The Grief Nobody Gave You Permission to Feel

There is a grief that does not come with a funeral. There are no flowers sent to your door, no casseroles left on your porch, no quiet gathering of people who loved you standing in a circle around the thing you lost, acknowledging together that something real has ended and that the ending matters. There is no card that says we are so sorry for your loss, because the world does not have a category for what you are carrying. There is no bereavement leave, no formal period of mourning, no cultural ritual that marks the moment and gives the people around you permission to treat you gently. There is only you, holding something heavy that has no official name, in a world that is moving at its regular pace around you, expecting you to move at the same pace, wondering quietly why you seem a little off, a little distant, a little less available than usual.