been over a year since I lost my brother Darren. And some days, it still feels like the air is too heavy to breathe.

The world has this strange way of expecting you to “get back to normal” after a while. It doesn’t say it out loud — but it shows in the way people stop asking, the way conversations shift, the way everything around you keeps moving while your world feels like it’s been paused.

I’ve learned that grief doesn’t follow a timeline. And if you’re still hurting long after the casseroles stop coming and the messages slow down — I want you to know: that’s okay.

📆 There’s No Deadline for Healing

There’s this quiet pressure, especially after a few months have passed, to be okay again. To stop crying at unexpected moments. To talk about your person in the past tense without your voice breaking.

But healing doesn’t happen on a schedule. It’s not a race or a project you can complete. Sometimes, you’ll have a few good weeks and then be knocked sideways by a memory or a date on the calendar. That doesn’t mean you’re going backwards — it just means you’re grieving.

Grief isn’t something you “get over.” It’s something you carry.

🌊 Grief Moves in Waves — Not Steps

I used to think grief was something I’d move through like a staircase — step by step until I reached some sense of peace. But instead, it’s felt more like the sea: unpredictable, deep, and sometimes calm, sometimes crashing.

Some days, I can laugh and feel okay. Other days, it takes everything in me just to get out of bed. There’s no rhythm to it, no logic — and that’s one of the hardest parts. But I’m learning not to judge myself for that.

Because every wave is a reflection of love.

🫶 You’re Not “Behind”

One of the most painful lies grief tells us is that we’re doing it wrong. That we should be stronger. Better. Further along.

But there is no timeline for mourning someone you love. Whether it’s been six weeks or six years — you’re not behind. You’re human. You’re holding loss in a world that doesn’t always know how to hold space for it.

And that makes you braver than you know.

💬 It’s Okay to Say, “I Still Miss Them”

Even if no one brings their name up anymore. Even if life has moved on around you. Even if others have stopped counting anniversaries and milestones.

You still get to feel. You still get to miss them. You still get to grieve.

I still miss Darren every single day. In quiet moments. In the things I wish I could tell him. In the laughter I still hear when I think about who he was — my gentle giant.

If you’re reading this and you’re in the middle of your own grief, I want you to know this:

There’s no wrong way to carry it. There’s no “right time” to feel better.

You are allowed to take your time. All of it.

You’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re grieving — and that, in itself, is an act of love.