Grief Doesn’t Leave After The First Year

Grief didn’t leave after the first year—it settled in, changed form, and taught me how to live beside it.

Ten years ago, I lost my daughter. She was 15 years old, medically fragile, developmentally delayed, and deeply loved. Her death marked a profound rupture in my life—and in the life of my family. As a clinician, I understood the stages and cycles of grief intellectually. But no amount of professional knowledge prepared me for the lived experience of it.

In that first year, I approached grief almost like a task to be completed. There’s a common misconception that if one can simply “get through” the first twelve months—the birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays—then something will resolve. But this was not my experience.

The first year was dominated by numbness and survival. I was functioning, but not feeling. I believed that bracing myself would somehow protect me from the depth of the pain. It didn’t. It only delayed it.

In the second year, the protective layer of shock began to wear off. This is something we don’t talk about enough: that grief often intensifies after the first year. The permanence of loss becomes more real. There is a deeper reckoning with the void. The world moves on—but the griever remains suspended in a state of loss. It was in this year that the pain became more visceral, the absence more pronounced.

By the third year, I began to notice a shift. Not because the grief was gone, but because I had started to adapt. Psychologically, we often describe this as part of the dual process model of grief—oscillating between loss-oriented and restoration-oriented coping. I was beginning to find moments of connection, meaning, and even joy without feeling that I was betraying her memory.

Throughout these years, one of the most complex dynamics was living in a household where three people were grieving in very different ways. My husband, my older daughter, and I each had distinct emotional timelines and coping strategies. This divergence often created tension and disconnection. It also required patience, humility, and a constant re-negotiation of how to support one another while honoring our individual needs.

Grief is not a linear process. It is not something we complete or move on from. It is something we integrate. Over time, it changes shape. It becomes part of who we are. For me, ten years later, grief is no longer the sharp, all-consuming force it once was. But it’s still present. It surfaces in unexpected moments—a scent, a song, a milestone missed. And it reminds me that love and loss are forever intertwined.

As both a mother and a therapist, I’ve come to understand grief as a lifelong adaptation. It doesn’t follow a predictable path, and it resists closure. But it also invites transformation. In honoring my daughter’s memory, I’ve learned how to accompany others in their sorrow, not with solutions, but with presence.

This is not just my story. It’s the story of many who have loved deeply and lost.

Resources for Navigating Grief

If you or someone you love is grieving, I want you to know that your experience is valid—no matter how long it's been or how complex the emotions may feel. Here are a few resources I’ve found meaningful, both personally and professionally: 

• It's OK That You're Not OK by Megan Devine

• Bearing the Unbearable by Dr. Joanne Cacciatore

• The Dougy Center: www.dougy.org

• What's Your Grief: www.whatsyourgrief.com

• Dual Process Model & Continuing Bonds Theory (for those interested in the psychology of grief)

Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means finding ways to carry love and loss together.