True Crime and Calcium

When I was growing up, milk cartons had pictures of missing children on them because apparently we all needed a little true crime with our calcium 🥛🕵️‍♀️. A weird little mix of breakfast and heartbreak 💔🥣.

Grief has a lot in common with those old milk cartons 📦. In the beginning, people see you 👀. They ask questions, check in, and remember. But as time passes, your “missing” poster quietly gets replaced by a new one on the carton. Everyone assumes you have been found 🫤.

Except you haven’t. You are still a little lost, you have just gotten better at hiding it 🫣.

For me, the real grief starts when everyone stops checking in 🙃. When people stop asking questions and stop talking about the piece of you that went missing with your loved one 💔. In the beginning, we are problem-solvers 🧾. We stay busy planning services, writing thank-you notes, signing forms, one long emotionally exhausting to-do list 😮‍💨.

When that list finally gets completely crossed out, crumpled up, and tossed in the trash 🗑️🌀, that is when grief moves in and unpacks its suitcase 🎒. That is when it festers. That is when people don’t know what to do with their feelings 😬, so they stop asking about yours. It is uncomfortable, it is awkward, and instead of saying something real, they default to safe phrases like “time heals all wounds.”

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t ⏳🙄.

That is when the struggle starts. Not because it gets easier, but because of those unspoken expectations that your grief has expired. That the topic has become old and stale. People stop talking, so we start to believe it’s no longer okay to be sad. That our tears are not suited for company. Or maybe worse, that others have forgotten our loved one altogether. It is like there is a universal grief calendar out there reminding us it’s time to be normal again 📅🫠.

At some point, it starts to feel like there is an invisible timeline for grief ⏰. Society acts like everyone gets a limited emotional warranty. Six months of sadness, maybe a year if it was tragic, and then you are supposed to magically move on 🏃‍♀️💨.

But grief does not give a damn about calendars 📆. It doesn’t care if it has been six weeks or six years. It shows up when your loved one’s favorite song starts playing 🎶 or when you open a drawer and find something you forgot they gave you 💔. It is sneakier than those mystery pictures we had to squeeze our eyes practically shut to see the image 👀(which I could never see) when we went to the mall. You know, the one’s outside the entryways in between stores like Claire’s Boutique and Gloria Jean’s Coffee Shop.

We talk about grief like it’s a cold, something that will go away if you rest and drink water 🫖💊. But it is not an illness. It is evidence. Proof that you loved deeply. Proof that someone mattered. And honestly, that kind of love does not come with an expiration date 🥛💞, no matter how much it hurts or how much we wish it would.

Grief wears a lot of faces in our lives and in society. Sometimes the way it shows up changes, and that is okay. There is not a right way to grieve. Period.

Other people do not have to understand your grief. You do not need their permission to feel. You get to feel whatever you need to feel 😤. No one gets to tell you it is not okay.

If keeping that recording of your dad’s voice helps because not hearing it hurts, that is okay. If keeping your mom’s ashes close brings you peace, that is okay too. Whatever helps you validate your feelings and sleep at night is valid ❤️‍🩹.

Grief isn’t neat or linear. It doesn’t pack up when the casseroles stop showing up or when everyone else moves on 🍲🕯️. It lingers, it shifts, and sometimes it even surprises you by showing up on a perfectly normal Tuesday when you’re doing fine(ish). And that’s okay too.

Maybe grief isn’t about finding your way back. Maybe it’s about learning to live with a few pieces still missing 🧩. The world might stop looking after a while, but that doesn’t mean you have to. Keep checking in with yourself. You still matter, even when the milk carton says otherwise 💛 or in my case they no longer make them!

Ever feel like your emotions missed society’s memo to “move on”? Same. 

If you’ve ever felt like your grief came with an expiration date, I’d love to hear how you’ve learned to thrive/survive with it. Drop your thoughts below, your story might be the reminder someone else needs today 🌿💬.