Pooh-losophy of grief
I have witnessed the agony of watching my dad flatline in the ICU, a college bestie’s body slowly turn cold after life support was withdrawn, and the ache of difficult “goodbyes.”
At wakes, listening to eulogies often reveals who someone was and the impact they made. The joy, sadness, anger and regret expressed by mourners often moves me, leaving me melancholic and reflective. In moments of offering sympathy to the grieving, I’ve learned that the most compassionate response is often not to say anything at all, but simply to be there. Prayers and hugs are welcome, too.
Why does grief stay with us for so long?
Perhaps Winnie-the-Pooh understood something about grief that many of us struggle to put into words. The gentle bear showed us that when we must be apart from those we love, they remain secretly tucked into our hearts—meaning the love never truly disappears.
It stays.
And that is why ordinary things can suddenly hurt—a familiar song, an empty chair, a favorite restaurant or a place visited together. These seemingly insignificant things can bring someone back in an instant. They remind our hearts that although the person is gone, the love remains.
So how does one move forward without leaving that love behind?
Maybe moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting. It’s about learning to keep going while carrying the memories gently. It also means accepting that someone can be physically absent yet remain deeply present in our hearts.
Pooh and his ever-gloomy friend Eeyore offer a surprisingly comforting philosophy: grief is not something we simply “get over.” It changes shape. Some days it may feel light enough to carry; on others, it can feel impossibly heavy.
And perhaps that is why grief is not merely about sadness. It’s also proof that someone truly mattered.
Years may pass, yet a memory can still bring tears to our eyes—or make us smile or giggle unexpectedly. We may continue to miss someone long after, when others have forgotten or moved on. There is no timetable for grief.
When someone we love passes away, it feels as though they take a part of our hearts because we gave that part to them when they were with us.
That little piece of our heart carries every laugh, every hug, every ordinary day and every moment we were blessed enough to share.
Perhaps the goal of the grieving isn’t to stop missing them.
Maybe it’s to learn how to miss someone and still live.
It means learning to laugh again without feeling guilty. To enjoy ordinary days. To make new memories while cherishing old ones. To believe they’re in a better place wrapped up in God’s love. And to carry our love forward instead of leaving it at a graveside, inside a hospital room, or within that last goodbye.
Sometimes, when remembering someone long gone, I talk to them about my day, tell them I miss them, and share what I was unable to say when they were around. It is comforting to believe that love will always find a way to carry our thoughts and prayers to someone up there.
And when grief becomes too heavy, perhaps the simplest Pooh-losophy of all is this: we don’t have to carry it alone.
Sometimes, healing begins with a dear one like Pooh sitting quietly beside us, offering a hug and some sweet honey, while listening to us without trying to fix anything—and staying.
Because rough waters are easier to cross with someone we cherish by our side.
