Continuing Bonds: Living With Grief

This morning, I took a drive in the beautiful, autumn Adelaide Hills with my family, listening to music along the way. My daughter has recently taken a shine to 70s soul music, so I created a playlist of songs I remember from my youth. Music, in many ways, is a universal language and I love how it connects us, not just presently, but beyond life too.  And I began to think about the other ways we remain connected to those we’ve lost. In grief therapy we refer to these connections as continuing bonds, adapting to a new reality without the physical presence of a loved one but not having to entirely let go if we choose not to.

There is a school of thought that suggests we learn not to grieve, at least for too long. In society that’s reflected in the time we’re given to grieve, three days compassionate leave, for example, and then it’s back to work, back to normal. The world moves on, forcing us to move with it, ready or not. And then, one day, a song, a scent, a voice, a picture, will jolt us back into the reality of our loss.

We tend to think of grief as a linear process, something we "work through”. But grief doesn’t exist on a calendar. It lives in the core of our body, in memory, in the things we can’t control, like the way a song or a smell can transport us back in time. These moments can feel intrusive, unwelcome, especially when they don’t align with society’s expectation of healing.

The truth of grief is that it is simply love that has lost its intended destination. So, it comes out sideways, through music, through dreams, through triggered memories. And they remind us that the bond continues, and your love is alive. Sometimes the remembering hurts, and that’s allowed, so allow it. But it’s also a continuing connection to a love you thought lost yet ever present.

If this speaks to something in you, know that you’re not alone. In therapy, we make room for all kinds of grief, whether it’s sudden, slow, or omnipresent. You don’t have to carry it quietly. You’re welcome to bring your story, your tears, and your songs.

Mind yourself.

Alan.