Grief Is Joy’s Uninvited Cousin

Grief is joy’s uninvited cousin. The one who shows up without calling, makes things weird, and somehow manages to stick around way too long. Whether you’re at work, in line at the grocery store, or listening to that one song you thought you were finally okay to hear again.

Boom.

There it is.

Why Grief Exists

But here’s the thing. Grief only exists because love came first. Because something or someone mattered deeply enough to leave a mark. And even if that mark shatters every time you hear their name, even if an old photo catches you off guard and breaks your heart all over again, and even if your knees buckle when you think about all of the missed moments, milestones, and memories you’ll never get to share—it’s proof.

Proof that they were real.
Proof that you loved.
And proof that you were loved in return.

A Personal Encounter With Loss

I’ve lost a lot of people in my life. It’s never easy, and even years later the sadness still sneaks in when I least expect it. I always just assumed it was how grief worked. That those quiet sucker punches to the gut were inevitable, and just a part of learning to carry on without the ones we’ve lost. But one afternoon, while listening to a 90’s playlist on Spotify, Janet Jackson’s song Together Again started playing.

I’d heard it before, probably danced to it at a junior high school party without a second thought. Back then, it was just catchy, upbeat, and almost joyful. I never really paid attention to the lyrics.

But this time, it hit different.

How a Song Changed My View of Grief

As an adult who now knows what loss feels like, I realized the song wasn’t just a dance track. It was a love letter to someone who’s gone. It wasn’t heavy with sorrow. It wasn’t about what was missing. It was about what still remained. The connection. The memories. The love that doesn’t go away just because someone’s no longer here.

It changed the way I thought about grief. And I started thinking, what if we were able to reframe grief in such a way that once the initial sadness and heartbreak went away, only the joy from the memories remained?

“Everywhere I go, every smile I see, I know you are there, smiling back at me.”

Grief, Reimagined

It wasn’t about pretending everything was okay. It was about carrying someone with you. In memories, in little moments, in the light that still shows up even after the darkest days. The beat was joyful, the message full of warmth.

It was grief… reimagined.

A reminder that love doesn’t end. That just because someone is gone, doesn’t mean they’re gone from you.

And maybe that’s the shift we need. Not to forget, not to suppress the sadness, but to balance it with joy. To let laughter live alongside tears. To remember that grief only exists because something beautiful came before it. Janet’s song reminded me that maybe, instead of only mourning what we’ve lost, we can also celebrate what we were lucky enough to have in the first place.

Learning to Carry Grief Differently

I’m not saying it will be easy. Grief isn’t something we get over, but maybe it’s something we can grow into. And on the days it sneaks in—in a grocery store aisle, in the car, in a Janet Jackson song—maybe we just let it sit beside us. Not as a shadow, but as a reminder that we loved well. And that we still can. Because maybe the most beautiful way to honor those we’ve lost is to keep living in a way they’d be proud of. Smiling back at them. Every time we feel them near.

Grief doesn’t ask permission. It shows up unannounced, with its suitcase of emotions. Sadness, anger, guilt, longing. And all of those feelings? They’re valid. They deserve space.

But they don’t get to drive.

Because while I can’t control who I’ve lost, or when, or how — I can control how I carry them forward.

Choosing to Reframe Grief

So I’m choosing to reframe grief.
To let it soften me, not harden me.
To let it sit beside joy, not silence it.
To remember with tears and laughter.

I’m choosing to see grief not as a wall, but as a window. A way to keep seeing the people I’ve loved in new places, in unexpected moments, in songs from the 90s that suddenly make everything click.

I can’t change the past. But I can shape how it lives with me now.

And maybe you can, too.

Living With Both Love and Loss

So let’s feel it all. The ache, the joy, the memories. Let’s carry our people with us, not just in grief, but in laughter and love and living well. Let’s keep showing up for life the way they’d want us to. And let’s keep living in a way that makes space for both the love we lost… and the life we still get to live.

And let’s keep choosing joy, again and again—not because it’s easy but because they were worth it. Because maybe the truest tribute isn’t in how we mourn them, it’s in how we keep going while bringing them with us.

Together, again.