I found grief is like a stormy ocean. When it’s fresh, the waves keep hitting, and all you can do is try to keep from drowning. That’s okay - it’s okay to focus on just not drowning. You don’t owe it to anyone to pretend you’re on a peaceful lake.

With time, the waves hit less and less often. For a while, though, it’s just the frequency that changes - not the amplitude. It will hit just as hard, and your responsibility remains the same: just don’t drown.

With a lot more time, the waves get smaller, too.

My only piece of advice is that when the waves hit, don’t focus on dog-paddling or floating or whatever stupid fucking thing people say you should be doing. Just. Don’t. Drown.

When the wave breaks, and you have your moment of peace, then you can take a moment to remind yourself that this will pass. The waves will get less frequent, and smaller.

Perhaps a touch more actionable: when my father passed, I found it helpful to engage in hobbies related to, but not identical to, his. It hit the right balance of making me feel in touch with him, without clobbering me over the head by emphasizing his absence.