✉️ Grieving Someone Who’s Still Here
When they’re still here — but not really
It’s a strange kind of grief — mourning someone who’s still sitting right in front of you.
Sometimes the goodbye starts before the end.
Maybe it’s their memory that’s slipping — they forget names, stories, the thread of the moment.
Maybe they’re still sharp, but something else has shifted — a softness gone, a spark dimmed.
Or maybe the conversations just feel different now.
Less connection. More correction.
Maybe nothing’s “wrong” at all — but they’re quieter, harder to reach.
Or you’ve changed.
Or the relationship has.
And so you start to grieve.
Not with casseroles and condolences — but quietly, invisibly, while the rest of the world moves on.
This kind of grief doesn’t have a name tag.
It’s not clean. It’s not final.
But it’s real.
You’re grieving someone who’s still here.
And that’s its own kind of heartbreak.
You can love them and miss them at the same time.
You can show up with kindness while mourning who they used to be.
You can cry, even if no one else sees what’s slipping away.
It’s okay to feel this way.
It doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving them.
It just means you’re human.