The Edge of Grief

I’ve always been an emotional person. Someone who’s deeply sentimental, easily moved by small gestures, old photos, and fading memories. Thankfully, I never had to face real loss when I was young. But as I grow older, the thought of grief feels like a shadow that creeps closer with each passing year.

There have been moments where I’ve spiraled into panic attacks, triggered by obsessive thoughts of losing the people I love. These imagined tragedies loop in my mind like a broken record. I know they’re not real, but when they take over, logic disappears. I begin to grieve events that haven’t happened. It feels real and I grieve for a situation that doesn’t exist. And the fear becomes overwhelming: What if one day someone I love is just… gone? How would I survive that?

Not long ago, someone close to me passed away. A friend, but more than that, a steady older brother presence in my life. Someone who looked out for me when I didn’t know I needed looking after. His death came without warning, so sudden and sharp. It cracked something open in me, forcing questions I had been avoiding to surface again.

What is this life? What does it mean to be here, only to vanish? Why does everything feel so temporary, so brittle, so easily lost?

If I could choose my fate, I think I’d rather leave this world before my loved ones. It might sound selfish, but I’d rather be spared the pain of loss than endure the silence that follows it. The truth is harsh: when someone dies, they’re truly gone. People say memories live on, but even they will begin to blur someday. Eventually, the voice you once heard clearly becomes an echo. Photos become symbols. You see, death steals more than just people, it steals the feeling of them.

Everything in life is ephemeral. It is fragile. It can change overnight.

And maybe the only way to cope with this inevitable truth is to stay grounded in the present. To fully appreciate the people I love while they are still here. To be more intentional with my time. More generous with my love. More present in my conversations. I have begun taking more photos, capturing the ordinary, a shared laugh, a quiet meal, a hand held a little longer, because I fear forgetting. I fear the day when remembering is all I have.

I think those who suffer most in grief are the ones with the heaviest regrets. I don’t want to be one of them. If I die tomorrow, I want to be at peace with how I lived. I want to know that I loved fully, gave freely, and didn’t wait for later to be the person I was meant to be for the people I care about.