Grief & Grace: Navigating Loss While Holding Life

Today is my father’s born day.

It’s strange — the way time folds in on itself when you’re grieving. My dad transitioned the week of Thanksgiving last year, just days before my daughter turned eight. Grief and celebration showed up at my door like uninvited guests, demanding I entertain them both. I tried. I really did. But I couldn’t pretend joy when my heart was hollowing out.

What anchored me, oddly enough, was my daughter’s honesty. “I don’t want to see you cry,” she told me. “Your tears scare me.”

And I got it. I really did.

I was five when I experienced my first death. I remember the deep, bone-shaking cries of my great-grandmother and mother. Their grief etched itself into the walls and into my memory. I understood then what my daughter meant now — how grief doesn’t just speak, it echoes.

At first, I wanted to honor her request, to be strong and hold it in. But I couldn’t. I was already bracing myself for my siblings, for the whirlwind of preparing for his janazah, for the silence left in his place. So I asked for help — something I don’t do easily.

I reached out to my ex-husband and his fiancée. And they showed up. They stood in for me and cared for our daughter so I could fall apart in peace. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve made — not because I didn’t trust them, but because I’m not used to letting go, not used to being the one held.

The people around me meant well. They offered condolences, kind words, soft smiles. But I didn’t realize what I truly needed until I attended an event where someone — without knowing much — created an impromptu grief circle for me. The hug I received was like breath after drowning. It gave me permission to stop performing strength. I sobbed until I became that five-year-old girl again.

My partner held physical space — a quiet presence, a warm body — but he couldn’t hold the emotional space I craved. And I’ve come to understand, that’s not uncommon. Grief makes many people uncomfortable. Vulnerability terrifies some. And still, grief needs a witness.

So today, in honor of my father and every part of me that is still grieving, I offer you five gentle ways to navigate the loss of a loved one — not just survive it, but move through it with presence and grace:

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1. Give Yourself Permission to Feel

You do not need to be strong. You need to be real. Grief is not something to conquer — it’s something to companion. Let your tears fall. Let your voice shake. Let yourself feel it all. This is not weakness; it’s release.

2. Ask for Help — Even If It’s Hard

Whether it’s a family member, a friend, or a co-parent, lean into support. Let someone hold the everyday responsibilities while you tend to your heart. You don’t have to carry it all. You were never meant to.

3. Create or Seek Out Sacred Grief Space

If those around you don’t know how to hold your sorrow, find a space that can. Whether it’s a grief group, a circle, a therapist, or a trusted spiritual guide, find somewhere you can be witnessed in your whole truth.

4. Honor Their Memory in Your Own Way

Light a candle. Cook their favorite meal. Write them a letter. Speak their name. You don’t have to follow any rules for remembrance — just let it be real. This helps your grief find rhythm and meaning.

5. Let the Healing Be Nonlinear

Some days you’ll laugh. Some days you’ll break. Some days you’ll do both in a span of ten minutes. There’s no timeline, no “done” date. Let yourself grieve as you are, without expectation or apology.

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To everyone who is grieving: I see you. I know the weight you carry. And I know the courage it takes just to breathe some days.

Today, I grieve. I remember. I soften. And I write this not just for me, but for all of us learning how to live with the absence of someone we love.

May we be held. May we be witnessed. May we be whole — even in our brokenness.

With love,
Tahiyya Martin LCMHC, LPC, A grieving daughter xoxo