A Daily Dose, Through Grief: Writing Through Loss, Love, and the Choice to Keep Going

Grief, creativity, and healing after loss—an honest reflection on showing up, choosing light, and honouring love.

I didn’t set out to make something profound.

I was in a creative slump—one of those quiet, stubborn seasons where inspiration doesn’t knock and discipline feels heavier than usual. So I made a simple deal with myself: show up anyway. Every day. Write something short. Film it. Speak it into the camera. Total cringe.

Total discomfort. An exercise in doing hard things—doing the things I don’t particularly like doing.

The concept was uncomplicated and deeply personal: a daily dose of advice to myself. Something I needed to hear that day. If it resonated with other people, great. If not, I was still practicing my craft. Still honouring the process.

And then life did what it does best.

Unexpectedly, my nephew passed away.

Our family was devastated. And because of the nature of his passing, we are still grieving—still mourning, still trying to make sense of something that refuses to make sense. It was a brutal reminder that no one is exempt from surreal, heartbreaking experiences. Pain doesn’t discriminate. Loss doesn’t send warnings.

Choosing Light Without Toxic Positivity

I want to be clear about something: I don’t believe in toxic positivity. I’m a realist. I see the world as it is—the smoke and mirrors, the misdirection, the hate, the violence, the manipulation. I’m not naïve. But I do choose the light anyway. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary.

I keep my life simple.

I focus on what I can control. I choose kindness. I love the people who deserve it most. I practice gratitude—for the blessings and the challenges. I stay open to the lessons. I try to be of value.

All of that sounds neat and tidy—until grief enters the room.

Because when someone dies, especially someone young, people don’t suddenly change. Their character is revealed. Grief strips us bare. It shows us who we are when the ground disappears beneath our feet.

Writing as a Way Through Grief

I considered stopping the daily dose.

But the truth is—I needed it more than ever.

So I kept writing. Words soaked in grief and healing. Capturing the rawness. The contradictions. The strange truth that sometimes you don’t want the sadness to leave, because the sadness carries the memories—and letting it go feels like another loss. Another kind of emptiness.

My mom and my sister told me they looked forward to reading my notes each day. That they helped. I didn’t have answers. I still don’t. But I showed up anyway.

I’ve experienced loss before. Close friends. Family members. But nothing prepares you for losing someone young—someone with their whole life ahead of them.

When Loss Is Sudden

I was asked to create the in-memory slideshow.

I’ve done many of these before. Usually there’s a kind of emotional distance. You see a full life—long years, or at least time to prepare in the case of illness. There’s a beginning, middle, and sense of completion.

This was different.

This was my nephew.

It took nearly three days to finish. What struck me most was this: there was no difference between the baby boy and the young man. The same essence. The same vulnerability. Someone trying to find his way. Someone who, like all of us, was doing the best he could with what he had.

Searching for Meaning After Death

In my ongoing search for meaning, I revisited a series by Neale Donald Walsch, Conversations with God. There’s a section on death that offers a radical reframe—one that doesn’t necessarily land neatly, but invites curiosity.

The idea is this: there is no such thing as death—only a change of form.

That life is an eternal journey of the soul. That the body is a temporary vessel, a space suit for the human experience. When it stops functioning, the soul doesn’t end. It continues.

Fully intact. Fully aware.

From this perspective, death isn’t a tragedy but a transition. A release. A homecoming. What we mourn is the loss of physical presence—not the loss of essence.

It also suggests that no one leaves before their time. That on a soul level, there are no accidents. This is not an easy concept—especially in sudden loss—but its intention is to remove blame. To soften the idea of meaningless tragedy.

The books suggest that communication continues. That love is the frequency souls respond to. That signs, dreams, and quiet knowing are not imagined—they’re connections.

I don’t present this as truth. I present it as perspective.

Some days it resonates. Some days it doesn’t.

And that’s okay.

Grief Is a Lifelong Process

Grief is not something you finish. It’s something you integrate. A lifelong companion that reshapes you quietly over time. Your life will flow again—but it will flow differently. Grief becomes part of your story. Part of your identity.

Your relationship with the person you lost doesn’t end—it evolves.

Death doesn’t end love. It changes how love shows up.

I’m still cycling through sadness, anger, confusion, and numbness. Sometimes all in the same day. But I’m going to keep writing The Daily Dose—for myself, and for anyone who might need it.

I don’t know what’s next.

What I do know is this: it will be honest. It will be intentional. It will lead with integrity.

And always—with love, patience, and grace.

For me, there is no other way.