There’s a kind of grief that no one really prepares you for. The kind where you have to say goodbye to someone who isn’t dead… just gone.

No one offers their condolences for these losses. No chicken casseroles, no heartfelt cards, no cup of tea. It’s just you and your grief—your tearful, nose-blowing grief. And the crappy part of the grieving process is that it’s a process; there is really no way to make it go faster—you just have to move through it.

Why This Kind of Loss Hits So Hard

When you say goodbye to someone—a partner, friend, neighbor, colleague—it’s not just a person you lose. It’s a routine. It’s how you felt around them. It’s:

• The inside jokes that no one else gets.
• The shared eye contact that says, “I know you know what I’m thinking.”
• The small, daily interactions that made life feel a little less like hell

There’s no real closure with this kind of loss. Just a weird, abrupt cut to black.

The Unofficial Stages of Living Grief

You’re probably familiar with the five stages of grief after someone passes away: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But grieving the living doesn’t follow this pattern. It’s more like:

1. Shock: “Wait… what just happened?”

2. Confusion: “Why did this happen? What went wrong?”

3. Anger: “What the hell?! That’s garbage.”

4. Random sadness: Triggered by something “stupid,” like a photo, song, old sweater, or an empty chair.

5. Acceptance (sort of): Not peace right away, just a little less pain.

You’ll cycle through these, probably several times a day.

Things That Can Help a Little

I’m sorry—I can’t make the pain go away in one fell swoop. But I can offer some reprieve.  

1. Let yourself be upset.

All emotions dissipate with time—if you allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling. Trying to shove the sadness down and pretend it’s not there will only make it last longer. Have you ever tried to stop yourself from crying when crying it’s all you want to do? It’s not easy at all—your throat hurts, your body wracks with silent sobs, and your eyes get blurry because the tears are still trying to squeeze themselves out. Stop doing that. Just allow yourself to cry. Crying is like a valve: it releases the pressure.

Initially, you’ll likely find yourself crying every day, maybe every hour. That’s fine—just let the tears come. By allowing yourself to feel through your emotions, they will, with time, diminish in intensity. After a while, you may find yourself only crying a once a day, once a week, or a few times a year.

As the awesome Raymond Reddington from The Blacklist said, “And every day when you wake up, it will be the first thing you think about. Until one day it will be the second thing.”

2. Stop trying to make it make sense.

You’re not going to logic your way out of something that wasn’t logical to begin with.

Sometimes, people leave your life for a justifiable reason—and sometimes, there is no rhyme nor reason to their departure. You can spend days trying to untangle it, trying to determine what they or you could have done differently. Or you can accept that sometimes the explanation is simply: sh*t happens.

3. Keep the connection (if you can).

If they’re open to staying in touch—and you are too—go for it. Even occasional check-ins can make the transition feel less abrupt and help you adjust to not seeing them every day.

If this really is the end of the relationship, though, then shift your focus. Instead of pining over what used to be, start building something new.

For example, if you had lunch together every day, change the routine. Try a different time, read a book, listen to a podcast, or find a new lunch buddy. I am not asking you to replace the person; I’m asking you to create a new pattern that doesn’t revolve around their absence.

4. Expect some emotional moments.

You might be fine all day and then suddenly not fine because:

• You have a question or see something they’d find funny and… they’re not there.
• Someone else sits in their spot (rude!).
• You’re involved in an event, celebration, or situation where they should be involved too.

It will hurt—a lot. However, once you shift into a new routine, these feelings will shift too, at least a little.

5. Let yourself be a little bitter—within reason.

People will tell you to “look for the silver lining,” “rise above it,” or—my personal pet peeve—“toughen up.”

Screw them. Screw them and their dollar store, clichéd advice they probably don’t even follow themselves.

You don’t have to immediately “get over” something like this, as if you’ve reached some enlightened monk level of emotional zen-ness. When you feel like crap, reaching for a better thought or a hopeful vision is hard—and unrealistic.

Sometimes the healthiest response is simply: “F this. This sucks.”

My only advice: don’t build a shrine to your loss—literal or figurative. That person is gone from your life, not the planet. Feel it. Wallow a bit. Hate God or the universe if you need to. Just don’t stay there too long.

Bitterness has a way of creeping in and taking over. If you let it, it becomes the story of your life instead of just a chapter.

At some point, you’ll need to tell yourself: “F this bitterness. It’s time to move on.”

If you’re grieving someone who’s still alive but no longer part of your daily life, you’re not overreacting or being a drama queen. You’re responding to the sudden disappearance of something meaningful.

What you’re really missing isn’t just the person; it’s how you felt when you were with them. Maybe you felt lighter, braver, more like yourself. And now, without that context, you’re not sure how to get that version of you back again—or if you’ll ever see that “you” again.

Our minds have a way of closing wounds—like a cut that heals—but only if we stop reopening them. The more you replay the past, the more you reinforce it, and the harder it becomes to build something new. Even sadness can become an addiction.

Let yourself grieve, wail, and ugly cry. And then, slowly, start turning toward what’s next. Build a routine that doesn’t revolve around how things used to be.

Because they’re not gone— they’re just not part of your right now.

Insightfully yours,

Queen D