Grief does not wait for you to be ready.

It arrives unannounced, sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once. However, it is not about mourning the dead, but rather what the dead leave behind.

It does not come neatly packaged, nor can it be easily resolved, instead it is a relentless presence that forces itself into every corner of your life.

It reshapes you, making you into something that is different to who you were before.

Grief can start well before death occurs.

I experienced this with my father. That grief did not begin at a hospital bedside, but through a gradual process of decay. From long-term unemployment, to depression and finally the physical toll of heart disease after a lifetime of smoking.

It was the process of witnessing a once strong man turn fragile, his dignity stripped away before my eyes across three sweeping movements.

I was not just mourning what was to come, but the man who was already disappearing.

In these fragile moments, there is a physical presence, which you feel in your bones. It is not the presence of someone, but of feelings.

Helplessness, guilt, frustration and all the other things that you must carry, which come to shape the small, everyday moments of your life.

It is the lingering touch of a hand losing grip.

It is the moment of silence where there is nothing left to say.

It is the repeated questions, “Am I here enough? Am I doing enough?”

This grief has no answers, only more questions.

It is not something that can be overcome, but rather it is something that we can at best live with, as it lingers and settles in, finding a place where it might lodge for a while, if not forever.

It has no cause to disappear, nor any desire to vacate when the funeral is over and the rhythm of life returns. Indeed, it is still unclear to me as to whether it will ever give way to peace.

It forces you to look at the world differently, to see the people you love differently, and ultimately, to see yourself differently.

But even in the shadows, where sorrow settles in, there is a soft, nearly imperceptible promise that in time, you might be comforted, although never in the way that you expect.

Grief does not ask for permission, nor give closure, but if we make room, it might teach us how to live differently, with more depth, more tenderness and more truth.