12/27/2025
I’ll be honest…I’ve developed a bit of a twitch since losing the person I love. It’s not visible (most of the time), but it flares up the moment someone starts complaining about their spouse leaving dishes in the sink, or their mother calling too often, or their dad telling the same story for the hundredth time.
Here’s the thing…I would give anything to hear one more bad joke, pick up one more pair of shoes from the wrong corner of the room, or have one more conversation about absolutely nothing that somehow lasted two hours.
The other day, someone actually sighed and said, “Ugh, my wife never stops talking about work.” I smiled politely, but inside, a little voice said, “Must be nice.” And then I did what grievers do best, I bit my tongue, smiled again for good measure, and reminded myself they don’t know.
They can’t know.
Not until they’ve sat in the silence after the talking stops forever.
Grief gives you perspective. The kind that stings a little.
You start seeing every argument, every eye roll, every sigh as a moment someone else still gets to have. The things that used to drive you crazy become the things you’d trade almost anything to experience again.
So when someone says, “My dad’s driving me nuts,” part of me wants to punch them in the throat. But I don’t. I just nod because I remember when I was on that side of the conversation, fussing about things that didn’t matter because I never dreamed there would be a day when I couldn’t.
I’ve learned to hold space for both truths at once: they get to complain, and I get to wish I still could. Because grief redraws the line between what’s annoying and what’s important.
And maybe…they’ll realize it too, long before they have to.
So the next time I hear someone gripe about a partner who snores, or child who’s on their phone too much, I’ll take a deep breath and silently send out a wish, that they hang on tight to those ordinary irritations.
Because somewhere out there…one of us would give anything to have them back again.
Gary Sturgis – Surviving Grief
