When Grief Comes Back Around

I was driving down the road, soaking in the sunshine and the beauty of a spring day, when an old song came on the radio. It was one of those blast-from-the-past songs that instantly carried me somewhere else. Before I even had time to think about it, I turned the music up loud and started singing along with full gusto.

For a few minutes, I was back there again. Back in another season. Back in the memories of childhood. Back in the simple sweetness of a time that now feels both far away and strangely close.

I smiled as I sang, letting the song carry me. But then, just as quickly, the joy turned bittersweet. My thoughts drifted to my dad, and tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them.

My dad has been gone for thirty-two years now. That is such a long time, and yet there are still moments when grief finds its way back in. Not always loudly. Not always predictably. Sometimes it slips in through a song on the radio, a familiar smell, a holiday, a milestone, or a spring day that somehow holds more memory than I expected.

And in that moment, I simply missed him.

Grief is tricky that way. We sometimes think the passing of time should make it neat and tidy, as though enough years should soften every sharp edge and answer every ache. In some ways, time does bring healing. The pain may not feel as constant. The memories may become easier to carry. The tears may not come as often.

But grief does not always ask permission before it returns.

It can come back around when we least expect it, not because we have failed to heal, but because love does not disappear just because someone is gone. The ache is often evidence that the relationship mattered. The tears are not proof that we are stuck. Sometimes they are simply proof that we remember.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” A few verses later, we are reminded there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

I love the honesty of that. Scripture does not shame us for grieving. It does not rush us past sorrow or ask us to pretend loss does not hurt. It simply tells the truth: life comes with seasons. Some are filled with laughter and dancing. Some carry weeping and mourning. Many, if we are honest, hold both at the same time.

That spring day was one of those moments for me. I could sing with joy and still cry from missing my dad. I could be grateful for the memories and still ache over the fact that there will be no new ones with him. I could appreciate the beauty of the day and still feel the tenderness of what loss has taken.

That is part of what grief teaches us, if we let it. Loss has a way of reminding us that life is precious. People are precious. Time is precious. The ordinary moments we so easily rush through are often the very moments we will one day treasure.

Grief can make us more aware of what we had, but it can also make us more awake to what we still have. It can invite us to look around with softer eyes. To say the words while we can. To hug a little longer. To stop postponing gratitude. To notice the people, places, and gifts in front of us right now.

It can also remind us that everything in this life is temporary. That is not always an easy truth to sit with, but it is a freeing one when we let it lead us back to what is eternal.

The people we love are gifts, but we cannot hold them forever in this life. Seasons change. Children grow. Friendships shift. Health changes. Homes change. Roles change. The world around us keeps moving, even when part of us wants time to stand still.

But Jesus remains.

Hebrews 13:8 says, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” In a world where so much changes, that truth anchors me. The same Jesus who was present in the joys of my childhood is present with me now. The same Jesus who held me through the early years of loss still holds me today. The same Jesus who meets me in my laughter is not uncomfortable meeting me in my tears.

That does not erase grief, but it gives grief a safe place to land.

I do not have to choose between missing my dad and trusting Jesus. I do not have to pretend I am fine in order to prove I have faith. I can bring the ache, the gratitude, the memories, and the tears to the One who never changes.

And somehow, in that sacred exchange, hope begins to rise again.

Not a shallow hope that says loss does not matter. Not a forced hope that tells me to hurry up and move on. But a steady hope that reminds me I am not alone in the missing. A hope that helps me treasure what was, appreciate what is, and trust the One who holds what is still to come.

So if grief comes back around for you, even after many years, I hope you will not be hard on yourself. Let the tears come if they need to. Let the memory be sweet, even if it hurts. Let gratitude and sorrow sit together for a little while.

And then, when you are ready, let your heart turn again toward the One who is permanent.

The song may end. The season may change. The people we love may not always be here the way we wish they were.

But Jesus remains.

FOR FURTHER THOUGHT

Sometimes an unexpected emotion is an invitation to pay attention. A song, a memory, a photo, or even a quiet moment can reveal something tender beneath the surface. Instead of brushing it off or pushing through, consider pausing long enough to ask, What is this stirring in me? Is there something I need to grieve, appreciate, release, or bring honestly before Jesus?

This may be grief over someone who is gone, but it may also be grief over a season that changed, a relationship that shifted, a dream that looks different now, or a version of life you thought would last longer than it did. Naming what we miss can help us honor it without being ruled by it. It can also open our eyes to the gifts still present in this season, even if they look different than we expected.

This week, choose one small way to practice gratitude in the middle of whatever feels tender. Send the text. Make the call. Write down the memory. Sit with Jesus for a few quiet minutes and tell Him the truth. Let the ache remind you not only of what mattered, but of what still matters now.

PRAYER

Jesus, thank You for meeting me in every season of my life. Thank You for the people I have loved, the memories I still carry, and the gifts I sometimes forget to notice. When grief comes back around, help me not to run from it or be ashamed of it. Teach me to bring my sadness, gratitude, and longing to You. Remind me that while life changes and seasons shift, You remain the same yesterday, today, and forever. Let me rest in that truth, secure that You hold me in the palm of Your hand. Praise You, Papa. In Jesus' name, Amen.

ABOUT BARB LOWNSBURY

Barb is a speaker, author, and entrepreneur. She holds Bachelor's Degrees in International History and Education, as well as a Master’s Degree in Education. Barb has spoken at conferences and taught classes throughout the U.S. on topics including faith, relationships, leadership, and courage through trials. Her book, Using What’s Broken to Boldly Shine, is a powerful read on transformation through adversity. Her blog focuses on providing people with everyday encouragement and strength. Barb serves as the Executive Director and Editor for The Dented Fender Ministry and runs a successful real estate and development company. She and her husband currently reside in Lebanon, Ohio.

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