Masking Grief Novels & Stories

“In our world, things like this happen. You take it on the chin and you keep moving.” The words slice through me. I break. Sobs tear out of me, ugly and loud. “This isn’t the first person you’ve lost,” he goes on, thumb brushing a tear away like he’s gentle, but his words aren’t. “And it won’t be the last. You have to get used to it.” Like grief is a coat I’m supposed to learn how to wear. I rip myself out of his hold and press into the car door, as far from him as I can get. I don’t speak for the rest of the ride.

I really missed them. I turned to my side and grabbed a pillow then I hugged it tightly and closed my eyes to push the tears back before they would escape because I hated crying and it just made me feel weak. I missed them but I wasn’t going to let it make me feel weak so no crying. Instead, I was going to grieve for them in my heart. I kept on hugging the pillow with my eyes closed and I remained that way for a long time until I slept off. ***********************

The next presentation, the next report – the workday looms ahead like a shield against the overwhelming tide of grief that threatens to consume me. As I bury myself in my work, each task and responsibility becomes a form of armor, a temporary reprieve from the raw anguish and heartache that lurk just beneath the surface. The rhythm of the day carries me forward, a steady cadence that offers a semblance of normalcy in the face of profound loss.

I kissed his forehead, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. "Me too, Mommy," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. I looked at him, my heart aching at the sight of his innocent eyes, so full of love and trust. "I had to be away for a little while," I said, trying to explain the complexities of grief and loss in a way he could understand. "But I'm back now, and I'm not going anywhere." He nodded his head, his small hand gripping mine tightly. We had postponed Marco's birthday celebration to mourn for our loss, a decision that felt both necessary and heartbreaking. But I knew that we would make up for it soon,

Unfortunately, it seemed her worries were too overwhelming for distractions to work. "Lorraine, if you're worried that your family does not feel the uneasiness you're experiencing, I want to assure you that you're mistaken. I've experienced grief before, and I can recognize its signs. Some people try to hide it by distracting themselves with activities like music, food, or games," Clay explained, hinting at the reason behind her sudden change in mood.

CHAPTER 49 — Liana Grief has a strange way of disguising itself. Some days, it feels like rage—sharp, sudden, demanding somewhere to land. Other days, it wears the mask of numbness, convincing you that you’re fine while hollowing you out from the inside. And then there are the quiet days. The most dangerous ones. The days when everything looks normal enough that you almost believe the storm has passed. Monday was one of those days.

Mai. It always seemed strange to me, unnatural, even—how people could gather in numbers for your funeral, dressed in black, faces arranged into masks of grief… yet somehow couldn’t find the time to visit when you were sick, when you were fading, when you were still here and could actually feel their presence. I stood there, watching them. Watching the steady stream of people approach Alessandro’s coffin, one after the other, placing flowers with practiced solemnity, bowing their heads as though they carried memories heavy enough to justify their presence.

The vulnerability of grief laid bare, I allowed myself to express the depth of my sorrow. Jason, attuned to the shift in my emotions, pulled me into a gentle embrace. His comforting presence provided a sanctuary for the torrents of grief that poured out. "It's okay to let it out, Celicia. I'm here for you," he murmured, his words a soothing melody in the midst of the emotional storm. In that moment, surrounded by the hushed whispers of the funeral attendees, I surrendered to the waves of grief. The collective mourning seemed to echo my individual sorrow, creating a symphony of shared pain.

She looked at me for a long time, her expression unreadable, and I waited for her to say it was okay or that she understood or that we could take a break. Instead she said, "You can grieve or you can train. You can't do both at the same time. Pick one and commit to it for the next hour." "That's not how grief works." "That's exactly how grief works when you're trying to survive. You give it a time and a place and you feel all of it and then you put it down and do what needs to be done. You can pick it back up tonight. But right now I need you here, not three hundred miles away in a room with two men who aren't coming for you."

I see someone raise their hands up Suddenly all attention turns to the person, it was a lady, a lady wearing a black dress, she also wore a black mask, and she had red lipstick on. Someone hands her a mic. "I have a question". I fake a laugh "What might be your question ma'am?". She smirks "People say it takes at least a year to grieve a spouse, but in your case, it didn't take long at all, be honest with us, did you love your wife?".