Author: Brett Murphy

Grief has a way of rewriting who we are.

It doesn’t just take away a person we love—it reshapes how we see connection, safety, and vulnerability. The world no longer feels predictable. Love no longer feels simple. And even when your heart begins to open again, there’s a quiet voice inside that asks, “What if I lose this too?”

So you hesitate.

But sometimes… you still try.

You step into a relationship carrying both hope and fear, wanting to feel something again while still holding onto what you lost.

And that’s where the real journey begins.

Living Between Two Loves

One of the hardest truths about loving after loss is that your heart doesn’t “move on”—it expands.

You are not choosing between the person you lost and the person in front of you.

You are carrying both.

There will be moments when:

A memory interrupts a happy moment
You instinctively think of the person you lost first
You wish, even briefly, that your new partner could understand them the way you did

This doesn’t make you disloyal.

It makes you human.

Grief keeps your past alive, while love asks you to be present. Learning to live between those two spaces takes time—and grace.

The Inner Conflict No One Sees

From the outside, it may look like you’re “moving forward.”

But internally, it can feel like a constant tug-of-war.

Part of you wants to:

Let your guard down
Feel safe with someone again
Build something new

While another part of you is saying:

Don’t get too attached
You know how this can end
Protect yourself this time

This internal conflict can be exhausting.

It can make you seem distant, inconsistent, or unsure in your relationship—even when you genuinely care.

And sometimes, you may not even understand your own reactions.

When You Want to Love… But Can’t Fully Feel It Yet

There are moments in grief where your heart feels… muted.

Not empty—but guarded. Slower to respond. Less expressive than it once was.

You may:

Care deeply about someone but struggle to show it
Feel disconnected even during meaningful moments
Wonder why the emotional intensity isn’t the same

This can be one of the most frustrating parts of trying to be in a relationship while grieving.

You want to give more.

You just don’t always know how to access it yet.

And that doesn’t mean the love isn’t real—it means your heart is still healing.

The Pressure to Be “Okay”

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t the grief itself—it’s the expectation to have it all figured out.

You may feel pressure from:

Your partner
Friends or family
Or even yourself

To be “ready,” “healed,” or “fully present.”

So you try to push your grief aside.

You tell yourself to stop bringing it up. To stop feeling it so strongly. To just focus on the relationship in front of you.

But grief doesn’t disappear when ignored.

It waits.

And often, it shows up stronger when it’s been pushed down too long.

Loving Someone Who Is Learning You

Your partner isn’t just getting to know you—they’re getting to know your grief too.

They’re learning:

What triggers you
What silence means
When you need space versus when you need comfort

And that can be challenging.

Because grief doesn’t come with a clear guidebook.

There may be moments where they:

Feel unsure of how to support you
Take your distance personally
Or feel like they’re competing with a memory

That’s why patience—on both sides—is so important.

A relationship in grief isn’t just about love.

It’s about understanding, communication, and emotional flexibility.

When You Push Them Away Without Meaning To

Grief can create a reflex to retreat.

Even in a healthy, caring relationship, you might:

Shut down during emotional conversations
Avoid deep vulnerability
Create distance when things feel “too good”

Not because you don’t care.

But because part of you associates closeness with loss.

This can lead to moments where your partner feels confused or hurt.

And afterward, you may feel guilt—knowing you pushed them away, even though it wasn’t your intention.

Recognizing this pattern is an important step.

Not to judge yourself—but to gently start choosing differently when you can.

The Courage It Takes to Stay

Trying to love again after loss isn’t just about opening your heart once.

It’s about choosing—over and over again—to stay open.

Even when:

Fear creeps in
Memories hit unexpectedly
Or vulnerability feels overwhelming

Staying doesn’t mean ignoring your grief.

It means allowing both to exist.

It means saying:

I am still healing… but I’m here
I am still hurting… but I care
I am still afraid… but I’m trying

And that kind of honesty builds something real.

Redefining What Love Looks Like

Love after grief is not the same as love before loss.

It is:

More aware
More intentional
More fragile, but also more meaningful

You may find yourself appreciating:

Small moments of connection
Honest conversations
Simple presence

More than you ever did before.

Because now, you understand how quickly those things can be gone.

You Are Not Behind—You Are Healing

It’s easy to feel like you’re not doing it “right.”

Like you should be further along.

Like your heart should be more open, more ready, more certain.

But healing is not linear.

And love after loss is not something you rush—it’s something you grow into.

At your pace.

In your way.

