Firsts, Anniversaries, and the Days That Undo You

Why grief hits hardest when you least expect it, and how to care for yourself when it does

Jun 14, 2025

There are days that sneak up on you.

You’re just going about your life, grocery list in hand, inbox overflowing, maybe even a little bit ahead on your to-do list. And then…grief. A sudden punch to the chest. Or maybe something more subtle. Like a fog rolling in without announcement, changing the light around you. You don’t know why, but your stomach sinks. You’re out of sorts. You snap at someone you love.

It could be a date.
A song.
The way the morning light spills down your hallway.
A scent you haven’t smelled in years.

Suddenly, you're crying in the car. Or you’re blank, checked out, floating a few feet above yourself, wondering what the hell is going on. Maybe you feel nothing. And that’s somehow worse.

Grief Has a Calendar

Even if you don’t consciously recall the day, your body remembers.

The first birthday without them.
The first holiday.
The day they died.
The last conversation.
The date the diagnosis landed like a thunderclap.

But also, the moment you should have been celebrating something else. When the rest of the world was lighting candles or opening champagne, and you were falling apart inside.

And then there are the quieter anniversaries.

The day they always called.
The season when their favorite flowers bloom.
The way autumn felt the year they left.
The time of year they were born, or got sick, or came home for the last time.

Sometimes you don’t even know what you’re remembering. You just feel raw. Frayed. Like the air got heavier and your skin grew thinner overnight.

That’s grief’s internal clock ticking.
It doesn’t ask for permission.
It just knows.

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The Triggers You Don’t See Coming

It’s not just the dates that ambush you. It’s everything else, too.

You hear someone laugh, and your whole nervous system flinches, because it sounds like them.

You pass their favorite restaurant, and your chest tightens before you even register why.

You say something they used to say, and your voice catches mid-sentence.

You walk into Target and burst into tears because the seasonal aisle changed, and it reminds you that life just keeps marching forward without them.

Sometimes, it’s even more random than that.

For me, it’s seeing Ralph Waite on television.
He played Gibbs’ dad on NCIS and Booth’s grandfather on Bones, among many other roles. My dad looked nothing like him and wasn’t nearly his age. Yet there’s something in his presence. Maybe it’s the blue eyes. Maybe the slightly sideways stance. Maybe something I can’t name. But every time I see him, my mind and heart fill with my dad, and tears begin to form. Instantly. Fully. Unexpectedly.

These aren’t overreactions. They’re echoes.

Your nervous system still holds the shape of your love.
It hasn’t forgotten.

The Pressure to Be Fine by Now

The world keeps moving.
People stop checking in.
After the first wave of condolences, it gets quiet.

And there you are, still tracking the calendar.
Still bracing for that one week in March.
Still wondering if anyone else remembers.

Life wants you to bounce back.
To show up, be productive, be “better.”
Even if you’re not even sure what “better” would mean.

Here’s what’s true:
Grief doesn’t care about social timelines.
There is no award for being stoic.
You are allowed to have a hard day on year one, or year twenty-three.

You are allowed to dread holidays.
To cancel plans the week before their birthday.
To feel angry that the world forgot when your body clearly did not.

Grief doesn’t have an expiration date.
And love doesn’t either.

A Gentle Ritual for the Hard Days

If you know a difficult date is coming, or even if you don’t, but something in your body says, “not this week,” try this:

Create a small sacred space. It doesn’t have to be fancy. A nightstand. A windowsill. The corner of your desk.

Place something there that reminds you of them. A photo. A rock. A note. A matchbook. Anything.

Light a candle if that feels good. Or don’t.

Put your hand on your heart. Say this aloud:

I remember.
I miss you.
I love you.
I’m still here.

That’s all.

Your grief doesn’t need to be fixed.
It needs to be honored.

What Helps When the Day Feels Heavy

Some days you won’t know what to do with yourself.
You might want a plan or a way to move the energy.
Other days, all you’ll want is sleep.

Here are a few ideas for the days that feel like too much:

Tell someone. Even just one person. “Hey, tomorrow is the anniversary. Can you check in on me?”
Name it in your journal. Try starting with: “What I’m bracing for is…”
Reschedule life. You don’t owe anyone your energy. Cancel the dinner. Skip the party. You don’t need a “valid” excuse.
Do something with the grief. Make their favorite meal. Listen to their favorite song. Visit their grave. Or don’t. Choose what feels right.
Rest more than usual. Grief fatigue is a real thing. So is anticipatory grief, and it can drain you in ways that don’t show up on the outside.

There’s no right way to mark a day.
You get to choose.
You get to opt out.
You get to create your own rhythm.

Let the Day Be What It Is

You don’t have to transform it.
You don’t have to find the lesson.
You don’t have to heal it.

You can just survive it.

Some years, the day will knock you down.
Other years, it may pass by like a soft breeze.

Neither one says anything about the depth of your love.
You don’t have to measure your healing.
You don’t have to perform your progress.

Let the day be what it is.
And let yourself be exactly who you are in it.

Tender. Raw. Resilient. Tired.
Still standing.
Still loving.
Still here.

If this post spoke to something in you, I’d love it if you’d like it, share it with someone who might need it, or subscribe to my newsletter for more like this—quiet truths, rituals, and reminders that you’re not alone in this.

Love today,
Heather 🌸

Journal Prompt – Week 3

What are the dates, places, or experiences that still carry emotional weight for you?
Are there “grief anniversaries” that no one else knows about?
How might you soften or honor those moments when they come?