Grief Finds Us in the Strangest Places

So listen, have you ever been ambushed by Grief in the middle of a grocery store, right? Like, one minute you're just existing, grabbing a carton of eggs, minding your business, and then, boom, there it is, sitting right there on the shelf, daring you to keep it together under those ugly supermarket fluorescent lights. Right? So. So what happened was a friend of mine texted me yesterday and said that he was in the store when Grief came in. You know, he was reaching for his dad's favorite cereal, Raisin Bran, of all things.

I love Raisin Brun. But he put it in the cart like he always did, and halfway down the aisle, it hit him. His dad is gone. He's not there to eat it anymore, and he just stood there holding this box of Raisin Brans, trying not to lose it in front of the Lucky Charms, right? But honestly, I get it. I mean, grief doesn't really care who you are. It doesn't wait for a convenient moment. It doesn't show up like, hey, see, you're free on Tuesday at 4:00pm you mind if I wreck your life a little bit? Nah, I just sneaks in.

Tucked inside of, like, an old coat inside of a radio, some perfume in the crowd. You know, Another friend a little while ago told me that she found her dead husband's hoodie in the closet. Closet. Hadn't seen it in a long time. And there it was, tucked in the back. Been hiding away before, right? And she picked it up, and without thinking, she put it over her head, and it still smelled like him. And right there, there she was, standing in the bedroom, breaking down. And not because she wasn't over it, and not because she was looking for a reason to be sad that day, but, you know, because grief has this way of turning the most ordinary, you know, things in our lives into these moments.

You know, even I remember a couple years ago, I was in la, minding my own business, driving through the city, and out of nowhere, I got, you know, started thinking about my grandma. And it wasn't a specific memory. It was just one of those little thoughts that slips in sideways. So here I met this red light. My throat tightened, and I'm thinking I just need to be able to see when the light turns green, right? That was the goal. Not to spin out of control, not to examine my entire life's existence, but just to get my eyes clear enough to drive.

And, you know, sometimes grief makes you just feel ridiculous. You know, why am I crying over a box of cereal? Why am I crying at a stoplight? Why am I crying while putting on this. This old hoodie. But I think that's the thing, right? Like, grief doesn't live in these big moments, not really. It hides in these tiny, ordinary things that remind you of who those people were and who we were when we were with them. So, you know, if you. If you ever find yourself, like, standing in a cereal aisle holding a box of Raisin Bran, breaking down, just know you're not weird.

You're not broken. You're just human. And humans love. That means humans grieve. That's just part of the deal, right? And, hey, if you need to buy that box of cereal, like I told my friend, keep it. To keep it in your kitchen for a while, just do it. If you need to put it back on the shelf and whisper to it, you know, not today, you sneaky b******. Or any other cuss words you want to use, that's fine, too. And if you need to wear the hoodie or wash it or sit with it or whatever you want to do with it, it's your call.

However you get through it is the right way. And just know that you're not alone. You know, others feel the same. If you need to sit on the floor in the grocery store, call a friend who'll be there with you. I'll be there. You know, I'll grab some tissues from aisle 11, some snacks from aisle 2, and I'll be there. Yeah, like my friend Lisa says, grief is a sneaky.