It's never nice to lose someone close to you; unfortunately

Francois Hougaard speaks a truth both sorrowful and unyielding when he says: “It’s never nice to lose someone close to you; unfortunately, life goes on, and we have to make peace with it and move on.” These words are born not from theory but from the bitter cup of human experience, for loss is the inheritance of all who draw breath. To live is to love, and to love is to risk the wound of parting. Yet Hougaard reminds us that though grief strikes deep, time itself does not halt for our sorrow. The river flows, the sun rises, and we must learn to walk forward, even while carrying the weight of absence.

The heart recoils at death, at the tearing away of those who shared our laughter, our struggles, our memories. To lose someone close is to feel the fabric of our being rent, as though a part of ourselves has been taken away. The ancients likened grief to a shadow that clings to the soul, lengthening at dusk and never quite vanishing. But here Hougaard calls us to courage: though the pain is real and enduring, we must make peace with the loss, for clinging endlessly to sorrow traps us in the past, while life summons us forward.

Consider the story of Abraham Lincoln, who buried not one, but three sons during his lifetime. His grief was profound, his letters soaked with the ache of a father’s heart. And yet, while sorrow pressed heavily upon him, he continued to lead a nation through its darkest trial, the American Civil War. He did not forget, nor did he deny his anguish, but he allowed his love for the living, his duty to his people, to carry him onward. In this, he lived the wisdom of Hougaard’s words: life goes on, and so must we.

This does not mean that peace comes swiftly, nor that moving on is a betrayal of those we have lost. On the contrary, to “move on” is to honor them, to carry their memory forward as we continue the journey they can no longer take. The Greeks told of Antigone, who risked her life to bury her brother properly, showing that remembrance is sacred. But even she, in her defiance, embodied the truth that the living must act, must choose, must continue, even under the weight of grief. Peace with loss does not erase love; it sanctifies it, placing it within the heart as a flame that lights our way rather than consumes us.

There is also deep wisdom in the phrase “unfortunately, life goes on.” For many, this truth feels cruel—that the world does not stop when our world collapses. But in this lies a hidden gift. The seasons continue, new friendships bloom, new joys arise, and these remind us that even in loss, life holds meaning yet. The very flow of time is nature’s balm, offering us not forgetfulness, but renewal. The wound remains, but it ceases to bleed.

The lesson, therefore, is this: when faced with loss, allow yourself to grieve, but do not allow grief to chain you to despair. Practice remembrance with gratitude, and practice life with courage. Speak of your loved ones, tell their stories, preserve their spirit through your own actions. But also rise each day and take hold of the present, for in living fully, you keep their memory alive. This is the path to peace.

Practical steps may guide this healing. Write letters to those you have lost, even though they cannot answer; in this, the heart finds release. Create rituals of remembrance, such as lighting a candle on anniversaries or sharing stories with family. And most of all, give yourself permission to laugh again, to love again, to hope again. For in doing so, you do not abandon the departed—you carry them within you, while continuing the journey they would wish you to take.

Thus, dear listener, embrace Hougaard’s wisdom: grief is the proof of love, but life is the stage upon which love must continue to act. To lose someone close is a sorrow beyond words, but to remain trapped in loss is to let death claim more than it must. Therefore, honor the dead by how you live, seek peace with loss, and step forward bravely into life’s unfolding days. For though death comes to all, so too does renewal, and in that renewal, the light of memory forever shines.