Loss has never been one single experience for me.
It changes shape depending on how it arrives.
What I've learned about myself isn't just in what I lost—but in how I responded when it happened.
When Loss Is Expected
When my father passed away, I already knew it was coming.
The hardest moment wasn't his death—it was the diagnosis. Stage 4 cancer. That's when I cried. That's when the reality settled in. From that point forward, I began preparing myself emotionally, even if I didn't fully realize it at the time.
Eighteen days before he passed, my brother, two of my kids, and I drove to Michigan to see him. We went camping together with extended family—cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings, his wife, even my grandfather. It was a gift I didn't recognize as fully as I should have until later.
Two weeks after our last goodbye, he was gone.
That loss didn't break me the way others have. And what I learned from that surprised me: when I'm given time, I can grieve with acceptance. Preparation doesn't eliminate pain, but it softens the shock. It gives me room to say goodbye while someone is still here.
When Loss Is Sudden
My friend's death was different.
I didn't hear it gently. I didn't hear it privately. My mother walked into my room and said, "Why didn't you tell me Jim passed away?"
I didn't know.
The shock hit immediately—sharp and disorienting. I went straight to Facebook to confirm it, already knowing what I'd find. And suddenly, everything I hadn't questioned before came rushing back into focus.
He had known he was dying.
He gave me a check to cover two months of my car payment—something completely out of character. He told me to take very good care of my daughter. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Afterward, those moments replayed endlessly.
What followed wasn't just grief—it was unfinished business.
Years passed. I still dwell sometimes. He was a life insurance agent. He told me about policies—ones that included my children and me. Nothing was ever paid out, I couldn't find the policies. His brother likely handled it. His brother also took the house—meant for his nephew—and kept things that were promised to my kids.
No will was found.
And knowing who my friend was, that absence still doesn't sit right with me.
From this loss, I learned something difficult about myself: uncertainty keeps me trapped. When answers were missing, my mind circles endlessly. I don't just grieve the person—I grieve the unresolved story.
When Loss Is Heartbreak
Heartbreak is where I struggle the most.
I can manage anger. I can manage sadness. I can sit with disappointment. But heartbreak comes too fast and too strong. It overwhelms me before restraint has time to catch up.
When love is lost, I don't always respond with dignity. I lash out. I name-call. I say things meant to wound. Things I regret later.
That's a painful truth to admit.
What heartbreak has shown me is that this is where my healing is still incomplete. This is where fear speaks louder than wisdom. Where loss feels personal, immediate, and threatening to my sense of worth.
What I'm Still Learning
Loss has taught me that my responses aren't random—they're patterned.
- When I'm prepared, I grieve with steadiness.
- When I'm shocked, I get stuck.
- When my heart is broken, I react before I can pause.
None of this makes me broken. But it does make me responsible.
This chapter doesn't resolve those patterns. It simply names them. And naming them is part of becoming.
I am learnin that how I respond to loss matters as much as the loss itself.
And I'm still learning how to respond better.
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God." —2 Corinthians 1:3-4