The Grief No One Prepares You For

My Friends,

There is a kind of grief that has no funeral. No casserole dropped at your door. No cards in the mail. No one dressed in black, sitting beside you in silence.

It is the grief of watching someone you love become someone you no longer recognize.

Maybe it's the friend who chose bitterness over healing and now lives in a permanent state of offense. Maybe it's the family member whose heart has grown so hard that kindness bounces off like rain on concrete. Maybe it's the person you prayed with, laughed with, dreamed with, who is still breathing, still posting online, still living their life, but is no longer here in any way that matters.

They didn't die. But you lost them anyway.

And the world expects you to act like nothing happened.

This week, I sat with a dear friend who is walking through this kind of grief. As she shared her story, my heart ached for her. Not because of obvious tragedy, but because of the slow, quiet loss of someone she loves deeply. Someone who is still here, but somehow, not really here at all.

One of the most painful forms of suffering is loving someone who has made themselves unreachable.

You can see it happening. You can feel the distance growing. But no matter how hard you try, no matter how gentle your words, how patient your presence, they will not let you in. They have built walls so high that even the people who love them most cannot get through.

And here is what breaks my heart: they often do not even see it.

They believe they are fine. Strong, even. Independent. "I don't need anyone." But God never designed us to live that way. We were created for community, for connection, for honest relationship with Him and with each other.

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up." (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2)

Here is something I wish someone had told my friend years ago, and maybe you need to hear it too: you cannot save someone who does not want to be saved.

You cannot force someone to receive love.
You cannot heal someone who refuses to acknowledge they are hurting.
You cannot walk beside someone who insists on walking alone.

Even Jesus, in all His perfect love, allowed people to choose their own path.

Remember the rich young ruler? Jesus loved him. The Bible tells us that explicitly. Jesus saw his heart, knew exactly what he needed, and offered him the invitation of a lifetime. But when the young man could not let go of what was holding him back, Jesus let him walk away. He didn't chase. He didn't beg. He simply loved him and let him choose.

"Jesus looked at him and loved him. 'One thing you lack,' he said. 'Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.' At this the man's face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth." (Mark 10:21-22)

If you are grieving someone who is still alive, I want you to hear this clearly: your grief is real, and it matters.

Do not let anyone minimize it. Do not let anyone rush you through it. Do not let anyone tell you that if you just had more faith, it wouldn't hurt so much.

Even Jesus wept. Even knowing Lazarus would rise again, He stood at the tomb and grieved. He did not bypass the pain. He entered into it fully.

"Jesus wept." (John 11:35)

You are allowed to be sad.
You are allowed to feel the loss.
You are allowed to miss who they used to be.

David, a man after God's own heart, poured out his grief to the Lord without pretense. He did not hide his pain or put on a brave face. He brought it all before God: "How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?" (Psalm 13:2)

God can handle your honesty. He already knows your heart. He is not offended by your pain. In fact, He draws near to it: "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)

This is where Jesus meets us. Right in the middle of our heartbreak. Right in the confusion of loving someone we can no longer reach. He does not scold us for grieving. He sits with us in it.

When we have to step back from someone we love, it does not mean we have failed. It does not mean we didn't love them enough. Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is trust God with them and protect our own hearts in the process.

"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." (Proverbs 4:23)

This is not about being harsh or cold. This is about recognizing that we cannot do for someone what only God can do. We cannot change their heart. We cannot open their eyes. We cannot heal what they will not bring to the light.

But God can.

"The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9)

"I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow." (1 Corinthians 3:6)

Our job is to love well. To pray faithfully. To trust deeply. And then, to release the outcome to the only One who can truly transform a life.

So what do we do when we are stuck in this heartbreaking place? When someone we love is still alive but lost to us?

We bring it to Jesus. Honestly. Without pretense. We do not act like we are fine when we are falling apart. We bring our broken hearts to the One who promises to be near:

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7)

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)

We forgive. Not because they have asked for it. Not because they deserve it. But because we need the freedom that comes from releasing bitterness and choosing grace:

"Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you." (Colossians 3:13)

Forgiveness does not mean pretending it never happened. It means releasing our right to hold it over them and trusting God with the outcome.

We guard what we let into our minds and hearts. We stop rehearsing the conversations. We stop imagining different outcomes. We stop giving mental and emotional space to someone who has chosen to live outside the boundaries of healthy relationship:

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things." (Philippians 4:8)

We trust that God is not finished. Not with them. Not with us. We remember that God's timing is not ours, and His love never fails:

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:3)

If you are grieving someone who is still breathing, my heart is with you.

You are not alone in this.

And you are not wrong for feeling this deeply. The capacity to grieve is the same capacity that allows us to love. And loving well, even when it costs us, is never wasted.

Jesus sees every tear. He knows every sleepless night. He understands the weight you carry. And He is walking with you through it.

"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." (Psalm 23:4)

So grieve it.
Bring it to Jesus.
And when you are ready, keep walking.

Because even in this grief, even in the letting go, there is hope. Jesus is near. Emmanuel, God with us. He has not left you. He will not leave you. And He is using even this painful season to shape you into someone who loves deeply, trusts fully, and reflects His heart to a world that desperately needs it.

I am praying for you.

Love,
Andrea Anderegg