Growing Through Grief: Finding grace in disappointment
By Angela Clement
Grief is a process, and over time, I have learned to recognize its arrival. It has become a familiar, if unwelcome, friend. I know its rhythm, its weight, and the way it demands to be acknowledged. But lately, I’ve been reminded that grief doesn't just show up for the "big" losses; it often hides in the cracks of our everyday lives, waiting to be triggered by the smallest of disappointments.
I spent years trying to right a wrong—to reclaim a lost holiday for my family and turn a painful, stranded memory into a gift for my children. When the plans finally crumbled—through no one’s fault—it wasn’t just the vacation that didn’t turn out as I’d envisioned. It was the sudden evaporation of a "do-over" I had been carrying for so long. It feels incredibly incomplete. Displaced. There is a strange, hollow irony in being so excited to offer a gift, only to have it returned to sender.
To make matters more tangible, there is the financial weight of the cancellation. It serves as a stark reminder that we cannot purchase the outcome we want, no matter how hard we try. No matter how hard we try to create balance and fairness, life often has a way of tipping the scales in ways we didn’t intend. We cannot buy back time, we cannot purchase perfect family harmony, and we certainly cannot insure ourselves against the unpredictability of life.
Yes, I am still going on this trip at Christmas with people I love. Yes, I am deeply grateful that I have the resources to have this experience with my parents and my partner’s family and yes I will most likely have a lot of fun. I can hold these truths in one hand, but in the other, I am still holding a heavy, aching disappointment. My own children and grandchildren won’t be there. It stings, and I am learning that I cannot—and should not—sugarcoat that hurt.
We often feel pressure to "get over it." We are told to look on the bright side, to be grateful, to move on. We might even be told we are being silly. But if we don’t acknowledge the pain that is truly there, it doesn't disappear; it just goes underground. What we resist, persists. Those around us can only console us for so long before they become uncomfortable with our lingering sadness. They want us to be better, to be "fixed." But grief isn't a broken appliance; it’s a season. And sometimes, you have to be in the pain to move through it.
There is a specific, quiet isolation in being the organizer. Because I am the one who made the trip happen, I feel a silent, crushing pressure to be the one who is the most grateful. I am the one who "should" be happy, yet I am the one nursing a broken heart. This is where the older, larger griefs rise to the surface. I wonder how he would have navigated this.
So, what now? I am doing the work. I am putting it into words. I am acknowledging that I am hurt, disappointed, and even a little angry at myself for feeling this way. But I am also learning to offer myself some self-compassion. I was trying to be generous. I was trying to be a "bridge-builder." My intentions were beautiful, even if the result wasn’t what I wanted.
As long as I hold onto the "ghost" of the trip I planned, I will remain stuck in the disappointment. The reality, whether I like it or not, is that the group I had originally envisioned has shifted. The goal now is to find a way to embrace the beauty in this reality. It is a tricky, delicate dance, but I know I have moved through worse in the past, and I will get through this with grace. I am resilient, and each time I lean into this process, I grow a little stronger. Others may never truly understand the depth of what we go through when we grieve, but we do, and that is enough. We allow ourselves the time we need, unapologetically. That is kind. That is loving. That is the way through.