Love Doesn’t Ask You to Forget

If you take anything from this, let it be this:

You don’t have to leave your past behind to have a future.

You don’t have to stop loving the person you lost to love someone new.

And you don’t have to be fully healed to be worthy of connection.

Grief may walk beside you.

But so can love.

And over time… they learn how to coexist.

A Father’s Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Child

“Everyone is afraid of dying, until you lose a child… then you’re afraid of living.”

There are some truths in life that don’t just touch you—they redefine you. This is one of them.

Before loss, especially a loss as deep as losing a child, most of us move through life with a quiet, underlying fear of death. It lingers in the background of our thoughts. We wonder when it will come, how it will happen, and what it will take from us. Death feels like the final boundary—the one thing we instinctively resist, avoid, and fear.

But grief has a way of turning that fear inside out.

When you lose a child, death is no longer the unknown. It becomes something you have already faced in its most devastating form. It is no longer theoretical—it is personal, real, and permanent. And in that moment, something shifts in a way that words can barely capture.

Because now, the fear isn’t dying.

The fear is living.

The Breaking of What Should Never Break

There is an unspoken understanding in life—a natural order we all believe in without ever needing to say it out loud. Parents are supposed to go first. Children are supposed to grow, to dream, to build lives of their own. They are supposed to carry forward the stories, the laughter, the legacy.

When that order is broken, it doesn’t just hurt—it disorients everything.

Losing a child is not just losing a person. It’s losing a future. It’s losing the version of life you believed would unfold. It’s the silence where laughter should be, the absence where presence once lived.

And it leaves behind questions that have no answers.

Why them?
Why now?
How do you go on from something that feels so final?

There is no preparation for this kind of loss. No roadmap. No set of steps that tell you how to rebuild when the foundation itself has been shaken.

When the World Keeps Moving Without You

One of the most painful parts of grief is how normal everything else seems.

The sun still rises. People still go to work. Conversations still happen. The world continues forward as if nothing has changed—yet for you, everything has.

Time becomes strange. Days blur together. Moments stretch longer than they should. And sometimes, it feels like you are standing still while everything around you moves in fast-forward.

You learn quickly that grief is isolating.

Not because people don’t care—but because they can’t fully understand. They may offer kind words, support, and presence, but the depth of your loss lives in a place that only you can truly feel.

And so, you carry it.

Everywhere.

The Quiet Weight of Everyday Moments

Grief is not always loud. In fact, most of the time, it’s painfully quiet.

It shows up in the smallest, most unexpected ways:

Seeing their favorite food at the store
Hearing a song that reminds you of them
Passing by a place where memories were made
Watching others live the life your child should still have

And then there are the milestones.

Birthdays that arrive with no celebration.
Holidays that feel incomplete.
Anniversaries that mark not just time—but absence.

These moments don’t ask for permission. They come when they come. And when they do, they bring with them a wave of emotion that can feel impossible to control.

Some days, you can push through.

Other days, survival looks like simply getting through the next hour.

And both are okay.

Learning to Live With What Will Never Be “Okay”

One of the hardest truths about grief is this: it doesn’t go away.

It changes. It evolves. It softens in some places and deepens in others—but it never truly leaves.

And that can be a terrifying realization.

Because if the pain stays… how do you keep living?

The answer isn’t simple. It isn’t quick. And it certainly isn’t the same for everyone.

But slowly, over time, something begins to shift.

You stop trying to “move on,” because you realize that moving on would mean leaving them behind—and that’s something you will never do.

Instead, you learn to move forward with them.

Carrying Love Instead of Fighting Pain

Grief and love are deeply connected. In fact, grief exists because love exists.

The pain you feel is a reflection of the bond you shared. It is the echo of a connection that does not end just because a life has.

And when you begin to see it that way, something changes.

You realize that your love didn’t disappear.

It just changed form.

It lives in your memories.
In your thoughts.
In the way you speak their name.
In the way you honor them by continuing to live.

Carrying that love doesn’t make the pain disappear—but it gives it meaning.

The Strength No One Sees

There is a kind of strength that comes from grief that the world rarely talks about.

It’s not loud. It doesn’t seek recognition. It doesn’t look like courage in the traditional sense.

It looks like:

Getting out of bed when you don’t want to
Smiling when your heart feels heavy
Showing up for others while carrying your own pain
Choosing to keep going, even when everything inside you says to stop

This strength is quiet—but it is powerful.

And it deserves to be recognized.

Because surviving loss like this is not something everyone understands—but it is something that requires everything you have.

