I’ve got bad news: Everyone you love is going to die. So are you. Just as night follows day, death follows life, and none of us escape it. Death equals grief, and grief equals pain. But grief isn’t loyal to death. It wears many faces, creeping into our lives in ways we don’t always recognize. As the year draws to a close, it’s natural to reflect on what’s happened. And when it comes to grief, sometimes the losses we can’t see hurt the most.
My first experience of grief was when my grandad died. I remember my mom curled up on his bed crying as she buried her nose in his dressing gown, desperately clinging to the last of his scent. Years later, I found myself doing the same when my nana passed.
We learn how to grieve, not only from family members but from the cultural norms around us.
In Britain, we wear black and light candles in memory of our dead, whereas in China, mourning is often marked by white. In Mexico, Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) is a celebration with altars, marigolds and offerings, but in Japan, Obon is a solemn, reflective time. In Ghana, funerals can last for days, filled with feasts, dancing and community celebrations. Meanwhile, in the Himba tribe of Namibia, mourning involves seclusion, with family members cutting their hair to signal their loss. In India, people gather along the Ganges River to cremate loved ones, while in Aboriginal Australia, “sorry business” incorporates storytelling, art and communal rituals.
These ceremonies provide structure and closure, a way of anchoring ourselves in grief. But what happens when loss doesn’t fit neatly into a framework?
Death aside, there are plenty of ways we lose in life. We lose faith, trust, health and wealth. Sometimes we lose ourselves. We mourn when we cut ties, move home or leave a dream behind.
I’ve mourned a lot this year, much of it I’m still making sense of. I’ve mourned things I’ve done and things I’ve not done. People I’ve hurt and people I’ve lost. I’ve mourned things I’ve missed and things I’ve had too much of. Most of all, I’ve mourned the time in which I slowly slipped away from myself. Being that far from my core, in ways I can’t fully articulate, is a grief I can’t describe. But it does have a name.
Ambiguous loss describes grief that doesn’t get a ceremony. Coined by psychologist Pauline Boss, it refers to losses that lack closure — losses where the lines between absence and presence blur.
For Stephen, it was redundancy. “It’s not just the job I grieve; it’s a version of myself — someone with purpose and a steady path. I question who I am without it. I feel a bit lost, like a ship adrift at sea.” Emily has watched her father fade piece by piece as Alzheimer’s erases him from the inside out. “It’s a grief that comes in waves,” she said. “Some days, I see the person I once knew, but other days, he’s not there at all. It’s a loss that never feels complete, just ongoing.” And for Peter, leaving the city he loved meant leaving part of himself behind. “Shanghai was home for so long that leaving closed a chapter in my life. I’m excited for what’s next, but there’s an ache in letting go of everything familiar.”
These quieter, less visible forms of grief linger in the background of every life. Ambiguous loss doesn’t announce itself with rituals or goodbyes, so we struggle to acknowledge it. But it’s every bit as real as the grief we face when someone dies. In some ways, it’s worse. We know what it looks like to lose a loved one, but not everyone will understand the significance of whatever unseen thing we’re missing. That’s lonely.
There’s hope. By recognizing ambiguous loss in our own lives, we honor our pain and the hidden pain of others. Grief isn’t just about death. It’s about change, love and life itself. None of which are easy. If we accept our shared grief, we can create a shared space to heal.
Even from losses we cannot see.
Community Center Shanghai will hold its fourth Annual Grief Memorial on Thursday. This year they invite all those who have experienced any kind of loss in their lives. Join for an evening of healing art activities, live music and connection with others who are also grieving.
