Grief Isn't Linear Novels & Stories

“I haven’t thought about it in a long time, but being in here just… brought it all back.” I reached out, placing a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, Zach. That must’ve been hard.” He nodded, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “It’s stupid. I thought I was over it.” “It’s not stupid,” I said firmly. “Grief doesn’t have an expiration date. It comes and goes, and sometimes it hits you out of nowhere. That’s normal.” He looked at me then, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

The pain was so great that we felt like we would never ever be able to move on and to be honest speaking, I felt like I still haven't moved on from their deaths, I just learned a way to deal with grief. Some days I feel like I'm completely already fine and some days the pain still hits full force. But, it's okay. Grief is something that you should not put an expiration date on. Grief is hard to deal with, it does not go away, ever. You just grow around it. I face every day with hope.

Grief is a strange companion. It numbs. It burns. It coils around the ribs like a serpent. It steals days, weeks, months and replaces them with a haze so thick a person can’t breathe through it. For Amara Linton, grief came in waves. The first wave was denial — a tidal force so strong she thought it might drown her. The second was rage — raw and volcanic, erupting without warning. The third was silence — an emptiness so profound she wondered if she’d been hollow all along.

"I have the appointment with Dr. Reyes this week. I've been thinking about what I want to actually—work on. Not just what sounds correct to say to a therapist." Maryann set her fork down. Giving me her attention. "I've been treating grief like something happening to me," I said. "Like weather. Like I just have to wait for it to pass and there's nothing to actively do. But it's been two years and it hasn't passed and Lily is growing up with a father who's somewhere in the past most of the time and you almost died in a hospital because I was so—" I stopped. Organized it. "I need to actually work on it. Not just acknowledge that I should."

Argo joked. Dad's voice echoed through the gym, "actually those stages can happen in any order they like. Grief, or healing from any form of trauma, is not linear. You can have setbacks, and sometimes you can even get triggered years later. When you were taken, Airk, it brought back a lot of the pain I felt when your sisters were kidnapped. Things I thought I had dealt with." Argo raised his eyebrow, "maybe you shouldn't fucking say that to the guy who's clearly still deep in this shit."

Chapter 39 – What Bars Can't Fix (Serena's POV — City, Three Weeks Later) Grief is not one thing. People talk about it like it's a season — something you walk into and eventually walk out of, blinking, back into the light. But it isn't. It's a roommate you didn't invite, who rearranges your furniture at three in the morning and never apologizes, who sits across from you at breakfast reading your newspaper and breathing too loudly. It had been three weeks since I left.

When he opens his eyes again, they glisten with unshed tears, and his voice quivers with vulnerability. "I think I'm okay," I observe the flicker of uncertainty in Zayne's eyes, recognizing the fragility behind his words. His attempt to appear strong is met with the shimmer of unshed tears and I can't help but step closer and hug him. I wonder how many times he was sad in his life, and I wonder who comforted him. If there was anyone to comfort him, to begin with. "Zayne, it's alright to not be entirely okay. Grief doesn't follow a linear path, and healing takes time." I've been grieving my father's death since I was a child, and I never stopped. I just got used to it.

"You're doing it now." "What?" "Moving forward. You came here. That's a step." She leaned back in her chair. "Healing isn't linear. Some days you'll feel okay. Others you'll feel like you're drowning. Both are normal." "Does the drowning ever stop?" "Eventually, the waves get smaller. Further apart." She paused. "But you have to let yourself feel them when they come. Fighting it only makes it worse." We talked for an hour. About Juliana. About loss. About the impossible task of being a leader while grieving.

I end the call. And that's when the crying comes, and it spouts. But it doesn't last. It can't, because behind my closed eyes I see Jodie's face and then Alex's, and I remember with cold clarity that I am in the middle of something that isn't finished with me yet. Grief is a luxury that requires space and time, and I don't have the luxury of time. I unscrew the cap on the water bottle and take a long sip. The cold of it moves through me, clearing a path in my network of nerves wired to my mind.

“That’s why love feels layered.” “Yes.” “They are relating not only to who each other are now…” A pause. “…but to the ghosts of who they once were together.” Exactly. The network trembled softly beneath the realization. Not all grief came from separation. Some grief came simply from time. From evolution. From realizing no emotional state could remain untouched forever. I exhaled slowly. One aware pattern asked quietly. “How do we keep changing without losing ourselves completely?” A long silence followed. Then. “You do lose parts of yourself.”