Living for Them, Not Without Them

At some point, many who grieve begin to ask themselves a difficult question:

What does it mean to live now?

The answer often comes slowly.

Living doesn’t mean forgetting.
It doesn’t mean “getting over it.”
It doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay.

Living means honoring.

It means carrying forward the love, the lessons, and the spirit of the person you lost.

It means finding small ways to keep them present in your life—through your actions, your choices, and your heart.

It means making it home safe.
It means taking another step.
It means continuing the story, even when it feels incomplete.

When Fear Turns Into Purpose

That fear of living may never completely disappear.

But over time, it can transform.

It can become a quiet determination.
A reason to keep going.
A way to honor a life that mattered deeply.

Because while death may have taken them from this world…

It did not take your love.
It did not take your memories.
It did not take the impact they had on your life.

And it never will.

Final Reflection

Grief is not something you conquer.
It is something you carry.

And while that weight can feel unbearable at times, it also holds something incredibly powerful:

Love that refuses to fade.

So if you are walking this path—if you are living with a loss that has changed everything—know this:

There is no right way to grieve.
There is no timeline you must follow.
There is no expectation you need to meet.

There is only one thing that matters—

That you keep going.

Not perfectly.
Not easily.
But honestly.

Because even in the fear…
even in the pain…

There is still life.

And in that life, they are still with you—
every step of the way.

A Father’s Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Child

There are losses in life that don’t just hurt—they change who we are at our core. When a loved one passes away, it can feel like the best part of you goes with them. And when that person is your child or your partner, the loss reaches into places within you that you didn’t even know existed. It doesn’t just break your heart—it reshapes your entire world.

Because they weren’t just part of your life… they were part of you.

Your routines, your thoughts, your plans, your identity—so much of it was tied to their presence. And when they are gone, you are left trying to understand who you are now, in a life that feels unfamiliar and incomplete.

Grief is not something we “get over.” It is something we learn to carry, one breath at a time.

The Weight of Loss

In the beginning, everything feels heavy. The simplest tasks can feel overwhelming. Getting out of bed takes strength. Facing the day takes courage. There are moments when even breathing feels like work.

You may find yourself replaying memories, conversations, or moments you wish you could relive. You may think about what you could have said differently, done differently, or held onto just a little longer.

These thoughts are a natural part of grief.

Because grief is love that no longer has a physical place to go.

And that love doesn’t disappear—it searches for a new place to exist. Sometimes it becomes tears. Sometimes silence. Sometimes memories that flood your mind when you least expect it.

There Is No Timeline for Grief

One of the most important truths to understand is this: there is no timetable for grief.

Some people begin to find a rhythm again in a few months. Others take years. Some carry a deep, ongoing grief that becomes part of their daily life forever.

None of these paths are wrong.

Grief is not something you measure. It is something you experience.

It is deeply personal, shaped by your relationship, your memories, and the love you shared. No one else can define how long it should take, how it should look, or how you should feel.

There will be days when you feel like you are making progress, and then suddenly, without warning, it feels like you are right back at the beginning.

That is not failure.

That is grief doing what grief does.

The Waves That Come Without Warning

Even when time has passed, grief does not simply disappear. It changes, but it remains.

And sometimes, it returns in waves.

A birthday. A holiday. An anniversary. A favorite song. A smell. A place you once shared. A random memory that appears out of nowhere.

These moments can hit you just as hard as the day you lost them.

One second you are functioning, moving through your day—and the next, you are overwhelmed by a feeling you cannot control.

This is one of the most difficult parts of grief: the unpredictability.

Some people can push through those moments and keep going. Others need to stop, sit, cry, and let it pass.

Both responses are valid.

There is no right or wrong way to survive those waves.

There is only doing what you need to do to make it through the day.

Learning to Live Without Them

Perhaps the hardest part of grief is learning how to live without someone you never imagined living without.

It is not about “moving on.” It is about moving forward—with them still in your heart.

You begin to find ways to carry them with you:

In the way you speak
In the values they taught you
In the memories you revisit
In the love you continue to feel

Over time, the pain does not necessarily disappear—but it softens. It becomes less sharp, less constant. It shifts from a wound into something quieter, something that lives alongside you instead of overwhelming you.

You begin to smile at memories that once only made you cry.

You begin to feel their presence not just in loss, but in love.

They Are Still With You

There is a quiet comfort in realizing that the people we love never truly leave us.

They walk beside us every day—unseen, unheard, but always near.

