surviving this depth of heartbreak. After Mark’s death, Jason had been my rock, holding me through both the loss and the treatment. Who would help me now?
A Year of Loss and Learning
The first year of grief is shock; reality settles in only slowly. We experience the “firsts” without them—each one opening wounds anew. These are the quiet moments where grief often needs to simply be held without expectation, without needing to fix or replace what’s lost. Grief isn’t like a broken appliance or a favorite sweater; it’s a piece of ourselves, intertwined with the ones we’ve lost.
On Loss, Regret, and Self-Forgiveness
Grief carries with it the “shoulda, coulda, wouldas”—I should have done this; I could have done that. Despite knowing we did our best, logic doesn’t dull these feelings. Self-forgiveness and acceptance are part of this immense work. If we’re not evolving in life, we’re stagnating, living but quietly dying. Jason’s death has become a catalyst for my own growth. An activation of this legacy that pulls me forward into areas of study and interest that I would never have dreamed I would enter.
A Hunger for Growth Amid Grief
These days, I find myself hungry for knowledge, eager to learn how to live with grief and the longing it brings. I wonder if I could ever feel about someone else the way I did with Jason, or if I’ll ever be ready. Grief has opened my eyes—I see it everywhere, and I remember my first encounter with loss as a child. Loss takes many forms, and often, it’s simply a part of life but how we navigate it, is truly a lost and forgotten skill.
Society and Grief: Breaking the Silence
As a society, we’ve been conditioned to avoid the hard stuff, to bury our pain, and to bypass it. There’s fear of feeling too much and a shame around tears. We hesitate to open something we might not know how to close, afraid that grief could consume us. Instead, we hide it away, shutting ourselves off from genuine healing.
The inherited responses to grief—“put on a brave face,” “be strong,” “it could be worse,” “stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about,” “go to your room and cry”—are all too familiar. We’re often isolated in our grief, conditioned to withdraw. With this isolation, we’re left without tools for how to “come out” with our pain, to express it or even name it safely.
In the presence of grief, people frequently struggle, offering either awkward silence or quickly changing the subject. Talking about death is often labeled morbid or negative, even though it’s one of the most natural parts of living.
Moving Forward, One Moment at a Time
There are moments I think I’m coping, only to be blindsided by a memory, a thought, a reminder of what was and will never be again in this lifetime. In those moments, it feels like starting over. Yet I know it’s all part of learning to live with this grief. Over this past year, I’ve been learning to navigate these intense emotions without numbing them—a commitment to cultivating a healthy relationship with grief, both for myself and because I’ve seen the damage unaddressed grief can do.
The Hard-Won Lessons of Loss
Through Jason’s death, I was initiated into a grief I didn’t yet know how to navigate. Despite the grief I’d already experienced, his death has been a profound wake-up call and continues to be one. Here I am, one year on—finding my way through the darkness and the light, learning what to do with this one precious life, as Mary Oliver calls it. Not just for me, but for Adara. I’m not so much afraid of death itself, but I fear what my passing would mean for Adara. I don’t want her to feel unsupported, as I sometimes feel without Jason and Mark here.
In Closing
So one year on, here’s where I’m at. Coming out of my grief cave to learn and share more about this journey I’m on. To hopefully connect with others in a more evolutionary way about how we navigate grief and to gather as many resources as resonate so this heart of mine can heal and begin to open again.
If you've been a part of my journey these last few years, I want to say Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
In deep reflection,
Angharad
P.S. I love you, Jase. Forever.
Photo taken: Jason at Lake Superior, North Shore Minnesota
PPS. For those who’ve experienced this kind of loss, one of the resources that I have turned to is Spiritual guidance through Professional Spirit Mediums. I highly recommend a reading with Lee Mills, International Spirit medium. His guidance has been profoundly healing and so on point.
See there my dear one, how beautiful tis this going goes? Ouch and ache with your words bent and broken, we go on, blind on crutches, go, do and don't stop either. Loving you. Thanking you and Jase, all love, always all yours, love, Sami