Masking Grief Novels & Stories

I cried until I couldn't make a sound and until the pain in my chest wasn't just emotional but physical. … The next day, I didn't even bother changing my clothes. I went to meet Zachary just as I was. He was stunned for a moment. "Margaret, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Dressing like this to embarrass me." "I'm in mourning, Zachary. You should know that." He frowned. "It's not like we live in the past anymore. Who even observes mourning periods these days? You're just trying to make me look bad."

But now, he's gone, and my world has turned upside down. The ends of my hair tickle the sides of my neck, a constant reminder of the drastic decision I made in the throes of grief - cutting off my long locks without a second thought. It was an impulsive move, but somehow it felt right. Grief has a way of making us act without thinking, as long as it matches the pain we feel inside.

“Well, I'm telling you now. Josh is still grieving, and one thing I know about grief is that it hits different people in different ways. Some people withdraw and become a shadow of who they are. Others become healers, take care of everyone else around them, because it's easier than facing the pain itself. I swallowed hard as a lump formed in my throat. I didn't want to cry right now. “And some people, like Josh, dedicate themselves to one mission, one last crusade in honor of their loved one, because pursuing a goal in that person's name is a way to keep that person alive. “That looks familiar.” Caleb grinned. I nodded. “But one thing virtually all grieving people have in common is a paralyz

my therapist gently prodded, sensing my hesitation. "I feel lost... and I miss her," I whispered, my eyes welling up with tears as memories of Xanthe flooded my mind. "Grief is an unavoidable and natural part of life. At some point, we will all experience the pain of losing someone we love, often in circumstances that can feel overwhelming and devastating," my therapist offered, her voice soothing and empathetic. As I struggled to contain my emotions, my chest tightening with the weight of my grief, I took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. The memories of that fateful night still lingered, causing a lump to form in my throat and tears to stream down my face.

“It’s okay to miss her, Dad. It’s okay to grieve. But there are healthier ways to cope with the pain.” He sighed deeply, setting the picture down and rubbing his eyes. “I just... I feel lost without her. It’s been so long, but the ache never really fades.” “Grief is a process,” I said gently. “It doesn’t have a set timeline. But you have to take care of yourself. Mom wouldn’t want to see you like this.” He gave a faint smile, one that barely touched his eyes but was nonetheless appreciative. “Thank you, Aria. I know you’re right. I just wish the pain would go away.”

I was as good as dead, but before I died, I would try my best to save my sister from my ex-husband. I had always been a strong person. I had no choice but to be. When both my parents had died tragically on the same day, I had not shed a tear —Well, not in public. I had been strong not for myself but for my little sister. I had not taken any time to grieve as I had to resume work as the head of the company my father had left in my care. I had fought strong businessmen as a young, naive business owner and won, and I did all of these on my own. This time wouldn't be different.

He would just wear it until everything was right again, he didn't know another way. When he cried there was a rawness to it like the pain was still an open wound. He would clasp onto something for support, anything, a table or the back of a chair, and then his whole body would shake. But only the rocks and the trees and the flat ground filled with sand was present there. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempted to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he would break down entirely, all his defences washed away in those salty tears. When he, at last, turned his face to Pidge he was a picture of grief, loss, devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before a

She stares at me "It's called Self Mourning. Over the course of our life, we lose pieces of ourselves, becoming someone we never thought we'd be. We need to grieve who we were, so we can become who we are meant to be. It is as simple as mourning the loss of a -- " I cut her off, angry "Simple? Chynna, Griefing is not simple. What the fuck are you even talking about. I lost my Mother, lost my Brother, and now you're telling me I need to grief myself. I've lost everyone, and at the end of the day, the only person have is me, and now, you're telling me I . . . I have to grief me?" I snap, and her gaze softens, I hate it, because I see pity all over her face. "Don't pity me, you basically just t

It was the same gown I had worn when my foster parent died, the same gown I wore when I lost my Benjamin, it is the same gown I will wear today to get my Andre back. I drove down to the church, yes, it was just a single church in the whole of the city. The service had just ended, my eyes met with his hazel eyes again, and everything faded. I paused to see the recognition in his eyes when he meets mine but then it dawned on me that we were only allies because we had to be and right now he needed the emotional supports I couldn't give him any more, not until the dust of all our worries settle down and we see each other brightly again.

I wore the black uniform of my office, a mask of unyielding stone. I stood beside the marble mausoleum, looking down at the heavy, closed casket. My mother had died months ago, her loss absorbed into the endless, grinding cycle of my command. But standing there now, after the cost of vengeance was tallied, the grief hit me with a savage, delayed force.