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Grief can pack a house and still leave you feeling like the only person in the room. We open up about the early days after loss—one of us held by an incredible web of support that handled meals, calls, and even the obituary, the other juggling paperwork, funeral logistics, and a move during COVID with a small circle and a full heart. Those contrasts reveal the same truth: “you are not alone” is both comfort and practice, something we have to learn to accept and also to request.

We talk about the identity shift that follows loss—the way competence grows from necessity, how changing a shower head becomes a milestone, and why new friendships with people who never knew our person can feel both healing and strange. Capacity becomes our guiding word. “Peopling is hard” isn’t an excuse; it’s a nervous system setting. We share language that helps: “checking on you,” “I want someone here, but I don’t want to talk,” and “a grocery gift card would help more than a meal train.” For supporters, we offer simple, compassionate guidance: mirror the words the griever uses, avoid platitudes and imposed beliefs, bring specific help with no strings, and be okay with silence.

There’s also the ache of the world moving on—school years continuing, holidays arriving—while your life feels paused. We found comfort in widow and loss groups where 2 a.m. makes sense, and where laughter and tears can share the same hour. Two things can be true: you can be devastated and still laugh; you can be grateful and still say no. We’re not experts; we’re sharing lived experience so you can borrow what fits—scripts for setting boundaries, ideas for showing up without adding weight, and reminders that choosing quiet is a valid choice.

If this conversation helps you feel seen, we’d love to hear from you. Subscribe, share with someone who needs it, and leave a review with one sentence about what support actually helped you. Your words might be the “checking on you” someone needs today.