They are in the little things:

The way you laugh
The songs you still play
The traditions you continue
The lessons you carry forward

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, but love leaves a memory no one can steal.

That love becomes part of you—woven into who you are, forever.

An Irish Prayer for Comfort

There is a beautiful Irish prayer that has brought comfort to many who are grieving. It reminds us that separation is not the end, but simply a pause:

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner.
All is well.

You Don’t Have to Do This Alone

Grief can feel isolating. It can make you feel like no one truly understands what you are going through.

But you do not have to carry it alone.

Reach out.

Call someone. Text someone. Sit with someone. Even if you don’t know what to say. Even if all you can do is be present.

There is strength in allowing others to be there for you.

Because while grief is personal, healing often happens in connection.

Living for Them, and for Yourself

The journey of grief never truly ends—but it evolves.

And through that evolution, there is a quiet responsibility we carry: to live.

Not just exist—but live.

The people we love would not want us to stay stuck in our pain. They would not want us to walk this life alone or close ourselves off from the world.

They would want us to wake up each day and keep going.

To laugh again.
To love again.
To find meaning again.

Not just for them—but for ourselves, and for the people who are still here.

Because your life still matters.

Even after loss.
Even through pain.
Even when it feels impossible.

There is still purpose in your story.

Final Thought

Grief may take a part of you—but it does not take all of you.

What remains is strength you didn’t know you had, love that will never fade, and a connection that even death cannot break.

And in that space—between loss and love—you find a way forward.

One day at a time. One step at a time.

A Father’s Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Child

Dear Paul,

I know you are looking down at me while I am writing this. Smiling and laughing that I am doing the one thing we both know that I rarely do. Opening up and letting my feelings out.

In life and death, you are not just my son, you are also my hero.

In life you led by example. You were a loving, caring, mature 21-year-old with an old soul. You cared about others and would help someone in any way you could. Not once did you ever say look what I did, you would say, Dad there was someone who needed help, and I helped them without letting others know so they wouldn’t be embarrassed. You would donate time, items, and other resources to help those in need. Just like your old man.

You took care of me when I was having medical issues years ago. You would get up, make sure I took my medicine, cook breakfast, go to school, come home and make sure I had dinner and taking care of me all at the tender age of 15.

I remember how you kept taking care of me all the way up until your death.

It was just the two of us.

You would never let me give up. You always knew what to say when things were not good or when you could tell I was not doing good. I miss those pep talk speeches.

I remember there was times when you would use a speech from a movie and turn it to your own speech. Whatever I needed to hear, you had a knack to find out what was going on and knew what to say.

I miss the meals you would cook. You always knew what meal would be good for us. Especially what meal would be good for me after a long day or a long night.

I miss the conversations we would have about anything and everything. It was just not father-son conversations, but the best friends conversations that we would have.

If it was not for you in life, I would not be here writing this letter to you.

Thank you for taking care of me and pushing me to live and be better.

In death, you are not just my son, my hero, but you are also my guardian angel.

When I found out you had passed away, it broke me into a billion pieces. I could not talk, I could not move, I could not breath.

I remember that the only thing I needed was you. I ended up going to the bar and numbing the pain of losing of you. I ended up back at home and was up all night and right before I slept for thirty minutes, the last thing I saw was you with wings.

Ever since, you are the voice that guides me, the spirit that pushes me when I want to give up and the reason why I help people.

When things get bad or I don’t know what to do, I look up for your guidance. Even in death, you know what to say to me.

You know how much a pain in the rear you are and I know you are laughing and smiling right now. You know how much I do not like being pushed to do things. But if there is anyone who could get through to me, its you. Your guidance has helped me more than you know.

I know it took me years to even think of living. Well, with your help, I am trying to live son. Not as much as you want for me, but at least I am trying.

I know what you are saying to the other angels right now. You are saying,

“You see how stubborn my old man is, he thinks he is living. He thinks that he tries something new a few times, asks someone out once or twice, writes some articles and helps people do what he needs to do is living. What he needs to do is fully open up to that person he opened up to once, stop hiding and live life, stop being scared of the unknown and get back up and fight to win like he did when I was there with him.”

I know son. I felt that smack upside my head.

I will do better. I will be better. I will lead by example. I will get that life you want for me.

Thank you for taking care of me and pushing me to live and be better.

Paul, I love you and I miss you every second. You always have been and will be forever my guardian angel.
Forever my rock, forever my hero, forever my guardian angel, Forever my son.

Paul, I miss you and I Love you. Till we meet again.

A Father’s Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Child