“Grief is Love With No Place to Go”

In the changing of the seasons from summer to fall and from fall to winter, I am intimately reminded of the seasons and changes we experience in life. This includes the change and loss of relationships, often ushering us into a season which we call grief.

And what is grief, really?

Grief is often described as a storm, a wave, a shadow that lingers long after loss. Yet, beneath every metaphor is the old adage, grief is love with no place to go. When my father died 16-years ago following a prolonged and progressive illness, I felt – and still feel – the ache of love that seems to have lost its destination. And although my relationship with my father can only be characterized as a complicated one, I still miss the voice I can no longer hear and our weekly visits around a cup of coffee at the local Borders Bookstore. The simple truth is, when love has been so deeply woven into our lives, its displacement leaves us raw and searching.

In grief, the love we once so freely gave has nowhere to land. It turns inward, swirling through memory and meaning, begging to be witnessed. We might find ourselves replaying conversations, imagining what we would say now, or feeling waves of longing that surprise us in ordinary moments. This is not a sign of weakness or inability to “get over it” or “move on,” rather it is a sign that we have loved deeply, and that love does not end simply because a life or relationship has changed or has concluded.

Over time, grief invites us to transform that unspent love into new forms. The parent who loses a child may find purpose in mentoring others. The widow may plant a garden in remembrance, nurturing life in the very soil of sorrow. The friend who loses someone dear might tell stories, ensuring their laughter and wisdom continue to ripple outward. In each act, love finds a new direction—not as a replacement, but as a continuation.

Still, we should not rush the process. There is holiness in the waiting, in the empty spaces where love aches and echoes. These spaces remind us that love is powerful enough to endure absence. They teach us to carry tenderness alongside pain, to let memory be both comfort and teacher.

To say grief is love with no place to go is to recognize the persistence of love. Even in the deepest sorrow, love remains—stubborn, faithful, and unrelenting. Perhaps the task of healing is not to send that love away, but to learn where it now belongs. Sometimes, that means offering it to others who suffer. Sometimes, it means offering that love to ourselves.

Let us remember: Grief reshapes us. It softens what we once thought unchangeable. It reminds us that love is never wasted, even when it hurts. And though the path through grief may be winding and uneven, it is, at its very core, a journey back to love—learning again and again how to let love flow, even when its first home is gone.

*Photo of my father’s Memory Plaque; First United Methodist Church, Albuquerque

*Today’s blog written in loving memory of Carol Crawford and Sharon Kay Johnson