Why Grief Isn’t About What’s Lost—But What It Meant

(sand shaking) (mouse clicking) (bright music) Headspace Studios. Hey friends, it's Rosie here. Welcome to Radio Headspace and to Tuesday. So a friend of mine lost everything in the fires, his home, his belongings, even a crocheted blanket his grandmother had made for him. And as we sat together, he didn't cry about the house itself, he cried about that blanket. He said it was the last thing she ever made for me. And in that moment, I understood something about grief that I hadn't before. Loss isn't about objects. It's about the love and time woven into them. It's about what they remind us of, who we were, who we loved, who loved us. Yesterday we talked about the suddenness of loss, how it can shake us, how it can feel like the ground beneath us has disappeared. But today I wanna talk about something that often lingers beneath that loss. Because usually it's not just the thing itself we mourn. It's what it represented. The meaning, the memories, the sense of safety or the love it held for us. I think on an intellectual level, we understand that grief isn't logical. It doesn't follow a neat, predictable path. We don't mourn things simply because they had value in a material sense. We mourn them because they carried pieces of us. They held memories, moments, and meaning. A worn out sweater that still smells like someone we love, a book we scribbled notes in the margins reminding us of who we once were, a voicemail we replay just to hear a voice we can't call anymore. These things aren't just objects. They are anchors to the people, places, and versions of ourselves that we never thought we'd have to say goodbye to. I shared that when I thought we might lose our home. I wasn't thinking about our furniture or my clothes. I was thinking about my abuelita's necklace and the picture of my dad as a young man. The belt Tory made for me by hand. These weren't just items, they were stories, proof of love, of time, of connection. I think that's why loss can feel so disorienting. It's not just about what's missing, it's about what those things meant to us, what they carried. And when they're gone, it can feel like a part of us is gone too. But here's what I've come to understand. Love isn't contained in objects. It's not locked away in a photo or a piece of jewelry. The people we've lost, the moments we've cherished, the love we've known, it doesn't disappear when the physical reminders are gone. It lives in us in the way that we tell their stories and the way that we carry their lessons and the way that we show up for others with the same love we were given. Loss changes us, but it doesn't have to leave us empty. It can also remind us of how deeply we've lived, how much we've been loved, and...