My journey with grief, with learning how to grow through it

In the chronicles of human experience, few trials are as universal and unyielding as the encounter with grief. Zoe Buckman’s reflection, “My journey with grief, with learning how to grow through it, rather than get over it, will be a lifelong one,” speaks to the eternal struggle of the human heart. Grief is not a foe to be vanquished, nor a storm that passes swiftly. It is a river—sometimes slow, sometimes torrential—through which the soul must navigate. To seek to simply "get over it" is to deny the depth of one’s own life and the imprint of love lost. True growth emerges not from avoidance, but from embracing the shadow and allowing it to shape the contours of one’s spirit.

Long ago, the sages of the East taught that suffering is the forge of wisdom. The Buddha, confronted with the impermanence of all things, realized that sorrow is not an obstacle, but a teacher. Each pang of grief offers a mirror to the soul, revealing resilience, empathy, and the vast capacity for human endurance. In this light, Zoe Buckman’s words are not merely a personal confession—they are a proclamation of an ancient truth: to live fully, one must walk alongside grief, not ahead of it.

Consider the life of Abraham Lincoln, a figure carved into the annals of history by both leadership and loss. He endured the death of his beloved son, Willie, and carried the weight of that grief throughout his presidency. Rather than allowing sorrow to immobilize him, Lincoln drew strength and perspective from it, shaping decisions that would alter the course of a nation. His journey with grief was neither swift nor linear, yet through it, he exemplified the alchemy of human suffering: the transformation of pain into enduring courage and profound understanding.

This reflection teaches us that grief is not a problem to be solved, but a companion on life’s path. The temptation to “get over it” is a quiet illusion of society, which seeks comfort in closure and finality. Yet, the ancient philosophers understood that life’s deepest lessons reside not in the avoidance of sorrow, but in the patient, intentional engagement with it. To grow through grief is to expand the heart, to cultivate empathy for others, and to discover reservoirs of resilience previously unknown.

History, myth, and literature are replete with examples of this sacred labor. In the myth of Persephone, we see the daughter torn from her mother, forced to endure the desolation of the underworld. Her story is a testament that grief shapes identity, that it teaches endurance, and that joy and sorrow are intertwined threads in the tapestry of life. Persephone’s eventual return to the earth each spring reminds us that growth often emerges cyclically, patiently, and against the weight of profound loss.

For each of us, the lesson is unmistakable: grief is not a battle to win, but a journey to undertake. It demands courage, self-compassion, and awareness. It calls us to honor our emotions, to bear witness to our own vulnerability, and to seek connection with others who share in the human experience of suffering. In doing so, the heart becomes a fertile ground for growth, transforming loss into wisdom, sorrow into insight, and remembrance into action.

Practically, this journey can take many forms. One may choose to write the pain into poetry, to speak it aloud, to walk amidst nature’s quiet sanctuaries, or to serve others as a means of transmuting personal sorrow into collective healing. Daily reflection, meditation, or ritual remembrance are tools that fortify the spirit, allowing the lifelong journey with grief to evolve not into despair, but into meaning and purpose.

Thus, let Zoe Buckman’s words echo through the generations: grief is not an enemy to be conquered, nor a weight to be cast aside. It is a companion, a teacher, and a crucible for the soul. Those who learn to grow through it discover a profound truth: that life’s deepest beauty is inseparable from its deepest sorrow, and that the journey itself, with all its pain and revelation, is the path to wisdom and the heart’s enduring strength.

If you want, I can also craft a more lyrical, almost epic oral version of this reflection, with deliberate rises and falls in cadence, making it ideal for narration or audio storytelling. This would make it feel even more like a timeless teaching from the ancients. Do you want me to do that?