One of the things grief doesn’t prepare you for is how quickly life resumes.
Not because your grief is over.
Not because you’ve finished processing it.
Not because you’ve reached some magical place called closure.
Life simply keeps moving.
And eventually, it starts asking things of you again.
The alarm clock still goes off.
The meetings still appear on the calendar.
The laundry still needs folding.
The groceries still need buying.
The responsibilities that patiently waited in the background begin stepping forward again.
For the past week, I’ve been settling back into everyday life.
We’ve been home for a few weeks now.
Long enough to unpack the suitcases.
Long enough to find our rhythm again.
Long enough for vacation to become memory and routine to return.
Work has accelerated quickly.
My largest project is finally moving from planning into action, bringing with it all the excitement, challenges, and demands that accompany something you’ve invested deeply in.
Outside of work, life feels busy.
The Women’s College World Series came and is gone.
The Spurs made the NBA Finals. That’s all I’ll say about that.
In the middle of the busyness, a friend laid her father to rest.
After attending, I’ve found myself reflecting on something grief has taught me.
The world never stops moving.
Not for our losses.
Not for our heartbreak.
Not for our questions.
Not for our sorrow.
The games still get played.
The projects still launch.
The meetings still happen.
The sun still rises.
And somehow, we find ourselves learning how to carry grief alongside everything else.
I think that’s one of the most difficult transitions.
Not the initial loss.
Not the first shock.
Not the first wave.
But learning how to reenter ordinary life after you’ve been changed by what you’ve experienced.
Because grief changes you.
It changes what feels important.
It changes how you spend your time.
It changes what captures your attention.
It changes how you see other people.
The older I get, the more I realize that everyone is carrying something.
The person cheering at the softball game.
The coworker leading the meeting.
The family sitting next to you at dinner.
The friend laughing at a joke.
We rarely know the full story of what someone is carrying.
What losses they’re processing.
What prayers they’re praying.
What burdens they’re quietly holding.
Maybe that’s why presence matters so much.
Not because we can solve someone’s pain.
Not because we have the perfect words.
But because showing up reminds people they don’t have to carry it alone.
Grief has taught me many things.
It has taught me that healing isn’t linear.
It has taught me that peace can exist alongside uncertainty.
It has taught me that surrender often comes before understanding.
And perhaps most importantly, it has taught me that life and grief are not opposites.
They coexist.
The same week can hold celebration and mourning.
Joy and sadness.
Excitement and heartache.
A championship game and a funeral.
A project launch and a difficult goodbye.
The same heart can hold gratitude and grief at the same time.
Maybe maturity is learning not to choose between them.
Maybe it’s learning to make room for both.
To celebrate when it’s time to celebrate.
To mourn when it’s time to mourn.
To show up for the people we love.
To remain present for the life unfolding around us.
And to trust that God is present in all of it.
Not just in the mountaintop moments.
Not just in the moments of loss.
But in the ordinary days between them.
The days where life keeps moving.
And somehow, by His grace, so do we.
~ Louda
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