It’s a Saturday morning, and it might be the first day of returning to normalcy after a hectic week. You might be flooded with thoughts and big, deep feelings about someone who recently died. Maybe it was sudden. Perhaps it wasn’t. It may still not make sense. Either way, here you are, stepping back into routine while grief settles in like an unexpected guest who refuses to leave.

These waves can hit when you least expect them. When life quiets down, the grief gets louder. Today, it could be a name, a memory, a song on the radio. Perhaps it’s the weight of regret, the lingering question of what you could’ve done differently.

We know that feeling well—the relentless questioning, the wondering if you could’ve done more. You might think of someone who died a natural death, the words never spoken, and how you wish they were. You might think about someone taken too soon. We all have that someone—some taken by tragedy or illness, others by addiction, but it’s always in ways that still don’t make sense. Every death leaves a mark, a space that can’t be filled. And with that space comes the “what ifs.”

You might wonder how much you wish you could have saved them, and about the signs, the moments that felt like warnings in hindsight. Sometimes, there was an unshakable sense that things weren’t right. You replay the last conversations, the missed opportunities, the moments where maybe—just—maybe things could have been different.

That’s the thing about grief—it doesn’t just bring sadness. It brings guilt, the cruel illusion that we could have rewritten the story if only we had tried harder. And when it’s layered—when more than one person has passed away—it feels even heavier, like it’s up to us to make sure no one else in our lives meets the same fate.

But here’s what we want to remind you: You are not responsible for saving everyone.

Addiction, violence, and one’s natural death—they are bigger than anyone’s ability to stop them. That’s a hard truth to live with. But the love we carry? That’s still ours. And that’s what matters now.

Grief has its timing. It shows up when it wants. And when it does, we acknowledge it. We sit with it. And when we’re ready, we keep moving forward—not because we’ve forgotten, but because we’re still here. And that matters, too.

Be gentle with yourself when you’re just missing their voice, their presence, their laugh. Say their name out loud. Light a candle. But don’t carry the unbearable weight of “what if” alone.

If you’re feeling the weight of grief today, please know you’re not alone. Reach out if you can, even in small ways. Send a text to a friend or family member who understands. Or to a community of people who know because they are grieving too.

Regardless, permit yourself to feel without judgment, to grieve without guilt, and to miss them without making it your job to rewrite the past.