It can feel like a different planet when you lose someone close. The year immediately after loss is full of first’s. First birthday without them. First anniversary without them. First Tuesday without them.

People gather around you and do their best to offer their understanding and support as you travel through your process.

But it’s a solo process. It always has been. And no year is this more apparent than the second. It’s the year when the world moves forward as if nothing happened while you sit there with your heart still in your hands, wondering what to do next.

In truth, this second year is harder than the first. It’s the year you have to figure out how to navigate this world on your own, all while still getting used to the gaping hole in your heart. It’s, what I now refer to as the loneliest year.

Life moves forward, as it should, in a very natural way. There’s no pause button for heart break. It’s just that the new natural is still somewhat unfamiliar, and it takes getting used to… often a far longer process than we expect.

This transition – between what was and what is – becomes most apparent during the holidays. Christmas and Thanksgiving sure, but also Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, anniversaries and birthdays. It coats each holiday with a shear layer of sadness, longing, and remembering.

It’s not all together bad, and it’s not all together good. It’s simply different.

Loss is an inevitable part of life. One that changes us every time we go through it. But the more times I’ve encountered loss in my life, the more I’ve been able to see it for what it is: quite simply, different.

Sure I miss my mom, my dad, and my brother. I miss my grandparents and the friends who have gone before me. But more than anything, I’m still adjusting to the idea of a different reality – one in which these loved ones are less tangible, but hardly gone.

This time of year, my thoughts stray towards them more often, pulling at the strings of my memories. Sometimes they’re full of laughter, other times I sigh in exasperation.

It’s the second year all over again – a year of finding my bearings and gaining a more stable footing on Planet Different.

I’d like to say it gets easier, and maybe that’s what some would call it. But I’d say it gets more familiar.

Accepting that heartbreak is simply a part of loving and living may sound bleak. But in reality, it’s one of the most hopeful truths I’ve discovered through loss.

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