Grief Doesn’t End The Relationship

Ten weeks after my mother died from the long ache of alcoholism, my sister ended her life.

It still doesn’t feel real to write that. Some mornings I wake up thinking I can call one of them. Grief is strange like that—it blurs the lines between what was and what is.

But what I’ve been learning, especially through the teachings of my people, is that grief is not the end of the relationship. It’s a continuation. The love doesn’t disappear. The connection doesn’t vanish. It just shifts.

In Ojibwe teachings, we understand that the spirit continues. Death is not a wall—it’s a doorway. Our loved ones walk into the next world, but they still walk with us. We are never truly alone. The bond remains. Our stories, our love, our remembering—these are sacred medicines.

I talk to my sister all the time. I ask her to help me stay brave. I whisper to my mother when I’m painting or when a bird crosses my path in a way that feels like a wink. I feel them. Not in the way I want, not with arms I can hold—but in that quiet way you feel your ancestors in the trees, or the sky when it cracks open with light.

Grief isn’t something we “get over.” It becomes part of our bundle. It travels with us. And in our ways, that’s okay. We carry what we love. We carry what we lose. And both are sacred.

I’m still learning how to carry this. Some days it’s heavy. Other days, it feels like ceremony. I’ve given myself permission to understand that it’s okay to talk to them, to tell stories about them, to cry without knowing why. That I can still live a life that honours them. That I can speak their names and feel them rise like smoke in the air.

If you’re grieving too, here are some things that have helped me, or that might help you:

• Talk to them. Say their name out loud. Speak to their spirit. Write them letters. You’re still in relationship.

• Create small rituals. Light a candle. Offer tobacco. Walk to the same place each week and feel them beside you. Let your grief have shape.

• Let yourself cry—or not. Some days are full of tears, others are just quiet. Both are okay.

• Tell their stories. Remember them with laughter. Bring them up in conversation. Let others know who they were.

• Rest. Grief is work, and your body knows it. Let yourself rest without guilt.

• Ask for help. From a friend, a therapist, a healer, or an Elder. You don’t have to carry it all alone.

• Make something. Art, food, a playlist, a garden—anything that lets your hands move your love into the world.

Grief is a teacher. It’s slow and it’s sacred. And you’re allowed to take your time.

We don’t move on. We move with.

And that, too, is love.

With tenderness,

Julie

If this resonated with you, feel free to share, comment, or just sit with it. I’m listening.

My sister and niece